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File 133917971961.jpg - (187.92KB, 683x801, 27812092.jpg) [iqdb]


Where it ends.

※ ※ ※

Lanternlight flickered across the pale flat panes of her cheeks as he turned.

The charcoal-black flagstone grated under the soles of his boots. Walls dark glistered alight. The flame winked then flashed as it caught more oil. A huff of hot air came out between the shutters, reminding him how chill otherwise was the black hidden place. The boy lowered the lamp to the floor. Brass clattered on the rock. The small person on the chair gave him no favour of startling. Still she sat, still and ever still, her bare toes suspended inches from the ground; gagged and bound and helpless. An image of pity, but there was none of that left in him.

The boy reached for the knot of her blindfold. The kiss of her pale hairs was as cold as frozen threads, and like as pleasant.

The eyes that looked on him when he peeled off the cloth were the same hard agates which had glared their mute disapproval as he’d sprung upon her in her own bed, pinned her down, gagged her mouth and roped her wrists. And even when he’d thrown her over a shoulder as killed game, when he’d gone around to scatter the dresses he’d seized from her wardrobe as she dangled on his back, even then she did not a thing: never once kicked, never groaned. The silence perturbed him more than screaming ever would have. As so he had gone, the cats of Rin’s family had carked him for a time, trailing him and tracking through the halls, and nestling in the clean garments he’d littered around for false leads; but erelong their interest had waned and they’d left the boy and his woman alone to their queer play. And with their glowing eyes vanished, with their plaintive meows gone, he’d turned his feet about and brought the little woman here. And he’d sat her on the stolen chair, and went to light the lamp, and now, oh now at last, he was here. The ice in his voice when he had cast aside the blindfold and spoke to those violet eyes!...

“Will you scream?” he said, yes he did, steel in his stare and fire in his thought, “nod for yes,” he said, “shake for no.”

Yet neither did the impudent Satori; mocked him instead with continued silence. And for an instant, a remnant of the old he, the boy felt foolish for asking.

He pulled the slimy rag gingerly from her little mouth. A faint trace of spittle lingered at the corner of her pink lips. The boy wiped that dry with a sleeve. Satori heaved and swallowed.

“Took your time.”

Those were her first words.

“And rest you assured they won’t be the last.”

She made a motion as if to sweep the hairs from her brow, but found she hadn’t been unbound still. A shadow of irritation marked itself on her slight features. And she looked eft expectantly at our Garion, a cross request on her face.

The boy ignored it.

“Took my time, did I,” he said instead; “but with what?”
She tilted her shoulders at the shackles. “This clown’s business, perhaps? As a matter of fact, I’d been wondering when you’d see appropriate to have it done with. I waited, did you know that?”

She knew.

“Of course, I did, you jerk. I have ears, eyes. And even if you say at times you’d rather I didn’t, I do still look at you very often. I like to watch you when you think about me. I would say why—” she smiled a cocky smile, “—but, well, you’ve your own precious view on this no doubt, do you not, Garion? Say, why don’t we hear it? Aren’t you excited to pour yourself out after so long a—”

He struck her across the face with the reverse of his hand.

“You will not toy with me any more, woman.”

Satori gaped in speechless shock as dribs of blood spattered on the lap of her dress: blood he’d drawn with his bitten fingernails. The whites of her eyes were as wide as saucers when she affronted him once more, but no less bold than before.

“You rude—” she started.

He struck her again.

The chair reeled beneath her small form. A crescent gash had opened on her cheek, and her nose dripped sticky red. The place where he’d first swiped her had begun to swell and draw on an ugly scarlet. The other had not, not yet. He’d have opportunity enow to watch it do as they spoke.

“I will do it again if I must,” he promised.
Satori spat. “Would you have preferred,” she hissed, “if I’d screamed after all? Is that what you’d like? There’s cleaner ways to making me scream, Garion. You know that too; you showed me the very last deuced morning you’re very deft at it.” She snorted back the blood and choked. “You—urk... You liked it too, do not you try to lie to me, you huge oaf. And tell you—tell you what, let me warn you: you ruin my face any worse than this and there won’t be anything left for you to nuzzle as you touch me everywhere else. You’d not like that, would you now? You’ll rue it soon, you’ll see, you will—”

The boy raised his arm for another strike; but the sweet-eyed traitor shrank at once away and said no more.

“That,” he said, “carries consequence no more. Whether I did enjoy it or not, and whether I will rue it or not: neither concerns you any longer. Have I to make myself any more explicit?”
“That’ll do,” Satori said.
“Then you are aware why I am doing this.”
“Oh yes.” She smirked. “Why, you may curb your mind with impressive steadiness when you’re awake, Garion,” she said, “but you’re a terrific talker when you’re asleep. Had you really wished to keep me at sea, you never should have slept with me. Although to be sure I’d watched over you sleep a couple times even before we advanced to that stage. Ah, the things you let out when you dream... And your girl Angel; she’s no better rein on her mind than on what’s down there between her thighs. As a matter of fact, she’d have told me everything about this even if you hadn’t done before her. She’s a horribly simple girl, is she not just?”
“Angel is of no import.”
“She’s not,” agreed the swollen and bleeding hostess, “not between you and me, she isn’t. What will you do with her after we’ve done here though, I have to wonder?”

“There is no ‘after,’” said he, the darkest of voices.

Satori chuckled. “Then pray tell, what is there, Garion?”

The good, good boy paid her no heed.

There he rose to full height, his will iron; and there he started, at a calm pace, a circle about the bound woman and her prison-chair.

“Long I searched,” he began, “long I did, many years. Close and far, near and wide. In such places mayhap as no human ought set their foot. I saw flats and plains, hills and woods, mountain lakes. I travelled over world both known and lost, both hostile and safe. How many days, moons, years, I may no longer say. I know no more my age, nor name, nor home. I was lost... except you were my beacon in the dark, my lighthouse on the black seas. And why? Had you not abandoned me also? Why had I frittered away what I know now only as more than a decade on pursuing your shadows? When you had stranded me in a world you had told me did not want me? When I hated you so much it stayed me from taking my life to fear I should thus do you service?

“An ordinary man might let go; but I was your creation, bloated and swelled with those precious truths of yours that had destroyed me first before they made me anew. ‘No one else but you,’ ‘no deed for nothing,’ ‘you are alone and must become steel,’ ‘kinship is but a brittle faith, and you are but a child crippled with delusions... for everyone is out for themselves, even your own blood.’ And I was a child, damn me, to believe your lies and stories. And yet so deep you had ingrained these words in my head that I could not help but question; but when I wondered if truly the world might be such a dreadful place, and when I did question you, you knew, did you not? – you knew always what to say to me, what another poisoned word to croak in my ear to dispel my doubts. I was yours to mould, for my mind was open to you as some gruesome living sketchbook. And then, once you had scrawled your dreadful black image onto mine own, you threw me away to the dogs, to paddle in that gutter full of rot and scum and lies that you’d drawn in my eyes.

“I met a man once, a man and a woman. I told you the story. Close on to half my life—the one you had spoiled with your venom—close on to that I spent living and playing for them a foundling son. And all those long years I kept asking: ‘truly?’ ‘Will they say their price when this is done?’ ‘What if I cannot pay them?’ ‘After all, there is no free deed, no good-will.’ Waking and dreaming both I wondered. And always doubted. Always feared. Why do they laugh with me? Why do they praise me? Why does that aged lady next door give me milk of her cow? What does she want from me? What do they all expect from me? Why do they never tire of this false act of happiness? Why can they not see this is all but one great delusion? And I spent my best years in that house, but always doubting, always suspecting: a thieving hand in my bag, a dagger in my back, a threat of punishment if I fail to meet their demands. I grew up in fright and mistrust. Always, always seeing the worst in everyone and everything.

“And then!” he made a laugh-like sound, “lo! on my eighteenth birth-day pretended, I saw right through your festering lies. And I knew, oh yes I knew. I could never again be a child innocent. I could never again look upon the world through the sweet pane of rosy glass that children all invariably carry in their minds. I could not ever again have back those wasted years, for you had cheated me out of them with your lies, your worming voice in my head, your mocking, mocking laughter at my willing and naïve humanity and your poisonous touch. I knew everything you had said had been a lie, and I knew there was altruism and there was kindness, and I knew these were true, though still I doubted. I could never cleanse myself of your poison completely perhaps... but I could yet bend it to my use, for with everything else answered, one question yet remained.”

He halted before her, all towering triumph in imaginary steel.

And took he in hand her tiny chin, and her tiny cheeks, and her tiny head, mounted on that tiny, tiny neck that he could snap with a twist of his big, big arm.

“And that question,” he whispered lovingly, “is ‘WHY.’”

Satori quivered when he rubbed the blood from her lips with a thumb.

“For you see,” the man went on, “lies or not, surely you must believe them yourself. And here I am, years of hunt on my back, all to ask you: ‘why?’ Why would you destroy the life of another so? I am ruined, mother. I lay in crumbs, cursed to walk a world that exists for nothing but for me to find you... and know the answer for this final question. ‘Why?’ What did you profit from disembowelling me of my innocence and having me carry your venom in my veins wherever I go? After all, you would never do a thing without chance of some return. I wish to know why. Although... I dare believe I may know already.”

He stood once more; touched the cold pitch stone-wall of the cellar.

“A good place you have warmed for yourself,” he said. “Away from all those unenlightened humans whose fool’s act you so despise. And though I had made you wait, here I am... Your creation. A child disabused of all illusions and grown exactly to your like. A boy-thing moulded for your pleasure... And enough known to you to make trust your stranger play... Satori.

“Am I incorrect?” he asked. “Am I not here because you enjoy the company your like? Am I not here because you said ‘love me?’ Was it not for love that you had me lie with you in this burrow? Was it not for love that you had me play with you at an ordinary life? Answer me!”

Satori lifted her bloodied face. “All I did for you,” she said, “I did because of love... of one kind or another.” She sighed. “Yes, I may have wanted someone to love me... and I was happy for what I got of it. Could I really be so simple deep inside?” She rasped a weak laughter, for her own self more than for him. “And so you find yet another thing about me I’d rather never have known myself,” she lamented. “I really do hate you so sometimes, Garion.”

“Then you admit to your guilt?” required the boy, his tone as that of a headsman at the block.

Satori squared her shoulders.

“Yes,” she said grudgingly. “I admit to everything. Now untie me. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

The boy’s mind screeched to a halt.


“I’m not the one you’re looking for, Garion.”
“Then who—” he blurted.

She smiled, and this time it was she who triumphed.

“There is a voice in your head,” she said. “She usually only narrates everything you and those around you do, but sometimes she speaks to me, and every so often makes you do things to her choice. She’s the one that led you here. She’s the one you want.”

※ ※ ※
Shit just got real
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He's coming after us!

