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violent-darkness · 27 days

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Monsters

Billy Butcher x OFC/Second person POV

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Chapter I: A Stranger Comes to Town

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Throughout this series, there will be a significant amount of explicit, dark, and triggering content, such as: killing, violence, smut, kinks, trauma, PTSD, loss of loved ones, child abuse (including sexual, no explicit descriptions), and other potentially disturbing themes.

Summary: You are the newest member of Billy Butcher's team the Boys.

*At its core, this is a story about how people deal with their inner demons. Are monsters truly capable of love, or do they only seek to destroy? Can broken parts be mended?*

Notes: This will be quite a long series with a bit of everything—slow burn, fluff, angst, smut. Many things differ from the show: some characters don’t exist, and others behave differently from canon, reflecting how I envision them. I really hope you enjoy it. Reblogs, comments, and feedback are always welcome. :)

Chapter II

“No fuckin way,” Butcher retorded. “The Boys is mine. I get to choose who joins the team and who can fuck off and mind his own damn business.”

“Butcher, please. Listen to me for once and give her a chance. She is a perfect fit. Her skills could be extremely useful, considering she is the finest shot I’ve ever seen and so much more. Have you at least read through her file?” Mallory desperately tried to plead with what little common sense Butcher had left. She knew it was a wasted effort, but she was a stubborn woman.

Butcher skipped through the brown file placed on the desk in front of him. Two names, a passport photo, standart bio. He saw that you joined the army when you were just 18, did a couple of tours in Afghanistan and were recruited by the CIA there. Most of the stuff was redacted.

"Bloody hell, what exactly do you want me to see there, since all them juicy parts are redacted anyway, innit?"

"Why don't you invite her here and ask her about them yourself, particularly about why she is facing a disciplinary discharge?"

Butcher's brow arched. His curiosity was sparked. He fell perfectly into Mallory’s trap. "Fuckin hell, fine. Tell ‘er to come in."

Mallory left the room with a smug smile and invited you in. Butcher was definitely surprised at the sight of you. He was expecting some tight-ass, suit wearing overachiever and there you were: hair in a ponytail, regular black t-shirt and jeans, boots and a couple of tattoos here and there. It definitely piqued his interest.

"Well, well, well, so t'is you who wanna join me team?" he sized you up from head to toe.

You were caught off guard too. You have heard here and there about the so-called Boys - the super off the books team that deals with supe's affairs, but you certainly didn't expect that its leader would look like this. What's with the ridiculous unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and that thick British accent. For a moment you wondered whether someone was doing a prank on you. You did your best to conceal these thoughts and grabbed the nearest chair to sit in.

"Want" is a bit of a strong term. Let's just say I wouldn't mind it.”

A note of irritation flickered across Butcher's face. "It's not an obligatory thing, luv. If you don't wanna join me team, you can leave."

"It's either that or disciplinary discharge for me, so..."

"What did you do exactly?" Butcher was still very much curious to know.

"I beat up my station chief with his prosthetic leg," you dropped it off as if it was the most casual thing ever.

"You fuckin what?!?!" Butcher was rarely surprised and extremely rarely shocked.

“The fucker tried to grope me. What was I supposed to do, just sit there and watch? I took his leg and gave him a good lesson. And of course now it’s me who is in trouble,” irritation simmered beneath your calm demeanor.

Butcher flashed a grin at you, really amused by your explanation. “Does this happen often, men coming at you?”

“Of course it does. I am used to it by now. But that doesn’t mean I am gonna let them get away with it,” you scoffed.

Butcher heard enough. He was intrigued enough to give you a chance. “Okay, luv, that about seals it for me. Welcome to the Boys!” he proclaimed, giving you a firm handshake.

****************************************************************

“What are you thinking about?'' Hughie interrupted your train of thought. The boat was shaking slightly and the ocean breeze was gently playing with your hair. The velvet sea and the sunset hitting the water at just the right angle created an ethereal feeling. You really liked all the members of the team, apart from Butcher, who was continuously proving himself to be a lying, selfish and manipulative asshole. MM was always the sensible one, ready to offer advice in any situation. You could spend hours texting with Kimiko about girl stuff. And Frenchie was an amazing pot-smoking buddie. You had a particularly soft spot for Hughie. He was such a cutie pie and so out of his depth. You naturally felt the urge to protect and look after him, while he was always there for you with his friendly smile.

“Nothing much. Just how it all began for me. And how quickly it turned into the current shitshow. I mean, look at us. We are wanted fugitives, we had to live in a basement for months and now we hide on a boat in the middle of the ocean. This is fucking nuts,” admitting your feelings to Hughie immediately made you feel better.

“Yeah, and I can’t help but feel that it’s entirely Butcher’s fault. This mess is all because of him,” Hughie clenched his fist. You noticed how tense and angry he was, which was very atypical of him.

“His problem is, he only thinks of himself,” you sighed. “Guys like him, they have their own internal demons that they never seem able to conquer.” That’s when you noticed it. There was visible bruising on Hughie’s left cheek and upper lip. “That wasn’t there yesterday,” you frowned and patted his cheek with your thumb. “Hughie, who did this?”

"It doesn’t matter,” he was averting your gaze.

“Did Butcher do this?” you already knew the answer and your anger started building up. Just as he was about to reply Butcher himself stormed in and interrupted you.

“Oi, Hughie, mate, come 'ere. I wanna speak to ya,” he declared cheerfully as though he wasn't affected at all by the fucked up situation you were all currently in. He positioned himself on the right side of Hughie, next to you two on the deck.

“Listen, mate. Last night I went a wee bit over the top, ya know. It was wrong of me to punch ya like this. All the bloody whiskey's fault. So let 'em bygones be bygones, alright?” Butcher announced and offered his hand to Hughie. From that point on, everything happened very fast. You saw the blinding rage in Hughie’s eyes, as his whole body tensed and his hand curled into a fist. You immediately placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. Then with a swift move you kicked Butcher in the face with enough force to knock him to the floor. He was caught completely off guard, but oddly enough seemed to enjoy the situation in his own twisted way. His lips curled into a devilish smirk, teeth stained with blood as you stood over him.

“Touch Hughie again and I will end you, asshole,” you snarled at him and then turned to Hughie, who was shocked by what happened, but clearly found it enjoyable. “Come on, Hughie. It’s not worth it. Let’s go somewhere else.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

Two days later you were still slowly losing your minds on the damn boat. You and Butcher generally avoided each other. Until the second night, when he called you all for a team meeting on the upper deck. You were all reluctant to attend, feeling a bit jumpy from the boredom that had settled over the boat. MM stayed near the stairs, arms crossed. Frenchie and Kimiko seemed more engrossed in their silent conversation than in what Butcher had to say. You and Hughie leaned against the railing, looking skeptical as hell.

"All right, you lot, don't look so grim, will ya? I found us a golden ticket out of this mess as I promised ya," Butcher appeared and proclaimed triumphally.

"What is it this time, Butcher? What is the latest mess you’ve gotten us into?" MM scoffed.

"Nah, it's not like that, mate. Listen, I spoke with Mallory. They'll give us full immunity, budget, office, the full package. We just have to do one tiny job for them in exchange."

"Mon Dieu, here we go," Frenchie cast a wary look. Butcher gave him a stare, but remained silent.

"There's this supe Mindstorm. Cheeky little bugger. Apparently the guy has gone a bit bonkers and hides in a cabin deep in the woods, shitting his pants from paranoia. CIA wants him captured or killed. Easy peasy, nothing that we can't handle."

You couldn't help but snort. It always started like this with him before quickly going sideways. Butcher's gaze shifted to you instantly, his piercing hazel eyes fixing on you. “Unless the Queen of fuckin England here has something to say. Let’s hear it, love.”

You held his gaze. "Let's just do it and hopefully, we’ll be able to put an end to this nightmare and return home."

The others agreed with you. A plan was formulated and the next couple of hours were spent discussing the details. Just as everyone was leaving and you were about to follow them, Butcher approached you and blocked your way with his large hand. "Hold up for a second, will ya?"