Well, rather after Koishi, but still...
Well he just jamed two twists at once. Though a mindrapist Koishi is getting to be overused around here.
File 133918129329.png - (350.87KB, 497x738, Koishi_Komeiji.png) [iqdb]
>Tenshi was irrelevant in This Story, thread Last

Well, that was a good plot twist. Not the Satori thing, the Koishi as narrator one (if you can't trust 1 plot twist, better have 3 right?)
Re-reading the part of the story where Koishi was still present is kinda eery now.
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I don't think it's Koishi.

Picture related.
Think about it.
Garion is going to fuck up Anon so hard.


More Koishi is always better.


Can you feel it in your bones?
File 133926924284.jpg - (292.65KB, 800x800, 04e3e27c003ed3ba3106b67f60eedace.jpg) [iqdb]
※ ※̤̔ͩ͛ͬ̋ͨ̕ ̯̹̎ͥ̄̏̄̚͘※̤̫̼̺̰̭̪̉ͨ̾͘ ̹̅͞ͅ

“It won’t help you to black yourself out now. I can drag you back out whenever... if I need to.”

He did not believe her. He did not believe her.

“I do not believe you,” he said. “You lie.”

One should not allow this to pass.

“‘One’ has no choice.” And she laughed. She laughed. “Ah, what a thing. I have a hang of this still. I’ll have to keep this method in mind for the future. Are we going to be civil now? Or shall we continue on with this farce? I’m open to discussion.”
The boy felt boil in his ears. “What are you talking about?!”
“I’m not talking to you, that’s for starters,” said Satori. “At first I’d thought it was you; yes, that you merely had some outlandish habit of speaking to yourself constantly in your head. I’d seen humans who did. All insane, though you’d see everything but on the surface. I supposed you were ill and that was it, but... the more I listened to that voice, I began to hear the difference. I had you sit with me in the evening so I could listen to your heart’s voice as you absorbed yourself in those outrageous stories of yours. And then I found you had thoughts of your own, however well you hid them... or however well she did. And the more we spoke, you and I, and she and I, the better I understood that you were... that you were not the same mind, you and she. And I thought then that I might—no, decided that I should help you... use this accursed ability of mine to do some good for a change. I know the sickness in your heart. I know what ails you.

“You’re possessed, Garion. I scoured my library for old texts... And I made sure, I pieced together everything... only I could not do anything, I could not lay a finger on her while she was yet inside you. I kept you—kept you close to me, until I had read enough and come up with a way... And now I know, Garion. I can heal you. I can make her go. Are you listening, ‘one?’ I know you are, ghost; you hide, but you’re there. I can’t give you what you want, but I can put you at peace. I want you to quit him... leave him alone; let him make his own life. He’ll be happier for it, I’ll... you have my word, as a woman. Garion, listen to me, you have to help, you have to—”

He did not LISTEN!

He launched her from the chair with a crescent swing of the fist.

She rolled on the black cold floor, yes, half across the room she rolled, the wretched old monster-thing. She lied. There was no way. She lied!

She lied!

“You lie!

Garion grasped her by the front of the smock and hammered her against the wall.

“Until the end you lie!” he raged! “Am I so abject to you now, that I rejected your fictions; am I so abject, that you think to feed me this... this buffoonery? Ghosts, possession? No more am I a child to lick and swallow every morsel of story you toss to me. No more will you play with me as you will. The chase is at an end, Satori, or whatever your damnable name is. There will be no more lies, no more ‘truths.’ There will be but retribution... and blood. A life for a life. Yours, for mine destroyed.”

He seized her crimson orb, the monstrous part, the heart of her abhorrence.

He saw the horror in her eyes, oh yes the sheer horror and tears, and heard grinding of teeth and sensed the beat of her blood under his fingertips. She cried his name, squealed it, but he was deaf to it now, numb and deaf and dreadfully set.

“May be,” whispered he, drinking her fear, breathing her heat, “may be you told the truth then, when we met here for first. May be you cannot die. May be I am acting the fool to think harm on you. We shall see. After all, one of your ‘truths’ has failed. Why not another?” He gripped her precious white throat. “I will have your final words. Mayhap with death gazing in your eye will you tell one thing true in the end. What say you, Satori? What say you?!”

“I...” Satori gasped, “don’t want... to hurt you... either of you. Garion, please...”

No more. The boy would have no more.

It was time. “It is time,” he said. “I have had enough. Good-bye, Satori. May you no more poison this world.”

And he firmed his fingers about the pulsing orb, and they were hard and sure as cold steel.

Good-bye, little fool.


A cry flew from her miserable lips; a cry high such as one even startled, and the boy staggered back.

And suddenly he heard a crash and splintering of wood, and a great clatter, and the trapdoor collapsed in a great cloud of dust, and the rotten staircase with it, and the boy shielded his eyes from the blast. Satori fell from his grip and collapsed to the stone floor. And ere even the dust settled, all saw: the one with cat-ears loomed from it in a brilliant air; for all around her, her rich greens and regal shoulders danced ghastly lights, orbs of dead-white core and the palest blue flame, ghosts and spirits: others. Others. This had been her plan.

The boy drew himself up... at once, AT ONCE!

The cat-maid curtsied. “Good day to little brother,” said she, tipping her head and shoulders, “and big sister also. Good day. And to Master Satori as well, though they have spoken today already. All the same: manners, manners.”

The others swirled about her figure, muttering.

Satori rose to half-sit on an arm and coughed blood. “Orin,” she rasped, “don’t... don’t hurt him...”
The cat-eared one nodded. “Orin knows, she knows, yes, though Master Satori has said it to her times enough that she wishes she would not.” She stepped forward. “Will big sister come with us willingly now? What little brother said was truth: the chase is all but over. And big sister has nowhere else to run. Will she consent now to go? Will she, nil she? Orin wonders.

And forward.

The boy leaned and drew a dagger from his boot. He levelled the blade on her and the hissing others. They glittered, reflected on the bared steel.

“I have no quarrel with you,” said the boy. “Come away and no harm will be done to you.”
She laughed in his face. “And is big sister so desperate to put now these silly words in his mouth and call them his?” she jeered. “Is little brother not wiser than to promise harm on one they call a monster? Orin knows. Orin will give her a chance yet.” Once again she stepped; but with this step all cheer flaked from her round face as autumn leaves. And there was a monster before him, clawed and wild and sharp-toothed. “Will she consent?” she growled, and the others roused about her, roused. “Will she come willingly, little sister asks?”
“Get away,” growled the boy.
“Will she not then?”
“Get away!”
“One last chance. Orin is a generous host.”
And step.

“GET AWAY!” Garion roared...

... And lunged blade-first at her opened form.

The others whispered in anger, but the cat-maid moved not, not ever. The knife plunged into her belly, tearing, tearing through the flesh and innards, to the guard; all the way to the guard. And even so she did not move, did not cry nor flinch, though her lifeblood spilled on his hands: red, red, and scalding hot.

“And here little sister has her answer,” he heard her say in bemused tones. “She wondered, oh yes, whether big sister truly would have deeds after words or never not.”

She took him gently, by the cheeks she took him, and turned up his dark face: as though he was but a babe, a silly babe in need of scolding.

And then she grinned. She grinned, and her cunning white teeth gleamed in the gloom blue light like chiselled pearls.

“Cats are curious creatures,” she purred pleasantly.

And ere he might do but a thing, ere he might say his last, the others fell upon him, each and all, a ghastly rain; and stench of death turned his stomach as they entered him and wormed, coiled, groped and probed all throughout his mortal body...

... And though one hid, hid well as she could, they found her soon, and seized her with their cold dead hands.

And as so, yes simply as so, we were ripped apa
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F5'ing like the First of the North Star.
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I looked at the world, for the first time in twenty years, with my own eyes.

The sensation was... startling. As if a hand had been lifted from my mouth. A heavy cloak from my back. A veil from my eyes. I breathed in. I laughed.

The sound felt alien in my mouth.

The air whistled in my throat, the stream chilling my spit almost to frost and icing my lungs. And each gust, each breath that entered me, I felt a new emotion wake: an ache of regret, a lost innocence, a forgotten eagerness – and with it, my soul stirred with revelations: of life and its end, of truth and of lies, of pain, of all the suffering put to me in those two loathsome decades, of love and hate alike...

And suddenly the torrent of revelations weakened and broke, and there came NOTHING so vast and so EMPTY I felt my mind warp under its new weight and nothing to support it – so much new weight, all at once, that my mind crumpled and broke, and the endless VOID swallowed it and surged and turned its HOLLOW eyes on me.

And a black chasm tore open in my chest, and the chasm screamed an empty sob, its voice tears and cries frozen forever in endless stillness. And I realised with awful certainty that this hollow had been inside me ALL ALONG, but SOMETHING had been there to plug it, only now it was taken away. And there was NOTHING, NOTHING, terrible NOTHING and I was NOTHING and the world was NOTHING, and my heart collapsed, and my brain seemed to split, and my knees buckled, and I howled in empty despair.

I howled for death and I howled for mercy. I howled for HELL to take me. I clawed at my eyes and slobbered at my knuckles and cried as I begged for swift oblivion. And the madness of that NOTHING where something had been before crept up on me and I felt its black eyes eating away at me from within, piece by piece, shred by shred, and I dropped on my face and groped for the knife I had lost in my wailing.

And I found it. I found it and set the point on the apple of my throat.

And then someone screamed.

The blade flew from my quaking hands and clattered on the flagstones at my feet.

The smell of old books and soaps came upon me, and touch of faded old fabric touched me, and someone pressed my face into their warmth, and the nothingness quailed. A reek of blood and a sting of burnt flesh chafed my nostrils; but it was so warm there, and so soft, and the emptiness slithered back, snarling and hissing, but it was a hiss of defeat. There were fingers in my hair and lips on my forehead, and tears unloosed in my eyes, and a stifling bulge rose up in my throat.

“Cry,” someone whispered to me through the darkness and the pain. “Cry, Garion. Cry it all out.”

And I cried.

wow he was possessed for this long? That'd put some of his baffling tendencies in perspective.
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When my eyes throbbed and ached, and when no more tear flowed from them, then at last I stopped.

A whole day had passed, or perhaps only a minute; but I had cried for all those years lost and gone and those times when tears would not come, and there was no strength left in me but to cling to that warmth which had stayed with me as long as I wept. There were lemon-gold buttons in its clothes, and each fashioned in the like of a heart. There were tubes and cords of crimson coming out of its collar and sleeves. There was an orb suspended on those cords: a glaring red eye of a hateful stare, though only so by design. And hands, hands so small, no bigger than tangerines when clenched into fists, so small, but also so strong, stronger than a man grown, travelled and learned...

... And raw with burn-marks where she had seared through the rope to catch me before I fell to the dreadful blackness.

“I couldn’t think of any faster way, Garion. I was in a kind of hurry.”

She’d heard my thought.

I looked up on her little face and near broke out crying anew.