"What do you want?" your defenses went up immediately.

"Do we have a problem ‘ere?" he gestured between you and him. "Cause if there is some unfinished business we better sort it out right now and don't let it affect the mission." He noticeably shortened the distance between you two. His intense gaze, full of spite and menace, was fixed directly on you. For a brief moment you thought you picked up something else in it, something more...unexpected. But you quickly dismissed this notion and maintained your defenses.

"We are even, so long as you keep your hands off Hughie."

Butcher chuckled, "I get it, you love the kid. But he is a grown ass man and just maybe you should let him stand up for himself occasionally, don't ya think?"

You opted not to reply and instead gave him a look filled with contempt before leaving the deck. Butcher remained staring in your direction. The truth was that he was impressed by you. He would never admit it out loud, but Mallory was right: you were an excellent addition to the team. Your skills were impressive, especially with guns; you were independent, confident, a quick thinker and had a very calm demeanor under pressure. On top of that, you were wickedly funny. And hot. If only you weren’t such a massive cunt. Sometimes your mere presence was irritating to him. Butcher sighed.

#billy butcher #the boys #monsters fic #billy butcher fic #billy butcher brainrot go brr #karl urban #billy butcher x you #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys prime #william butcher #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher x ofc

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nesaluvstherecoms · 9 months

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𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Y/N, a military prodigy, raised and trained in the Marine Corps, opens her eyes to a new life as a Recombinant. Her purpose is one and one only; being General Frances Ardmore’s right hand in taming the frontier in order to set up humanity’s future home on Pandora, including eliminating resisting natives. There’s only one problem; Y/N’s predecessor has never been on Pandora. Despite this challenge, Y/N seems to face a bigger issue. She’s surrounded by incompetent idiots. The biggest idiot in question seems to be someone among her own ranks. Miles Quaritch. Even with his rank as a Colonel, Quaritch still manages to screw up his biggest mission, ruining Y/N’s and Ardmore’s hard work in the process. With it being her job, Y/N has to find a way to go about this incompetent asshole, including dealing with his unchecked attitude, inability to successfully complete a single mission, impulsive decisions and his absolute lack of professionalism. Miles on the other hand wishes this damn woman would just die. She suddenly appeared one day, charmed Ardmore, got promoted to Major General, and now she thinks she can steal all the authority he had on base, run her rude ass mouth, give him shit about every single mission and boss him around like he’s her personal bitch? Who the fuck does she think she is? They both thought the natives would be their biggest enemies, but with each other among their own ranks, they’re starting to change their minds.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴀɢꜱ & ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dark themes, warfare, guns, typical military violence, heavy sexual activity (smut), forced neural bond (tsaheylu), identity crisis, death, injuries, PTSD, etc.

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ:

This is an enemies to lovers fic.

Y/N and Miles are both comfortable with engaging in sexual activities with the same gender.

Kind of a slow burn.

There are a lot of OCs because I needed more Marines and RDA personnel.

The male Na’vi in this fic have sheath folds because you cannot tell me those fuckers have their cocks out and their crotches are still flatter than my kitchen table.

For chapters with smut, dark themes or heavy triggers I will add warnings.

Recom logo header and dividers are mine, please credit if you use them.

This work is also on AO3, under the username: @nesaluvstherecoms

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐰. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐬

✮ ᴜɴɪᴛ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ꜱʜᴇᴇᴛ ✮

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐒𝐒𝐃𝐃

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔: 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕: 𝐆𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐼𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈…

#avatar the way of water #atwow fanfiction #atwow #miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x y/n #atwow recoms #avatar recoms #recom smut #recoms #recom lyle wainfleet #corporal lyle wainfleet #avatar rda #avatar #avatar fanfiction #recoms x reader #smut

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isabella-kr · 2 years

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Cold-Blooded (SERIES)

General Masterlist COD: MWII Masterlist

THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE MATURE THEMES, PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD OR OVER.

IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE, YOU CAN READ THE WATTPAD VERSION INSTEAD AS IT WILL CONTAIN NO SMUT!

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES MOT REPRESENT THE REAL ARMY!