A gash above one eye had sent a line of blood down across her cheek, livid with black bruise: my doing. And it was not all, oh no; the other one too, and the brows and those spinel-pink lips, cracked now and burst like ripe tomatoes. And she looked at me and laughed, laughed at my tears though I had done it all to her by my own hand.

“It’s all right,” she told me. “I forgive you. I forgive you everything.”
“Can I be forgiven?” asked I, knowing not that I could.
“Yes. Yes, you can. I will heal, eventually. I won’t stay like this forever. Although I may change my mind in time if you keep on doing that thing. You’ve inherited the one habit that absolutely infuriated me about her.”

The mention of “her” stood the hairs on the back of my neck.

I turned my head, every inch a challenge for my will, and saw the cat-eared maid still with us in the cellar, still grinning at my foolishness, and the shapes, blue and white and quiet as the grave, still whirling about her like milk in black coffee, a ghostly regiment. And there, upon her extended hand, was a single flame of the deepest darkness, a tongue of pitch-black fire whipped and tossed on invisible winds.


She, who had made me waste not only my childhood, but twenty years of my life on fruitless search while she had never left my side. She, responsible. She, hated, hated, my sworn enemy. I wanted to grasp her, crush her, squash her between my callused fingers, put her wretched flame out as she had put out mine. I wished her dead, and if she was dead, I wished her dead twice again.

A furious red washed down on my vision, and I reached out a clutching hand.


Satori stopped me.

I blinked at her, half-blind with anger. “Why?”
“She won’t hurt you any more. She won’t hurt anyone.”
“You have to let her go.”
“Let her go, Garion.”

... I would let her go.

Satori smiled and stroked my cheek. “Thank you, Garion. Orin, please, take her away.”

The cat-girl bowed and climbed the ruined staircase to vanish above the ceiling, her ghosts trailing in her wake. And I felt, somewhere in my innermost part, that this had been the last time I had seen that vengeful black flame.

“With a little bit of luck, that may be so.” My small hostess turned me and embraced me: tightly, longingly. “Now quit thinking so much, if you’d please. I want a moment of quiet... or two, or three, or more.”

“You are shaking,” I noticed.

“Yes. Yes, Garion. You wouldn’t believe how nervous I am right now.”

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“It’s over then.”

I lifted my head from her breast and looked in her deep violet eyes.

We’d crouched long in that cold dark cellar, pressing and groping for each other’s warmth.

The old lantern guttered, sucking out the last breaths of oil from its tank. There was nobody to molest us, nobody but us in this hole-under-ground, the dimming light and her eyes on me and her hands in my hair. The hands I’d wanted to protect so much I’d bought a special fetter just to avoid doing them harm.

“What’s over?” I asked.
“Your quest. Where will you go now, Garion?”
“That isn’t—” I began.
“—your name? Why not?”
I felt my mouth sour. “... She called me with it,” I said.
“And so did I.” Satori smiled. “You’re Garion. My Garion.”
“Yes.” She stroked my hair again. “My Garion.”

We remained quiet for a while.

After that, Satori spoke once more:

“Yes... So?”
“So what?”
“What will you do, my Garion?”

I did not know. I never had planned anything beyond today.

“Would you be opposed to it if I thought something in your stead?”
“... No.”
“Good... but I’ve nothing, either. Although... Say...”

“Why don’t you stay here till we come up with something? With me? We’re sure to reach some manner of answer, between you and me. What say you, my Garion? Will you stay with me?”

I did not stop to think of an answer. She had changed my life. She had given herself to cure me of my malefactor. She had belonged to me, and now, I belonged to her.

I said the only natural thing there was to say:

“As you wish.”

And it was done.

※※※THE END※ ※ ※

Sayd hence the Palmist to the Warrior: ‘This I unto thee say: Don thou stout iron-shod boots;
bear in thy hand a staff iron-shod. Walk thou then in iron-shod boots till World’s ends; the road
before thee grope thou with thy staff, christen with tears. Go thou through water and flames, halt
not, look past thy shoulder not. And w’en the boots hath worn, and the staff hath worn; w’en of wind
and swelter dried hath tine eyes that no more tear may they shed, THEN shalt thou on World’s end
find that which thou lovest and seekst. May’ap.’ And took the Warrior thru Water and Flayms, past his
Shoulder looked not. But don did He not iron-shod Boots, nor a Staff iron-shod. But his Warrior-Sword He
took. Heed’d he not the Palmist’s Words. And done He good. For ‘Thad been a bad Palmist.

-Flourens Delannoy, “Fairy Tales & Myths,” paraphrased

Well, that was interesting. Of course, you had to claim it was a Tenshi story, even through the poor girl ends up being beaten by Okuu, being scolded by Garion, and disappears.

I'll give you 8/10.
Kinda hard to understand sometimes.
It wasn't really about Tenshi.

And now, what are you going to do, YAF? Are you going to start that Futo story?
I think YAF should take a rest and kick back on IRC.
Come to think of it, what did Tenshi do after that fight with Okuu while Garion got 'treated', so to say?

Anyway, nice story.
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Great run, gentlemen. My compliments to all involved, especially the one responsible, may he live long and bring us many more magical girl fanfictions.

I have one question. It doesn't seem like that kind of story, but I noticed a lot of 'route' kind choices. I remember you mentioning this was going to be a Satori story before you started, so I'm wondering what happened there. Would it have changed things terribly if everyone picked, say, the Okuu options every time they were offered?
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Sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you.

Aaaugh, so many twists. I just finish The Odessa File, and turn around to find the end to this. What a day.
Very, very well done, YAF. And not just the ending. This was a damn good read; I don't think I'll ever find a Satori to top this one.
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Only bothered picking up this story pretty recently, but I'm glad I did. This was a very nice read, a bit confusing to get into but well worth it.

Good work, YAF.
What, not even a kiss to close things out?
I greatly enjoyed this.
Satori was intact, which is a lot considering YAF's tendencies. YAF'd consider a kiss finale something like pandering to the low brow or such.
Wait, was this a happy ending? In a YAF story? The wonders never cease.
Still waiting for the epilogue where he tells how Garion ripped her apart a week after.
That was such an incredible story. Thank you, YAF.

I can't wait for what you write next.
What about the ending where Mima gave us condoms to fuck Reimu?
Such a wonderful story - I'll miss reading this one. Waiting warmly for your next project YAF.
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Nice job.
Now, when are you updating Ai Ai Akyuu?
Are you sure you'd really want that? You won't get anything you'd expect from "pre-exile YAF"
The recent story post in it from "post-exile YAF" was perfectly fine. >>>/shrine/34530

On a somewhat-related note: between Satori, Akyuu, and Reimu, I've developed a theory that YAF has a fetish for girls with purple hair.
Holy crap that was awesome, thanks for the great read. I came back and checked this board every day in hopes of updates, and it was always exciting whenever there was.

Now I'm just really, really hoping (maybe selfishly) for a few epilogue chapters so we can see how Garion is doing after all this. Please?
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The caves grew hotter.

The air quivered, thick with miraged pictures of the past and the future, now and then. The very rock, coarse and hot and basalt-grey, seemed to sweat in the heat. The ground, pebbles, sand and kibbled stone, seethed, sizzled… smoked under each bootied step of the smiling cat-headed she: deft and sure natheless of the rising blaze. Where was she taking one? Where would this path one take?

One must wonder.

“Old Hell, the great old she, that is where. And to rest, yes to rest, at last.”

Old Hell.

The place did not sound to one as such a place one desires go.

The cat-maid grinned. “Orin agrees,” she said good-humouredly; “yet the name misleads, as do most in this world. She is a gentle mistress, Old Hell is. Only scolds those deserve it, none else. A touch fairer in this respect than Master Satori; though little sister frets from saying that out loud when she is beside. Master Satori is fair of heart and of love, but she is much a human in ways she thinks. Oh yes, much a human.”


The little woman as had had one outsmarted.

“Yes she did. Although big sister is at her own fault also, giving her time and time enough to prepare for big sister coming through with her own plan. Had she truly wished Master Satori disposed by the boy... ah, she should have moved sooner, yes much sooner than this day. And then Orin would be hard at work now, hard, hard at work with the boy’s broken corpse. Carrying him away, and hearing Master Satori choke her cries and swallow her tears, oh yes.” She gave a wicked laugh. “Orin would not have let harm to come to Master Satori. Orin is always near, yes, always near. Orin knew. Orin hid. Orin knows ways to hide. She was watching, always watching: little brother and big sister both.”

She had known.

“Oh yes, yes she did, all along. Orin has a keen sense of smell, keener than most: to the dead, and ghosts and spirits the most. Others also would have scented big sister if the boy came close near them... those become monster or monster born; but for Master Satori, who is too close yet to a human. Orin knows the sweet smell of death. She knew the boy carried something dead the moment she met him. She had been among the dead for as long as alive after all.

“She has, however, no interest nor curiosity for those yet alive; and so she gave him and big sister to Master Satori, to do with them so as she pleased. Master Satori is good and loving; she cared for little brother weller than little sister would have, weller—for little sister would have pulled big sister out by the scruff and carried away the boy’s corpse, if it were her bidding. Master Satori always has a gentler way. The boy was glad of it, little sister thinks. After all he yet lives, and big sister is here with Orin. All is well, for big sister, and for the boy.”

And what would happen next?

What would become of him?

“That is for little brother to decide,” said the cat-she. “Though he has decided long before, this little sister suspects. So long he had looked at Master Satori, thinking her big sister, while real big sister hid within him: so long indeed he must have grown attached to her at the least. Aye, maybe even fell in love all unknowing. Closeness and time does that to humans, closeness and time; and little brother and Master Satori were always close, very close, waking and asleep, day and night. Always had the scent of one another on them, that they did. Always spoke in hushed tones and touched and held hands when they thought little sister looked another way. And Master Satori was glad of it too, if Orin should give her mind. Master Satori is much too human, and she loves strongly as one.

“What of big sister however? Is she not glad? Was she not as a mother to him? She told him many a false truth, yes she did... but was it not all for she wished to defend him from the cruel world that humans have wrought for themselves? Orin wonders this, she does. Was she not only trying to protect him, shield him from that awful cruelty?”

Mayhap. Mayhap she had.

Mayhap this had been all for one to foster a child she had never borne. Mayhap she had merely wished no misery to befall the boy as it had befallen one; for no hurt come to him from outside or inside or the others as it had come to one. Mayhap this had all been but a dream of one who had too much tasted of woe and misery that she wished for no more to come to leastwise one person in the world. Mayhap one had wished to fight the vicious nature of this world, whether it be part of the life humans had chosen for themselves or not... willingly.

Mayhap one had blundered somewhere in her thinking.

The cat-maid purred in approval. “Good. Acknowledging one’s mistakes is the first step. Old Hell will gladden to hear big sister has taken this one already. She will welcome her all the warmer.”

Would it hurt, one dreaded? To be cast on those fiery waves? To close one’s eyes after so many years?

“Not if Old Hell says it should not. She is a gentle mistress.”

Then perhaps... perhaps this was also for the better. Yes, for the better of one and him both.

After all, we had strayed this earth for so long...

Perhaps it was time to rest.

The caves grew hotter.


Tenshi is in This Story:

Wonder if that evil spirit was the one destroyed by Kasen...
That's no amber... that's a space Kasha!

No wait, it's the regular kind.
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I will now answer some questions and ask you to hold on to your butts, since exam week just kicked in here in Spain and I may be too busy to work on the remaining parts of the story (and frankly, chilling on the beach with people to wash off the stress). I should like to wait until I fly back to Poland on the 3rd of July, but we’ll see how it goes.

I would like to thank you for your support and warm words and your input into the story. At the same time, I wish to apologise for many of this story’s shortcomings, including (but not limited to): the typos, confusing word choice (a merit of the voice I chose for the narrator) and shoddy word-choice mistakes (not being a native speaker) that I have subjected you to over the course of the story.

And now for those answers:

Kasen did nothing to the narrator (let’s call her that). She hid. Notice how she does not talk between the moments when Kasen puts her hand on Garion’s head and takes it off.
The story in general was sort-of designed to be more revealing upon a re-read (there’s a lot of foreshadowing that is only apparent in hindsight; for instance, you’ll see those instances when Satori speaks with the narrator, or when the narrator averts Garion’s attention from things she doesn’t want him to see)... but due to the issues mentioned just above, I wince from saying it would be that great of an idea. If I had the time, I’d rewrite the whole thing just for your re-reading pleasure. Unluckily, between college, social obligations, and travelling, I do not know that I do.

I’d like to say “Since you asked so nicely...” and look all generous, but I’ve been planning the things spoilered in the post above for a while now. Welp!

What about Mokou? She’s my second favourite.

I wonder? To be quite honest that recent update was a personal jab at someone to prove them wrong. I’ll see if I can develop a mind for AAA again. I hardly remember what it was about anymore, and I doubt I still have the hang of Naya’s character. I’ll think about it.

That was Yukari.


Not terribly. You’ll notice those kinds of choices were offered in general for pleasure, filler and exposition scenes. I had the general plot scenes and exposition that I knew I had to write, then I had the filler scenes I wanted to write (basically every sappy romance character development scene with Satori), and then I had the filler scenes that I wanted to write but did not know whether you wanted to read (basically when those between-characters choices occurred). So no, there were no “routes.” This was from start to end a “boy with a voice in his head meets a mind-reading exile” story.
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All good stories in this site had the ending planned before starting. This is no exception. Something to put in the WAdvice thread I guess.

Congrats YAF!
The conception of this story started with the final twist, in all actuality. Then the pre-story background. Then I dropped the idea and dug it out months later when I repurposed it from an original story to TH-P’s setting.
The mid-part of of it I pretty much made up as I went along, keeping in mind the previously mentioned backstory and end, though with some pre-thought ideas for some plot-relevant and fanservice scenes; for instance, I’d planned out most of the festival events long before the choice came up, though I’d also had in mind a (rather sweet) alternative if you’d picked the choice not to go.
So as someone mentioned in one of the threads, yes, this story was headed in a particular direction from start to finish. Maybe with the exception of the early-early start when I was still figuring out some of the intricacies. Otherwise, most of the choices were either purely to take the fluff of the story in a direction you’d like (like down Satori’s skirt, for one), or to decide a few not-VERY-major changes to the plot I didn’t mind having changed.
I guess out of railroads, this was one with about one and a quarter of a rail. Sorry for that. I just hope you enjoyed reading this thingo as much as I enjoyed writing it, freedom of choice or not.
That explains why my stories are so shitty.
I've planned my story's ending before writing it but it's still shitty.

What do?
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go lern urself a bok
Oh yes, since we’ve got some time before I get on track with those aftersatories, I’ll pose a question here: related to choices, at that.

Longer sequences of scenes without choices in between. Are they:

[ ] Acceptable, don’t mind them
[ ] Not nearly as engaging as choices
[ ] Abso-bloody-lutely boring and an antithesis of all the principles TH-P was built on; you are the worst writer there has ever been, a whoreson and a craven; additionally, I fucke’d you’re touhoe

Also, if you don’t mind telling, how often do you check for posts/updates on the boards? Do you just drop by once or twice a day and look around, or are you like me: keeping all the watched boards/forums/blogs in a bookmark folder and sweeping through them all several times a day on a lookout for new material? I’m asking partly out of curiosity and partly out of the inner need to know if it’s okay to wait a couple of hours/a day before I reply to a post or close an inquiry, or if I should do so immediately on the assumption that the poster will come again soon and want to see it.

Thanks again for your input.
I have the answer to everything here:

[x] If the story is good, it doesn't matter.

That means a good narrative, an interesting plot and a decent premise.
We're so starved for stories that we can tolerate the lack of choices. As you can see in the page title, this is about CYOAs AND Fanfictions. So even no choices would be 'acceptable' (but I wouldn't like it, to be honest)
>(but I wouldn't like it, to be honest)
See, that’s the kind of answer I wanted.
Namefagging for author-to-author recognition.




[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them

I've been doing voteless updates myself on occasion, so I guess I don't mind them out of some instinct to not be a hypocrite. That being said, I realized that being able to do voteless updates means that you have more freedom to advance/railroad (depending on reader interpretation) your plot. As you said, you were shooting for a conclusion, so those voteless updates really helped keep things on track.

I personally check the boards multiple times a day, but half of that is to respond to my own story thread, so... yeah.
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them.
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them
But they need to be used sparingly. Used at a critical moment in the story is fine; but when it becomes a common thing, it loses a lot of the impact.
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them.

It's still better than putting on a stupid vote with no real consequences because the writefag couldn't think of anything else to add. But yeah, don't overuse them. It's easier to sink in a story if you can decide what the character is going to do.
Battler was so stupid in that VN, I though I was going to break an aneurysm.
Constant choices do help me stay engaged, but if the story is good enough they're not really necessary, I'll be reading it anyway.

I check the site more times a day than I should. Sometimes it's only been 10 minutes from the last time I checked and I know there isn't gonna be anything new, but I do it anyway. That's probably not good.
That said, I personally batch replies with updates unless people come up with some awful false assumption that's going to completely derail their vote; hasn't happened so far, thankfully.
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them

I do like having choices, but when the story flows as nicely as this one did, I'm just as happy to go along with the ride. There was definitely enough choices in this story for me.

Also it's nice to hear I'm not alone in obsessively checking the boards for updates, especially in the case of Garion's tale here.
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them

This is the first time I've read your story and it is great. Sometimes, the author needs to be in control of the story to make it flow smoothly and not turn into a train wreck. Hopefully, we can get to see a good ending for Garion and Satori and not end it with a dark twist or whatever as that would be tasteless.
[x] Acceptable, don’t mind them if used sparingly, still generally less engaging than choices.

I like being able to participate in the stories I follow, and personally will be loath to put up updates without choices. But there can easily be occasions when a voteless update is the better choice.

Oh, and I sweep through the boards an unhealthy number of times per day.

Also, because it received few comments, I really liked Orin in that afterword post. Wise kasha. The way it made the narrator a bit more sympathetic was also nice.
[x] Acceptable, don’t mind them

I check the site as much as I can, but it usually comes down to twice a day and hasn't even been that much recently. I need to find more time to be here with all the new stories cropping up.
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I would do that?
[X] Acceptable, don’t mind them
Both are true for me but the top more so.

I would not mind if a story only had a handful of choices total.

Though it might be best to wait to post it until you get to a choice. (even if that means a single series of posts has a whole threads worth of story.)
>I would do that?
Would you?
You already have.
Momkari, etc.
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Kaa-san was the best Kaa-san
Namefagging due to apology.

>What about Mokou? She’s my second favourite.
I'm sorry. I couldn't control when I was bleeding and not. I will finish the story, I promise you that.

[p] Not nearly as engaging as choices
- This story was engaging, however, and I consider it an exception rather than the rule.
So have any plans after you finish this up?
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After the afterstories? Not as of yet, no.
Maybe I’ll make another thread in /gensokyo/ like the last time. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll piss off of the site and try and write something original. Who knows? I may be dead or in debt by then.
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Q&A? Good lord, why would we need to do that? You have a question, you ask it any time. There’s a fair chance I’ll reply, no?
Where do you live? Are you going to write a Futo story? Are you going to write an Youmu story? Are you gay? Do you have a fridge? What exactly is Satori for Garion? How did Garion met Angel? Why was the evil spirit simply aggravating Garion's anger toward Satori, or did it had its own grudge?
There you go, have fun answering this.
Will there be a Yaffy route?
What the heck happened to Tenshi at the end? Were was Koishi all this time? Did Garion presented Satori to his parents. How much of Garion's attitude towards them was his and how much was that spirit? Does that spirit has a name? Kasha sounds kinda like Kosher: is Rin jew?
I'm pretty sure the spirit was Koishi, who was dead and thus possessing Garion.
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>Where do you live?
Starting off with the hard ones, eh? Actually, for the past 4 years I’ve been living in a different place each year. Moved out for the first year of college, lived on my own for a while, pissed off to study in Spain for a year, now I’m going back to Poland, likely going to move back in with my parents for the while (the only option as I’m abroad and can do little to find a new place back countryside on my own). Though I am feeling like going off to live somewhere near or in the mountains. I’d love that. Maybe I’ll see if any of my old acquaintances have moved anywhere hilly.
>Are you going to write a Futo story?
I don’t know.
>Are you going to write an Youmu story?
I don’t know!
>Are you gay?
Straight as they get. I am comfortable enough with it to act completely gay and feel nothing about it though.
>Do you have a fridge?
Where else would I keep my booze?
>What exactly is Satori for Garion?
Someone who changed his life. He’s in her debt.
>How did Garion met Angel?
We’ll get to that.
>Why was the evil spirit simply aggravating Garion's anger toward Satori, or did it had its own grudge?
She knew Satori was onto her, so yes, maybe she set him against her in some parts (at the end especially, when she was in the greatest danger of being routed out). Otherwise, she mainly watched how her dear boy handled the situation. Though you never know which line was only her narration and which was an order directed at Garion... do you?
She had a grudge, but not against Satori particularly. What grudge? You’ll have to figure something on your own.

You are always on Yaffy route ❤~

>What the heck happened to Tenshi at the end?
We’ll get to that, maybe. Given I don’t die before that time.
>Were was Koishi all this time?
Deus Ex Machina’d out of the way Pissing away her time on the surface. I never had planned to give Koishi a big part in this story or make her especially lovable. I couldn’t see her doing anything very relevant other than provide some filler and character development time.
>Did Garion presented Satori to his parents.
What parents? You mean those that provided for him through his adolescence and one of whom he met at the festival? I’ll assume so. Did he? Other than that brief encounter, no.
>How much of Garion's attitude towards them was his and how much was that spirit?
See one of the answers above. She did raise him though, in a greater or lesser degree.
>Does that spirit has a name?
No. You can come up with one, if you’d like.
>Kasha sounds kinda like Kosher: is Rin jew?
>ko•sher [ˈkəʊʃə] adj.
>2. Slang
>a. Legitimate; permissible: "consolidating noneditorial functions of the papers, which is kosher" (Christian Science Monitor).
>b. Genuine; authentic.
She’s pretty legit though.