Synopsis: John expected many things from his newest mission. But seeing the woman he was ordered to kill over a decade prior, now on his own squad, was not one of them.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader (This used to be an Original Character, and whilst I revised the chapters which I have published before changing this detail, I might have missed something; if you see any physical character description anywhere in the prologue & first 2 chapters, please let me know!)

Genre: Kind of Enemies to Lovers / slow burn

WARNINGS!!!: Description of violence, description of injuries, description of past mental & physical abuse, mention of brainwashing, manipulation, kidnapping, child assassins, imprisonment, mentions of a suicide attempt, mentions of self harm, PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, Social Anxiety, PRICE IS A SOFT LOVER IN THIS, eventual smut, mentions of murder and minor character death, reader has a backstory & personality (ofc) but there will be no physical descriptions, reader will also use British slang from time to time.

Disclaimer! I do not own the Call of Duty games, or any of the already existing characters and plots; only my own original characters and plot lines. Please do not repost this anywhere.

Note: Due to previous issues of having my stories stolen, this will also be available to read on Wattpad and AO3

Note 2: This story starts at the beginning of CoD: Modern Warfare (2019), and will have sub-plot before transitioning to CoD: Modern Warfare II

Prologue

Chapter One: No-Face

Chapter Two: Routines

Chapter Three: Inferno

Chapter Four: Tea?

Chapter Five: The Scythe

Chapter Six: Soldiers

Chapter Seven: Blues and Oranges

Chapter Eight: Piccadilly

Chapter Nine: Housekeeping

Chapter Ten: The Embassy

Chapter Eleven: Who Are You?

Chapter Twelve: Killer

Chapter Thirteen: Old Comrades

Chapter Fourteen: Going Dark

Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lora21 @kafeyjen

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty price #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare x you #cod x reader #cod x you #CODMW2 #CODMW #codmwii

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jims-strap-on · 9 months

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ABOUT:

hi i’m ash!! 27, any pronouns, genderqueer/bi/ace. i’ve been rping since 2009, and have been on fbrp since 2012. i decided to try out tumblr again. im married and have four cats.

i’m a multimuse rp account in the our flag means death, acotar, supernatural, good omens, marvel, phantom of the opera, and harry potter fandoms. my main fandoms are OFMD and ACOTAR, and my main muses are Jim, Izzy, Rhysand, Azriel, and Feyre. OC and crossover friendly.

I love writing angst, hurt/comfort, and romance, including (optional) smut. i can do either canon or AU. i especially love themes like enemies to lovers and mafia AUs.

I’m okay with dark themes such as violence, blood/gore, self-harm, drugs and alcohol, etc.

I don’t reply terribly consistently so writing with me requires patience, I work full time and suffer from PTSD/depression and can’t reply while in funks. I will not tolerate my partners nagging me for replies.

i’m not picky about reply length, there is NO need to match mine. sometimes I tend to rant and reply length gets away from me, I don’t expect the same detail in return. however I do prefer para/lit. usually I’ll write a couple of paragraphs.

𝙁𝙀𝙔𝙍𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙊

𝙍𝙃𝙔𝙎𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘽𝙄𝙊

𝘼𝙕𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙇 𝘽𝙄𝙊

OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH:

Muses: Izzy Hands, Jim Jimenez, Edward Teach, Archie, Stede Bonnet

Izzy/Stede

Izzy/Ed

Ed/Stede

Stede/Izzy/Ed

Oluwande/Jim

Jim/Archie

Oluwande/Jim/Archie

A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES:

Muses: Feyre Archeron, Azriel, Nesta Archeron, Rhysand, Eris Vanserra

Feyre/Rhysand

Nesta/Cassian

Azriel/Elain

Azriel/Gwyn

GOOD OMENS:

Muse: Crowley

Crowley/Aziraphale

SUPERNATURAL:

Muses: Sam, Dean

Dean/Castiel

Sam/Ruby

Sam and Dean (NOT shipping NOT as a pairing!! but I love brother interactions!)