The only logical conclusion.
>You are always on Yaffy route ❤~

Not sure whether I should be happy or terrified about this.
You know you love me.
Does this mean what I think it means?
What DO you think it means?
What do YOU think I think it means?
If you have to ask about why he said Oi, try to remember his pre-exile stories.

One of "This Shrine"'s runs ended in the MC knocking up Yukari in a rather hot display of hate sex. Oh yeah she was his mother too

And a question for YAF: I presume Satori isn't even petite let alone a "5th grade loli", am I correct?
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>Try to remember
This is the only YAF story that has managed to hold me so far.

Anyway, that's a shame, though I'll still hold out hope until the after story.
Out of curiosity, did you think it was a declaration of wanting to write a Yukari story?
Is it?
No, I thought it was a declaration of pregnant Satori in the near future. I just thought it'd be cute.
Eh... Na. I do have a Yukari story concept noted somewhere, back from the older days (a prequel to TS), but it’s just that, an unused idea. I’m not that fond of Yukari anyway.
I’d have hinted at that more extensively if it were the case then, wouldn’t you say? And certainly used it for more cruelty potential in the closing scenes, oh yesss.
Yo, dafuq is this doing bumped?

Sage, you Russians.
It's been bumped for a while, did it really take you a whole 'nother day to figure it out?
It was me. I'm sorry.
I’m not the most attentive of men.
This image ruined Garion for me. Why does he gotta be a gay generic bishie?
I just searched the booru for original male blond_hair. I’d have pleaded with a drawfriend to have a pic done for me, but I’ve somehow lost contact with some of my favourite over the last two years.

How did you picture him?
Honestly I imagined him as a rough looking guy due to all his travels but in light of the ending, some of the 'rough' vibe was due to what was possessing him.
A bishie is fun too. And, in that pic, he looks like he's an all business, no-nonsense kind of guy.
You’d want that sort of dude handling your Satori? Tsk, tsk.
That’s completely all right though.
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※ ※ ※

My name is Tenshi, of house Hinanai. I was unconscious when he brought me in.

I was unconscious earlier too, if that makes matter.

Ah, I say my name is Tenshi, but he called me Angel. Which stands to more reason than you’d suppose at first. Anyway, I was unconscious when he brought me back to that black ugly house. Though to be sure it wasn’t black in all of it. The bed where I came to was pink, for one. I remember but one other place as had such a bed. My auntie’s house. I misliked that house. It stank with boiled cabbage round day and night. The smell here leastwise was a touch better.

I stopped being unconscious and woke up. When I did, I was aching in places I hadn’t known I had.

Cassy was there, laying his head on the edge of the bed. I smiled. That he was here meant he’d won. That I was here meant like I’d won too. I ached something terrible, but if it were the price, it had been small.

I laced my fingers with his hair.

I couldn’t say for a surety when he should wake up himself, but I’d done decided he should do with my hands somewhere on him, and I’d liked his hair always. There was cuts on my hands, but he’d cleaned them ahead I’d come to, so I shouldn’t get blood on his hair. Not to say he’d pay too big mind; Cassy did never pay lots of mind. Almost nowhen he’d say a thing, only sometimes he’d knit his brows and say, “You are pert,” and he’d say, “Nothing” when I asked for what. I loved that in him, if not the best. I could shove him, and punch him, and pet him, and he’d say not a thing. I could say I loved him whenever I wished too. I could take him in my arms and rub my nose in his shoulder and chest if I wanted.
He was my own: my own Cassy.

I didn’t shove him too hard though. I’m a good girl, I am.

That hadn’t been always, now when I think. When we met for first, then I thought for sure it wouldn’t be. The story in itself was unlike. “A chance,” he’d call it. I say it’s fate.

I’d heard from rumours in Heaven how they’d had this new custom growing, where, if one was so bored as to wish so, they’d leave their celestial cloth in someplace near the Human Village: like bait or so. And if some took it, they’d be betrothed by will of gods. The gods have funny ideas sometimes. But “bored” almost describes me, so I said to myself, “Why not, Tenshi?” I flew down near the village, skinned my celestial cloth, and laid it there on the road for the find. I hid behind a bush and waited.

If the gods were kind, I should hook someone interesting. But when have the gods ever been kind? I began to think when I’d crouched there for hours with not a soul to see.

Well, they turned out kind after all that day.

When the Sun had started to go away, Cassy quit the village, and he was coming straight for my celestial cloth! I didn’t know then he was Cassy. I wouldn’t know so too, till we slept in the forest later and I needled him for one.

Anyway, he picked it up, and when he did, then I sprung out the bush and declared we were wife and man. I got my order wrong then. Cassy gave me the littlest look and tossed the cloth back in my face. I peeled it off and saw he’d gone off, so I went after him and tossed the cloth back at him again.

We fought like so for somewhat close on to an hour before he turned finally and asked me what I wanted. I said him. That didn’t wash by him so well. He turned away and walked off, this time with my celestial cloth. I wasn’t about to give up—neither him nor it. I followed after him inside the forest.

As we walked, he began to speak, too. The first thing he asked me was if I read poetry. I said yes, but I had none on me at the time, and he looked disappointed. I made a note inside to procure some on the soonest occasion. The thing opened him up though. He started by saying he’d like to know if I should begone before long. I said not, and kept my word. We went from there.

When we stopped for camp in the woods, he shared his food and dress with me, so I would not “attract near so much wanton eye.” He has a way with words I thought then, but like for the poetry. If he had the way though, it was a narrow one. Cassy never spoke without I did (save for those first questions of his), and ignored me sometimes besides. He fed me well enough though, and he looked nice. I’d got a fine enough husband, if quiet. I didn’t complain. I had yet to say I loved him though.

I did so some days after, when we huddled together in a poor shoddy tent under a of those cool spring showers. The night was coming on anyway so we lay together and listened to the rain.

I told him I loved him that night, and didn’t believe how hard it made my heart race. He said nothing, even when I said it again in the morning after. My heart still raced.

I said it more and more often since then. I didn’t want him forgetting. The gods may have declared us to wed, but the gods mattered scarce to Cassy. If not the gods, then I should plant the idea in his head.

I may have implanted it in mine instead.

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Anyway, there wasn’t sign of him waking up ‘til the door to the pink room inched to be open.

What came in gave me a lump in the throat.

The wench was right enough roughed up; her lips were burst and there was red marks of fingers on her neck, but she was noticeably not dead. Had we not won? What was going on? My own hairs must have bristled because she gave me the same smile she’d showed the night before, when she came to pray me, “Do everything he says,” unknowing he was about to have his revenge on her for those black years. I hadn’t needed her to tell me that, I had not, but she did so all the same. And now she was still here still, and Cassy also. How? Why? And she smiled, smiled!...

She touched Cassy on the shoulder (I would have flared up then, but I had no power for it at the time), and presently Cassy shrugged out of sleep. Those grey eyes of his came open, and he turned with my hand still in his hair.

And then he smiled on her – smiled!

The wench told him a thing I didn’t hear for the blood rushing in my ears. I think I knew it more from his lips than his voice when he turned to me and asked how I was. My mouth told him all right, though my head was of a different mind. My fingers untangled from his hair when he stood to his feet. I asked to hear what had happened.

He gave me one word, “Later,” then left me. Smiling.

The wench was smiling too. The door closed behind them, and the sound was like to a dot under the huge question mark in my head. I worried, I did, and harder it ached me than did my body. Cassy had left me many times before, that much was true – but never smiling.

It was all I could do to flop back on the pillows and wait. Cassy had said, “Later,” and if he lied, I should bear this lie.

I might not have been more right. He wouldn’t come before later.

The trouble of it was, the later had a turtle’s feet and was big and fat and awfully long.

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I sat there with not a thing to do else than think and ache.

I might have thought what had so happened as turned him around to smile at one he’d been to have dead, but I was not of a mind. I’m a good girl (I am), but Cassy had taught me plenty to know I wasn’t never the smartest. I couldn’t like begin to guess at what he’d done (or had done to him) to make such a change, and so I didn’t. I wasn’t the smartest, maybe not, but I was smart still where it counted.

Instead, I thought on thinks as would ease my pain some bit. There was times I might think on always made me warm in the chest inside. I wasn’t very cold, not in particular (only achy), but all same, warmth was welcome.

I thought so, I did, and what it was about was...

[ ] When we went about the country, in general.
[ ] When he first had me.
[ ] When he tricked me those half a dozen months ago.
[x] When he first had me.
[x] When we went about the country, in general.

[x] When we went about the country in general
[x] When he tricked me those half a dozen months ago.
[x] When he first had me.

More delicious Tenshi
[x] When he tricked me those half a dozen months ago.
[x] When he tricked me those half a dozen months ago.
I'd vote for S E X, but I have to stay faithful to Satori. You know how it is.
It’s in the past, Anonymous, my man.
I'm aware.
It's a personal thing. My consciousness will only accept smut scenes with one touhou.
Why did I vote for the sex thing? A) I wanted to see Tenshi get some sort of loving and B) Bedroom conduct tells more about a couple than normal living.
[X] When we went about the country, in general.

So, what the others have said about you was right author. You are going to tear everyone apart and the story is going to end up with something like a dead Satori and Tenshi holding on the poor guy's head and cradle it lovingly. Glad to see you continued with the story, but dread to the characters.
[x] When he first had me.

The past is now the present, by way of reminiscence.
[x] When he first had me.

Because something seems slightly... off about Garion/Cassy's relationship with Tenshi.

I want to see YAF write awkward sex.
>I want to see YAF write awkward sex.

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[X] When we went about the country, in general.

... When we went about the country.

There aren’t many as know this, but Cassy had a frightful wanderlust. Oft-times he would say to me, “Angel,” he would say, “I wish to see some place once more;” only he’d say what place and not “some place” just. There was ever reason for it, par for course. The woman, primely. Cassy spoke always it was the woman he wished, but I knew better after the first some times and when I saw in his eyes when we walked. There was the woman, that she was, but most he wished was go and never stop. To see the world mayhaps, have it mayhaps, mayhaps to say “I was there.” No one never knew with Cassy, but I.

And what I knew, he had a frightful wanderlust.

There ever was about him also something—a dis... crepancy, of a stripe. There was wanderlust, but then there was, too, hard cool sense to every thing he did. Never he ate more of him foods than set aside for the day; water, also, he rationed and never drank too much, and when we stopped to sleep on the grass aside the road, he kindled no more lights or fires than barest need asked. He fed me hefty all same, but never so much to wash up food-less in midst and mists of the woods. I learned early on I shouldn’t will he does otherwise, for after all it was Cassy, and Cassy knew best always. I did my own rationing, too. A hug a day and two “love you”s, without he was in a foul mood for the bad trail or oncoming weather. Then no hugs, nor “love you”s. Cassy misliked bad oncoming weather with a passion.

The first time that rationing part of him budged was when the first monster beset us on the trail.

Away the Forest of Magic it was, a league or two or three (Cassy never did teach me how to measure those precise), when some starved living filth came out the trees and gave us heels a chase for those leagues, and came blowing, shrieking up behind us. Cassy gave the ragged bird-thing but the fleetest look afore he swam out of his pack and slammed it on the ground, and dove to his knees, as if he’d wanted it as shield from the flying talons and claws. I was a good girl, though, I was, and never dove, only steadied my feet, and met the screaming thing with a whiff of good old brimstone and fire.

The whiff struck the black thing clean out the sky, singed the gravel on the road char-coal, and streaked tongues of flames through the grasses besides.

A touch show-off, perhaps yes, but there was someone for who to show-off.

Anyway, no sooner had the black thing quit writhing and begun to roast calm as it should than Cassy went found his feet and gave me the something that was neither his custom cool quicksilver set of eyes, nor the false-amiable half-cheeked smile he wore when we went mid-people to restock our foods. The arches of his brows were—well, that—arched, and the grey of his eyes shone like oil. I think he was shocked. “This is not how I do it,” was what he said. “No,” said I in reply, “only how I.” At that, he angered some bit, saying he hooked monsters with bites and morsels of foods that they are distrait and allow him pass, and how that way was better for no fighting never come from it and it was clean and smart and a human thing to do. And he went and he went, until I rode over him and told him, “Well!” I told him, “leastwise this way you’ll not waste food on some wild living filth.” And then he went all quiet and frowned, and I think felt abashed to be taught by me and not otherwise around.

That was the only time I ever outwitted him in a talk.

All same, methinks he took a greater like to me after that day. The next night, he let me sleep close to him in the tent, even held his arm around me. I was making way, albeit slow, but way still.

The same month, we went about the country up East, where humans rarely do go. I had plenty a good chance for more show-off and more making of way.

At times when we made camp, I would lie and listen to the silver-starry night, and when yet more monster neared us, lured by the smell of us and food (both one and same for those, really), I would slip out the blankets, go out, and let Cassy find a heap of burnt filth campside in the morrow. I like to think it pleased him, because, the soonest we repaired where humans lived, he bought me sets of golden bells on ribbons for my hair. They were brass bells in truth, only crusted with gold paint, but they may have been old lead for what I cared. I loved Cassy (as I still told him so often), and I loved the gift the same.

As we made for the place called Moriya and the Goddesses’ Mount, Cassy began to teach me stuff of cookery. Often we would make camp in the evenfall (instead of spreading on the ground under the sky), and he would bring out his pans and pots, and show me how to make steak and soup, and how to cut onions and celery, and how to whet well a kitchen knife-edge.

I liked those lessons no less than I liked his gift. At home, no one should presume to berate me for fear of my family’s lords, but Cassy had our lords there up his nose, and he smacked my wrists, and he knocked my head, and bad-mouthed my wits whenever I should make this or other stupid mistake. I learned quick with him, and I learned to like that roughness of his, for it showed he cared for me to know what he was having me learn—and me, too, in general. And when I’d done well enough for his like, he’d touch my hair and tinkle my bells. I liked that also.

Afore much too long (not too long for me anyway), we arrived to Moriya and found the place amid a festival. There was music and coloured lights in the streets, and there were stalls and shops, and inns opened for travellers.

And that was when he first had me.

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>> that pic
So apparently Tenshi can squish a man's head into 2d with her thighs?
>All same, methinks he took a greater like to me after that day. The next night, he let me sleep close to him in the tent, even held his arm around me.

Hah. I can see the reasoning clear as crystal.
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[X] When he first had me.

We stayed the night in one inn as such.

There was a taproom on the low floor, and since the night was festal, we stayed our time ahead of sleep there. The place was thick with talk and roast-smoke and laughter, but it was the best place otherwise, loud and cheery. Cassy was not so happy with it as me, but for me he weathered the smell and the noise. Ah, I say the best, this I do still, but it is only in hindsight as I say that, since what happened after later on the night and what we then did. There’ll be getting to that, in time. The before comes first.

Anyway, the taproom was flocked with folks of Moriya and the town below mountainside, humans well as monsters. (I did not burn those for they were patrons so much as me and Cassy.) There was roast, too, as I said, stuck and turning on a spit over the firepit, and there was other inn-like food and also drink: apple cider and ale, and wine from some black cellar, and home-brewed moon-shine black-stuffs. I had a taste of some; some I dared Cassy to taste, but never did he do. The thing about Cassy was he misliked alcohol near so much as he misliked vile weather. That is to say he did not think alcohol foul, demeaning or nothing. “I merely do not appreciate the flavour,” he’d insist to me as I offered him the lip of my cup.

I must needs say here I do not drink as a rule—not ale and not wine and not those others. The occasion called for it (and the innkeeper was generous with the tap) is about all why there was so much drinking as there was that night. Cassy licked perhaps two licks of the ale. I had six cups... six as I remember.

That was perhaps reason as I talked what I did. At any rate, on start we’d talked of things as Cassy would talk: the course ahead, the road and supplies and so and so. The more I had, though, the more my own tongue unleashed and I began on myself and my dear family—and my marriage to Cassy, even if we scarcely named it such ourselves.

(I did in my thoughts, though.)

The prime thing was, my respected mother was known to had been wed and bedded on the same day, since was custom of our queer old family. The marriage was ceremonied, then “consummated” soon, elsewise it should be done undone by will of the gods. The gods plainly could not take the bedding off their minds, but after that night, I might not fault them. Only if they should care for their own bedding instead ours, I should be happier also.

I told Cassy as much, too. “The gods—the lot of crooks,” I told him; “never trust a god, never do. They’ll promise you all you may wish, they will, but you’ll not want it no more by time you’re done with them.” “That bedding stuff, too,” I also said, “what’s their business if the maid’s a maid-en or not? Though my revered mother was right enough happy for her bedding... and I should, too, perhaps yes. All same, what’s their care? And what’s so great about bedding anyway? A crock of dung, that it is.” The ale must have blunted my wits and edged my tongue, for I could not seem to quit the issue. “I am maiden, too, I am,” I boasted (to a cheer of half the room), “and like to stay so, too. The gods should bugger themselves if they so much want buggering.” There was more cheers to that, but I didn’t bow, nor laughed with them; I busied myself with refilling my cup and complaining more about the gods and buggering.

By time as that was drained, I’d taken a back-turn.

“The problem,” I told my Cassy, “is it’s all fo—so... forced.” The women-folk in Heaven made it appear chore more than they did it love, as girls down on earth had fancied. That must have itched me quite the black lot, for I tried my husband with hour after hour of this stripe of talk. Why may I not bed whom I wanted and when I very well wanted? Why was it such a grand deal, when folks down on earth had at it all day long with not a care for the world? And what in both the blazing hells was so great about it that they did it day in day out and loved it so much? “All I wish,” I mumbled (for reason I lay on the table by then), “all I do, is have someone, yes, someone nice and golden and bright, show me what’s it all noised about for—for it all ‘pears crass to me, black and crass. Oh and why is it we are meant to kiss on the wedding day but not before, and then go so fast down to bed and do—well, do all that and be happy for it? The gods have some frightful wrong ideas of the maiden heart, they do.” And on I went, again and again, same old cries.

Cassy’s face had been growing darker since I had started first, but it must have been the darkest when he slammed his ale-cup on the table (some of it spilled – he hadn’t touched it at all), and startled my own heart out by saying, “And if I bed you, will you at last be quiet for it?”

All I could do was say, “Cassy?” and stare at him like dumb.

The taproom was crowded yet (though the hour was old), but no one had heard him say it, for there’d have been roar and cheers all about if they had, and I heard none. There may have been, though. I like would never have noticed anyway. “I asked you a question, girl.” There was but few times as Cassy called me “girl,” and those were when either he was seriously angry, or he was seriously serious. I could never say which of the two it was then; my heart slammed in my throat and my head swam all about the place. I could not say neither whether it was because it had swum up and down on accident, or if I’d nodded it on my own dulled will, but sooner than I may deliberate which it had been, Cassy had emptied his cup, wrenched away mine, and hefted me up on his arms like a royal crowned princess—or dead hunted game, depending as you happened to look.

The ankles of my feet knocked the doorframe as he carried me without, but I could never pay less mind. I clung to his neck (though I couldn’t say when I’d even caught hold), and I watched his fearless grey eyes as he climbed the dark stairs, myself filled to brim with fear, then sudden thrill, and then fear twice anew. Not a princess after all, I thought to myself; I’m scared as a doe in a loop, and he’s too big and strong and too very big to wriggle free.

The instance I thought it, though, the thrill came again.

When he tossed me on the bed (more as game, again, than a princess for sure) and went to bolt the door of the room, almost I could hear the voice of my mother saying to me in my ear, “Be brave, child.” I’m not a child, mother, I answered in my head, I’m a woman betrothed, and now about to take even the next step. Mother didn’t see meet to answer.

Cassy came back and eased me down on the rushes, not speaking. A thousand thoughts framed on my mind: “I’m not ready!” “I don’t know if I want!” “Will it hurt?” “Will you not be gentle?” “Say you love me first!” “The lamp, put out the lamp;” but before I may frame them on my tongue, Cassy was on me, spreading my arms, undoing my buttons. Awhile I wondered what I shall do with them—the arms—but Cassy would have none wondering right then. He pulled down my shirts and bared my breasts.

We both stared awhile how they swelled and fell with my breaths. I was breathing hard.

I wished somewhat he’d say a thing: that they were too small, too sweet, too pink; but he never did. I fought to unbind my wrists from the tangled shirts; they’d bound my hands on my back. “Cassy,” I breathed, “Cassy, Cassy, shirts, Cassy...” but he had no words for me. Almost I panicked then, when he bent above the helpless hunted me, and he put his lips to the peaks of my breasts. A ticklish place to kiss, I thought then.

But then he sucked.

And oh gods, I whined then, and not for I wanted. And again he sucked, and pulled up an inch, and my chest and belly and all followed up with him all on their own. When I looked down on him, it looked all but as if I’d been suckling him, as if he’d been only a blond baby boy sucking my milk, from my poor petty breasts, but none woman I met ever had told me a baby should also use its tongue. Cassy did, oh he did, and how. I threw my head back and whined, and squirmed, and whined. Cassy never said anything.

And then he stopped. I got my breath back; I got my breasts back. I didn’t know I wanted either. “Have you had a woman before, Cassy?” I asked him as he wiped at his mouth, “have you not?” “No,” he said, all grey and cool and calm.