HARRY POTTER:

Muses: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger

Draco/Harry

Draco/Hermione

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA/LOVE NEVER DIES:

Muses: Erik, Raoul

Erik/Christine

Erik/Raoul

MARVEL:

Mus𝙚𝙨: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Bucky/Natasha

Bucky/Steve

Bucky/Sam

Bucky/Tony

Bucky/Zemo

Bucky/Clint

Steve/Tony

AU WISHLIST:

enemies to lovers mafia boss AU: our muses are both leaders of rival organized crime rings. they are both alone in the world and have spent their lives looking out for number one, falling into a life of crime desperate for money with no other options left. could take place in the present, or 1940s brooklyn.

sugar baby AU: my muse is a successful, professional business owner searching online for a baby to take care of long term and spoil. the arrangement is strictly platonic and sexual, until feelings start to develop.

sugar baby mafia AU: our muses meet on a sugar baby website. my muse is a crime boss who is interested in your innocent muse as a live in submissive in exchange for a handsome monthly salary. your muse is interested in the world of organized crime, letting my muse show yours the ropes while providing sex as a stress relief. bonus points if your character ends up joining a life of crime and running the crime ring with mine

BDSM club owner AU: my muse is a BDSM club owner who meets your submissive character at the club and frequently run scenes in my character’s private room at the club. it turns out they compliment each other in the bedroom well; your muse is the brat who likes to work for their rewards, while mine is the brat tamer who has all the time in the world. possible kinks include degradation, masochism, knife play, bondage, spanking, ropes/cuffs, cock warming, voyeurism, praise—open to suggestions. i’m also open to a pleasure dom and eager submissive dynamic.

mafia boss/police officer AU: our muses match on bumble, meeting up at a club my muse owns for a first date. your character works as a police detective, not knowing that their date is actually the owner of several clubs which secretly are coverups for sex work and drug dealing. the very same crime ring that your muse is assigned to taking down.

slave auction AU: your muse is sold to mine at a slave auction, only my muse only purchased yours to take them away from this life, gain their trust, and slowly heal them over time. maybe my muse is also just a little lonely and wants companionship. my character keeps yours safe while only ever treating them with gentleness, which your muse is not used to after such a hard life. this could also be sunshine x grumpy, my muse being the brooding grump who has a not-so-secret soft side.

Other plots:

enemies to lovers, our characters hate each other and have frequent hate sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism to serve as a distraction. they are in deep denial about their feelings and keep the arrangement strictly physical, until they can’t any longer.

good omens only: crowley and aziraphale decide they want to explore the human act of intercourse, exploring what each other like in the bedroom as they learn about their boundaries and various kinks, leading to BDSM. they are only friends wishing to indulge in a new human interest they realize they really enjoy, leading to eventual relationship. dom!aziraphale

These are only possible specific plot ideas I enjoy, of course i’m open to anything; as mentioned earlier, my favorites are angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, found family, fwb to relationship… feel free to come to me with ANY of your own ideas! shipping/NSFW is not a necessity, i’m open to a lot!

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hauntedpenguinobservation · 11 months

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Carpe Noctem - Intro Post

DEMO - tba

You are a nobody. A supposedly ordinary human in a world full of powerful beings. Your life is all in all pretty average if not bordering on mind-numbing, like watching paint dry... That is until you were kidnapped and tossed into one especially small carriage to be delivered somewhere only the ancients knew of.

From now on nothing will ever be the same and you need to adapt to the ever-changing outside world as fast as possible. All the while trying to decipher your past and with that your part in an every-growing political conflict that borders to develop into an all out war the world has yet to see.

General content warnings: Bigotry & prejudice, horror elements, interspecies awkwardness, explicit language, depictions of violence, injuries, blood and death, explicit sexual content (if selected), flashbacks of a dark past to unveil, sprinkled with some homophobia here and there & general an unfair treatment of people with disabilities.