That was everything he said to me that night.

Then he flung up my skirts, and parted my shifts, and in the break I freed my hands finally. I felt a flutter down in the pit of my stomach when he found my smallclothes, and when he slid them off tickling down my thighs and calves and feet; but the flutter went away no sooner than I’d caught myself thinking, Oh gods, this is it, I want him. I want him to touch me, to suck me, to lick me. I want him. The gods, the earlier talk, weddings, beddings, customs, all be damned. I wanted only him. Only Cassy.

And the damned wellest part? I had him.

I stuck out my tongue when he slid a finger inside me.

I bit it when he slid in a second.

I should have watched more for that tongue.

I never did figure what I should do with my arms, so I spread them and clutched at the sheets. Never did I know when I’d pulled them free and wrapped myself in them, but I did, all the while Cassy fingered this way and that inside me. I was hearing my voice pushing from my throat, and half of it was his name, and tother half was words I’m shamed to say again.

Then Cassy laid the flat of his hand atop my belly, and, inside still, pushed his fingers up, toward it.

I hadn’t never fancied my own back may try and snap me in half, but it did right then. The scream I heard myself blow out, I wager must have given the folks downstairs a whole ‘nother new reason for cheers. I crossed my arms at the wrists over and atop my head, and I clawed at the wood of the wall aside our bed ‘til my nails ached. I kicked and screamed and bit my tongue (yet again), but Cassy never stopped.

I loved him even more that he didn’t.

When I sneaked a glance on him, regardless he caught it. There was not a change on his face, but I knew he knew what I wished—needed—of him next. Never had been with a woman afore, he’d said; but he’d known anyway exactly where to touch and what to do. Unlike he wouldn’t know a plain thing as this. A string of me trailed after his fingers when he’d slid them out oh, so slowly, and he pinched open the buckle of his belt.

What I saw leapt out was mine, and so very scary, and so warm when it kissed me and bored inside me.

I think there was pain, but what there was of it, I felt not at all. Cassy bulled my legs open with his own and shoved, shoved, and pushed and pulled and pushed again, in and out, in and out. The bed cried with me. I switched and turned and again squirmed to look at him, to have look of his face, to bathe in his cool grey eyes, but he had my wrists, and he had my arms, and held me down and I could but grasp a teethful of the sheets to choke back the moans and the whines. I had his legs between mine, and his hands around my arms, and his nails in my skin, and him inside of me, and there were hot tears in my eyes and on my cheeks. But I wasn’t crying; and if I was, not of sadness, nor pain, nor any else such a thing.

And then he grasped me and spun me ‘round on my back, never ever once slowing nor going full out, nor stopping. So startled was I, I’d have covered myself for sure if he hadn’t been pinning and holding my arms still, and squeezing. There was not a shadow of the things I felt on his face; only there was his straight lips, and a gaze so grey and so studious, so penetrating, that all out I felt so shamed and so naked, though I wore at the least half my dress still. I wish somewhat he’d take off his, I heard some sober part of me thinking. And by gods, I’d so love him to kiss me at least once. “Cassy,” I called him, “Cassy, Cassy, kiss, Cassy, please...”

But he did not. I could not have it myself, nor ask it again when he quickened his rhythm. It was all I could do to close my eyes and clench my teeth not to wake all the sleeping world with my noises.

With the kiss or without, I had him, and I had him filling me, and I loved it so much I couldn’t be sad, not even when he made a grunt, twitched, and fell stonily atop me, panting, and swallowing it, then panting again. Awhile I lay there with him, with his hot breath on me, taking in his smell (or the smell of ale and smoke, to be true), in heaven; ‘til all of a sudden my senses, reason, and thinking came stumbling back and I flew into a black panic. I had forgot. I hadn’t thought he’d have me scream for him, that I didn’t, and, gods, I loved when it had happened. But what will I do if he’s gotten me with child?

Then I pushed out my hips an inch, and felt he was no more inside me. I’d had my head so up the clouds I hadn’t taken the littlest note when he’d gone out and spilled himself on my dress and belly. Of course; Cassy was wiser before me. I laughed at my worries, foolish and happy. I was sticky (and achy), but all same, so very happy.

Then I took his head in my hands (that ached too), and kissed him.

Cassy blinked and questioned me with a stare. “Not a thing,” said I, “only that we’d kiss after the bedding, and not before. That’s funny.” He didn’t give answer, but Cassy rarely gave. Again I kissed him, and this time remembered how he’d not absolutely let me do it earlier, despite I wanted it so.

I closed my teeth on his lip and clamped ‘til I tasted iron and heard him groan in pain.

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I don't really know what to think. Unless I'm misunderstanding everything, Tenshi seems kinda legit in this story, and Cassy still seems like a total douchebag. Is he already possessed, or did it came later?

You know, I don't think anyone's ever written first-person heterosexual smut from a Touhou's perspective before on THP.

Breaking new ground?

I liked it a lot.
the implication was that he's been possessed for a very long time so he was likely so during this scene. On that note I look forward to seeing Garion/etc post story now that he's been freed.
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The door inched open with a screak and I whipped my hand out my smallclothes.

Cassy came in with a tray (a steaming bowl on it) and heeled the door close behind. He’d not said nothing before he came over and gave me the tray, but after, he lowered onto a chair and declared, “Meatstew.” I had a taste. “It isn’t how you make it,” I marked. The mark made him uneasy. I set the spoon down, gingerly – my fingers were slippery. The thing as surprised me most was I wasn’t really surprised. There’s more amiss than I’d thought. There was something wrong with him else than smiles. Cassy had never shown me himself uneasy ever before. A piece of him in my heart crumbled away that time, I think. That had been but the start.

I spooned that soup I didn’t know I liked no more as I had my questions. Had I lost? Yes, he said, but the black big bird-thing had had not the mind to kill me, but brought me back its home. I had lost anyway, of course, and the word stung. Had he also lost then? No... No, he said, and balked... he’d not lost at all, not in the meaning I’d have. There was sadness in his voice, though, sadness as I’d never heard from him ever, and, against good sense perhaps, I willed my hand out to him... only reeled it back last moment, remembering. I wasn’t near so dumb as he’d like had me for. “What happened then?” I asked of him, the firmest—Cassiest—look I may muster. “What happened, Cassy?” “What happened, ah...” he murmured. And began.

“The story is sad, indeed sad and black as you might say. There is despair in this story but joy also, and great release, of which likes I had never known before. The story—” “I don’t want no black story,” I bulled over him. “I want only know what happened. Cassy.” The eye he gave me itself was black, and my heart quailed when I thought I’d angered him someway. But he was all Cassy again as soon, as if he’d remembered some own thing, and began anew – the manner this time as I’d known him always to have. “After the day you arrived,” he said, all curt, “my plans were laid. The plans were as follows...”

And he told me how it had gone.

The blunt truth is, though, that I’d quit listening after I’d got the gistest gist. That he had been with a ghost, for sure, I cared not at all; nor that it were away now, by the mind-monster-thing’s claws. The one thing as I cared, I knew as I looked on him talk, was there was change in him I’d not realised ‘til I looked more close. There hadn’t been chance for me afore, to look on him as so; I’d slept with him but once after I’d found him in that dark black hole, and it’d been for... other stuff than talk, simply; but I knew now.

The steel-hard edge that I’d so liked about him had gone from his voice. The grey of his eyes was not so cool nor so grey as I’d seen it always. The way he spoke that black name, the one as had outwitted him—outwitted Cassy!—gave me all stripes of mislikes. There had been change in my Cassy... if I had him still for true.

More fool I that I spoke, too. “What about me, then?” I said. At once I panicked and held on to the stew, for old Cassy would have knocked me besides myself if I dared ride him over as so. The new Cassy, though, he gave me but a stare all but as sullen as his sudden quiet. And so soft. Would that I touch his hands, will they be softer, too?

I wondered. The Old Hell (as they styled it) had changed many before, and never for better... but could it be? Could it be that it had changed my Cassy, too? “There is no quarrel between you and Satori, nor her pets,” he told me. “You are free to go... wherever, whenever you will. This is not the place for you... nor the company.

That was when my heart shattered.

Would that you saw his smile! I would have took a thousand sneers from the children of our lord, or a thousand knocks to the head, or a thousand glares, but that smile! There wasn’t no scorn in that smile, neither. Cassy wasn’t wanting me out of the way, nor to have me gone, nor nothing, oh no.

He was happy for me—happy!

He was happy that I should be free of him and his terrible “company.” He was happy I’d go off and live my life as I pleased, and not with him slapping my wrists and holding me down and hurting me and dressing me in his old boy-clothes. Well, I didn’t want to live my life as I pleased! I wanted my wrists slapped and I wanted be held down and hurt and I wanted his buggered boy-clothes. And I wanted my Cassy.

Only Cassy was gone, and this man as looked as him had thrown him out.

“You may stay till you are healed,” he said to me. “You may eat and you may sleep however much you want... and have of me whatever you wish also. I owe you my thanks at the least... and Satori as well.” Satori. I chewed the name on my tongue.

[ ] I told him well what I thought of it.
[ ] I acted the Cassy. If he wouldn’t be Cassy, I would.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.
S Tenshi is... no.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.

I feel sort of bad for Tenshi, falling for a false persona basically.
It's not false, just someone else's.
[x] I acted the Cassy. If he wouldn’t be Cassy, I would.

Chew on this.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.
Hoo boy, there will be fireworks.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.
[x] I acted the Cassy. If he wouldn’t be Cassy, I would.
[x] I acted the Cassy. If he wouldn’t be Cassy, I would.

Kind of pointless to piss against the wind but eh.
[x] I told him well what I thought of it.
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[X] I told him well what I thought of it.

It was a crass name for starters.

I told him so much, too. Satori. Was it a name, even? A black name, even if. That was only what she were, a black Satori. Was it that she misliked names so, called each thing what it were in nature? And he also; he’d called me Angel after all (what was true at heart, but still). They were a pair, that they were, I babbled at him, a crass mole-pair in dark under earth. Cassy looked wounded and pressed his lips taut on one another but said to me nothing still.

I’d lost making sense before I knew, but went on on him and her and what they’d done to my Cassy I loved. Where’d they hid him? Where was he now, in some black hole someplace in the place? I’d take him find him and show him the Sun again and have him back, I promised. We’d go and not stop, and go and go, after that woman of his and see the world and eat and camp and sleep together and do all the things as we used to. Then was as he spoke for first since I started my ramble. “The chase is over, Angel,” he told, “the woman is gone now.” “Then chase this ‘nother woman as you know!” “Who?” he asked. Me, I thought back at him. But didn’t say it.

Cassy sat on there, with his cool grey eyes that were not so cool nor so grey any more. And not saying. I should have tossed the bowl on him to get him to talk, rate me, scold me, but I found my hands stuck to my thighs so hard as I couldn’t so much as lift them. Well, I still had my mouth, even if it wasn’t saying the stuff I most liked it to. “Then what’ll you do?” I said. Cassy answered, all grave, “Stay, for the time.” “With this Satori?” I blurted. He caught my meaning right enough. “I am... indebted to her,” he said, and balked, ahead adding on, “Greatly.” I couldn’t tell for sure if was telling true, or if he was trying but to convince himself of this black debt. That wasn’t the Cassy I’d known, for all there was. What base had I for telling? “You’ll run away from her,” I said; “sooner or later, you’ll want back.” Sooner weller than later, but you will. And when he did, then he’d come recall me and he’d spit in his beard, if he’d again grow one ever. The wench had sheared him all but bald.

“Mayhaps,” was his answer. Mayhaps.

You can tear a girl’s heart out with such a “mayhaps,” didn’t he know? Well, he’d cut himself bloody tearing out mine for by then it was all in shivers. I wished somewhat he’d do.

Though all he did was look and talk more about this black Satori. “This is not to say I am ungrateful for you,” he began, “but Satori has done things for me... great things, at the cost of her own well-fare—if not so much more. The debt may not be all, either, you have the right of it,” he agreed; “for indeed, even afore, already she set my mind at ease always with the sound of her voice, the touch of hand... I should like to repair what I owe her and be gone as you say, perhaps yes... but at the same time, I do not. I wish to... sit the nights with her, tell her tales of the world above and the one below. I wish to busy with her in the kitchen and taste new foods with her together as we speak. I wish, and I do not know why, to be with her—to be hers... for yet a while.”

I could not keep a quiet any more. “There’s a word for that, you ass!” I’d not have called Cassy an ass before, but this situation called for it more than by half. The old Cassy would have had me out of my skin to be true. This one only sat and murmured. “Mayhaps yes.” That may been the trick of the light or some such, but actually he looked to run his eyes from mine. “Then you love her or not?” I demanded. There was a pause.

After the pause, he gave his answer.

“Yes,” he said.

There was no “mayhaps.”

I tossed the bowl at him, then the tray. Then the blankets. Then the sheets. Then I turnovered the nighttable, but he’d backed to the door by then. There was something as I’d thrown after him as cracked into a million pieces on the door that he’d closed, but I couldn’t seem to mind what it was. Most like, it was only my stupid crass heart.

I bombed the naked bed with knees and fists and cried, ‘til I had no power but to sleep.

※ ※ ※
I'm sorry for you, Tenshi.
Nothing else to say.
Feels bad man. They both could have handled that better.
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※ ※ ※

I left first thing on the morrow.

Well, would have, to be true. I’d been thinking go out without seeing no one as I shouldn’t, but the wench waited me at the front-door. I was feeling a whit better, too, that I was, cried out as I was—‘til she had to come crawl out and ruin that, too. That’s what I thought she was there to do. I was startled almost when she come up and hugged me in that’s stead. “Thank you,” she whispered me in the ear in that thin voice she had, “that you did as you did. And I’m sorry,” she said. “I owe you more perhaps than I fathom myself.” That crass cursed smile reared its ugly head again. “Maybe I should be happy I haven’t much to give,” she japed, “else you’d walk away rich and I’d be cloth-less and cold.” “I don’t care for your crass riches, I don’t,” this I told her. “No,” she said. “As a matter of fact, you don’t.” And she wound those bone-thin arms about me for second time.

She stank as some black old grandmatron, all dustmotes and pots and and yellow books. She’d caught my thought of course, that thing. “There’s likes and then there’s likes,” she told me, as if she knew the first thing about likes, any or all. Then she blew out as tired and petted me—petted me, the rude stupid thing! She petted my hair first, then my head, then even my cheeks got a handful. I was all but close to burst.

The worst of it was, I wanted to be petted. No, no; do not you dare pet me now, I’ll have off your hand. I’d have had hers, too, if I weren’t as downsprighted right then. I did tell her a thing, though, that I did. “He’ll run away from you,” I said, never knowing why. “He’ll run away,” I said, “and you’ll never even know when.” To all surprise, she wasn’t none surprised herself. “Yes,” she said to me, “as a matter of fact, he probably will. That woman of his, that ghost... she instilled a terrible wanderlust in him. He’ll want to leave before long; that much I expect. I can only hope he’ll want to come back as well some day. I really do hope he does.” Then I wasn’t only one as has noticed, I thought. “No, you weren’t,” the wench said, “not the only, nor maybe even the first. There’s others she’s hurt taking him away and on the road. Two at the least.” But I didn’t want hear no more of it. “Then we shan’t talk of it,” she said.

And then again her fingers were all up my hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said, petting, “I’m so, so very sorry.”

The most painful part was, I could feel from her voice she was for true.

※ ※ ※
Is this heartwarming or the opposite? I can't tell.
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※ ※ ※

She did offer me food and water for the go, but I said I didn’t need no crass food of hers (nor water, either).

I flew out that black hole as quick as I had in me, and made for the Human Village, to give my bells away to first tyke girl as I saw on the streets. I wanted them gone, too. There was eight of them in sum, each for each monster I’d burnt for his defence. Cassy had liked neatness as that always. A bell for a monster. I could’ve done worse. I kind of want them back now, now that I think. Small matter.

The girl as got the bells anyway was giddy beside herself with the things. I couldn’t stand how she tinkled them on and on and on again, though, so I was off near as soon. There was rain picking up and there wasn’t place for me to go—not along with Cassy, nor no more for search as I’d done after he had left.

I’d drained out of things to do.

Well, yes, I came back home in the end.

You saw when I came back. Two weeks ago? At least so much. They don’t keep count of days up here as they do on down, do they? The important thing is, I’m back where I’m said to belong. And that’s where we’re now.

So, you’re saying that’s the end of the story then? Mayhaps, as Cassy’d say doubtless. No. Two week’s time enough for getting over, so don’t fret if I’ll burst in tears on you. I don’t care anyway, not any more. There’s like more Cassies in the world than there’s me. The day I find wanting ‘nother one, I’ll go out and look. That’s what I’ll do.

The cloth? Yes, he gave back the buggered cloth. It’s only in my room. The stupid black bird-thing had teared it some places—when we fought. I’ll sew it up afore Father sees. Quit worrying.

He and the wench? I don’t know; shan’t, either, most like. It isn’t skin off my nose any more. The bedding deal? I’ll not make issue of it. There’s nothing to make issue of. What’s done’s done. There’s no point crying for that now.

What? What’s that?


That really isn’t so big an issue that—


But I thought the family—

What do you mean you’ll tell—

T—There’s no crass report to be made! Come back!

Oh gods, please, not Father! Hold on, sit, drink! There’s more as I can bring out, I’ve brought lots. Sit and drink!

What? About this, too?...

No. No, no, no! After I’ve come home...

Come back!

At least don’t tell Father! I beg you, please!

I’ll do anything! Don’t go!

Come back, Iku!



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And now for your usual author post.

I had a blast writing this. Seriously. When I violate grammar by mistake in the middle of an otherwise grammatically correct text (be it a typo or lack of attention), I always feel bad. When I violate it constantly and with some manner of consistency though (as shown above), god damn, that’s fun. The change of style was refreshing, too. I have to wonder what the “oh no, purple prose :<” folks would have to say about that. Not hard enough to actually go and ask, though. Too much effort, and I’m nothing if not the sheer epitome of laziness.

Anyway, let’s have a list. Here’s things I’m proud of:

※ Violent and repeated rape on English grammar and stylistic rules
※ Absence of euphemisms in the sex scene
※ A quick pace and a narrow timeframe of completion

Then there are things I’m not as proud of:

※ Violent and repeated rape on English grammar and stylistic rules (for it’s a bad thing to do, no matter how fresh)
※ Absence of euphemisms in the sex scene (for it’s breaking the classic mould of erotica, plus Tenshi isn’t the most erotic of narrators, so the scene didn’t turn out all that hot [which wasn’t really the intent, but still, you’d expect sex to be hot, no?])
※ A quick pace and a narrow timeframe of completion (for that means the story was short)

adviceficklewoman.png (5.56 mb)

Anyway that’s it.

There’s questions, comments, you only get them out your fingertips and I’ll be back with you before long. I’ve taken to spending the days atop a bike, but there’s only so much sun my poor corpse-pale nerd face can take. I’ll be back with you sooner than you can say, “There’s a snake down my sweatpants and I’d like it a lot if you would take it out—right now.

Stay cool, stay frosty, and dress appropriately for the weather,
Uncle FAST the Kut-Ku

Your lack of linebreaks with new speakers made me go cross-eyed, I gotta say that.

And this was a heart-breaking afterstory. Not like the happy epilogues we all expect.

... now I want to write a happy Tenshi story, you jerk, just to get this taste out of my mouth.

But I still enjoyed reading it.
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I approve of this ending.
Is there a Satori afterstory coming up?
Oh hey, you actually did write an epilogue. I didn't even notice.

...and now I don't want to read it. Great.
You blind nigga?

>Tenshi is in This Story:
You're a dick, YAF. You bring everyone by putting Tenshi's name in the title, and yet the poor Tenshi is the only one not having a good end.
>Tenshi is the only one not having a good end
Whoa, whoa, let’s not jump to conclusions, shall we? There’s still stuff to write. Characters to give ends. There’s still time, man.
Attention-deficit high-fi—ooh, what’s that?
See the end of: >>>/gensokyo/9894
Confusing, isn’t it? It’s awful how when people retell you a conversation or a situation they were in, they don’t make any effort to distinguish who’s saying what, save the occasional “that dumb donkey arse said, yip yip” or switching left to right on their seat, pretending to be each speaker in turn. They just assume you’ll naturally know which line is said by whom. The bastards.
Well, since this story—or indeed stories—have been all about voices, that’s Tenshi’s voice for you: retelling the story in her own manner. If you found it confusing, I deserve a pat on the bum back for a job well done.

I may as well ask anyway, how did you find this brown, slapdash kind of narration? I really had a lot of fun writing it.
You have fun writing it, I have fun reading it. It is great, just that the dreaded end where everything falls apart is coming up soon.

Maybe we can have Satori heart broken, Garion dead and Okuu go nuts and destroy Gensokyou with a nuclear blast? Would it entertain you?

Not to sound offensive, I love your story but it's just tasteless when you have to squeeze in a bad end for everyone instead of leaving it as it is.
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>Satori heart broken, Garion dead and Okuu go nuts and destroy Gensokyou with a nuclear blast


But would I really do that?
>it's just tasteless when you have to squeeze in a bad end for everyone instead of leaving it as it is.

I fail to see how this was a bad end. There are so many worse things that could have happened than what did. Overall this was a relatively good end, and we haven't even seen the parts that are probably best about it.

Now if you are calling it a bad end from Tenshi's standpoint then I suppose I can see that but even then it is stretching it.

Sage, you shameless nigger.
Waste of time.
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