FEATURES

-> customizable MC (name, pronouns, appearance, identity)

-> semi-set personality due to evolve (MCs reclusive upbringing)

-> 5 characters to romance (3 in book 1, not sure if the other two will follow, they'll probably be fully romanceable in book 2)

-> POVs of the ROs included

-> an open-minded author that is inclined to change NPCs to fully fledged ROs depending on the general opinion/wishes of readers

-> an emotional roller coaster, all in all nothing for ppl that want a light-hearted theme

-> later on you'll be able to choose part of your race (vampires, merpeople, demons, shapeshifters, phoenixes -and many more) & with that you can determine and further develop your special skillset.

romanceable characters:

the master [Alois|Alice|Alix] (m|f|n) 24 winters

Aloof, cold eyes and reclusive as fuck. And your esteemed master -as if any of you actually want this dynamic... A hates you and your position, especially the hidden context it supplies to everyone they meet...

A has silver eyes that always seem distant, defined cheek bones with mostly soft facial features and long, silver hair. A wears fine dark clothing without other prominent features to despict their wealth.

Content warnings for A's route: denial of feelings aka one of the slowest burns imaginable, domestic violence, implied/referenced rape/non-con, anxiety attacks, self-harm, angst & hurt/comfort

the protector [Leto] (m|f|n) too many to count

Leto is a raven-like creature most would describe as monstrous-looking. They are rarely seen and the few moments they are, death is certain. For many commoners it's enough to see one of Leto's black feathers to warrant a swift escape.

Their past eludes them and you have to wonder - why does some antics of them seem kinda...familiar?

Content warnings for Leto's route: survivor-guilt, body dysphoria, touch-starved, angst, hurt/comfort, captivity & enslavement, torture, ptsd

the assassin [Zane|Zoey] (m|f) 28 winters

Z is everything their mother wanted them to be. Her own personal weapon. One she is now inclined to use for her vendetta against you.

They have dark brown hair with intelligent hazel eyes that seem to observe their surroundings constantly. They were raised with stories about you, stories you know nothing about. How can it be that Z seems to know more of you and your family than you yourself?

Should it worry you that they sound extremely resolute in stating their sole purpose is to rid the world of your existance?

Content warnings for Z's route: enemies to frenemies to lovers, eating disorder, alcohol-addiction, a tendency of morbid jealousy, past emotional abuse & manipulation

??? [redacted]

??? [also redacted]

more info tba

Small note of the author:

Everything is slow burn in this - even the character customization, cause I want to add those moments seamlessly into the story.

I tend to take my time. You can expect me to heavily focus on the characters and their feelings, with a slight disregard to describing the environment and such. I work with minimalistic efforts to still give a sense of what I imagine everything to be but with the intention to leave fine details to the reader's own imagination.

I'll try to be considerate of everyone's preferences, especially in the more kinky parts of the story. There'll be versions for more assertive characters as well as more passive one's. Though I should add that the ROs all have their own set of bias that they prefer. However there will be growth throughout the story, including that.

The gravity of your choices will intensify throughout book 1, especially as you get to know the Circle and the Court and every other political hive of intrigue.

And yes. You can die. The ROs can die. Almost everyone will be able to at some point, I guess. Though I don't like the idea of writing a total distopia, don't expect me to change my mind regarding that one that easily.

More infos will be added over time. I'll post lore snippets of my sketchbook soon, like the worldmap, the general outlines of the Circle & the Court, the different races and such.

Asks are welcomed.

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #if game #if wip #lgbtq #interactive fiction wip #twine game #twine if #twine wip

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a-student-out-of-time · 1 year

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Teach me your massive writing nerd ways, senpai!! 😫

(For real though, hope you get better soon ^^)

//Thank you ^^

//I'm not really an expert in this department, but here's Sixteen Steps on how I oversee the Fangan writing process:

Decide on your story's theme first and foremost. What's the major conflict? What ideas are being put forward and challenged? How will your Killing Game's story, character and environment reflect these? Are you sticking with the classics (Hope vs. Despair, Truth vs. Lies), something similar but new (Trust vs. Doubt, Growth vs. Stagnation, Redemption vs. Corruption) or are you going with something completely different? All of these can and should play a role on the nature of the Killing Game itself.

When you've decided on what kind of story you want to tell, work on the characters. Your characters shouldn't just be there to die and crack jokes, they should be an active part of the story and their arcs should ideally reflect the conflicts and themes. You also are not bound by the archetypes used in canon and can vary it up however you want.

Character arcs: Have them. Even with characters whose fates are sealed and they aren't going to die, there's no reason not to allow them some degree of growth and change in the time that they do have. Their arcs can even naturally conclude with their deaths in trials or the like, which can vary from them choosing to save someone else to one final act of spite against the rest of the group.

You are not bound by the almighty outline. You're also going to need at least a general idea of where you want your story to go, but it's okay to provide yourself with a degree of flexibility. Who's going to survive? Who isn't? Why? What are the motives? Are they doing anything besides just faffing around waiting for the next murder? Maybe your ideas will change, just make sure you can smoothly integrate those new ideas without upsetting the flow and clues you've established.

Small moments are more important than big ones. Moments of characterization in the plot, like vulnerability, small confrontations, even casually-provided pieces of dialogue can do more for your characters than just having them die horribly/dramatically or them revealing something major in or after the trial. FTEs should be supplemental, not the place you dump all their best/worst character qualities.

Characters should communicate. You shouldn't define characters purely by their relationship to the protagonist or to one other character. See how many dynamics and interactions you can come up with, and how you might be able to include those into the story. Diversifying interactions opens up a lot of potential new dynamics and story opportunities.

It's okay to be a LITTLE self-indulgent. I say this because I got flak for saying writers shouldn't let their self-indulgence overwhelming their fangans. I will clarify that it's okay if you want to include something just because you want to include it, as I have in my own writing, but if you want a murder method/execution/confrontation/what have you in the story, please at least integrate it in a way that makes sense. If you don't, it's going to feel jarring at best and actively harmful and disruptive to the story at worst.

Your setting should feel like a part of the story. The place where your cast is trapped shouldn't feel like a featureless prison with setups for murders, it should have an active role in the situation and clue us into the story. Is it run-down and grungy? Unnaturally clean for an inhabited space? Is it dark? Is it colorful and lively? What's keeping them from leaving? What do they find as they explore?

Avoid stereotypes about mental health. If you're going to use DID, Schizophrenia, Autism, OCD, depression, PTSD, Bipolar Disorder, any personality disorder, etc., PLEASE do your research before you even think about writing a character with any of these. Mental health being equated with violence is grossly exaggerated; people with these conditions are more likely to be victims of violence, not the perpetrators. Please don't make a character built out of negative stereotypes just for the sake of drama or making the story "interesting." A good character is vastly more interesting than another Genocider Syo knockoff.

Idiot Plots are Unacceptable. There's a fine line between a character making a bad decision because of pride, fear, miscalculation, or any sort of understandable flaw, and them making one because the story needs them to in order for a murder to happen. Your characters can make all the right decisions that they reasonably could, and still ultimately fail. That often makes the antagonists seem much smarter and more threatening.

Do not overly focus on the rival. If you've ever heard someone say that villains are more interesting than heroes, that person is probably just bad at writing heroes. Your protagonist does not have to be boring and your rival doesn't have to, and preferably shouldn't, be the most important and well-written character in the story. A good rival challenges the protagonist and serves as their foil in some way, but that also means the protagonist can challenge them in other ways; e.g. Byakuya has no chance of solving Trial 4 because he couldn't even conceive of a situation where someone would sacrifice themselves for another.

Suffering does not equate to sympathy. Yes, a killing game would be a miserable experience, but just making the characters miserable and putting them through the wringer constantly, with no chance for them to breathe or get any kind of victory often feels more exhausting than sympathetic or interesting. This extends beyond fangans and into writing in general; if you've established that a character is never going to succeed at anything they do, people are going to emotionally check out of the story because there's no reason to get invested that something might go wrong.

The mastermind should reflect one side of the conflict. For the driving theme, whichever side the protagonist is on, the mastermind should represent the opposite. For extra thematic flair, maybe have their backgrounds parallel each other in some manner and see how their lives too very different paths as a result. If they don't, they're going to feel very disconnected from the story and like they had no reason to do this at all.

Ask yourself what kind of mastermind works best for your story. Do you want someone loud and bombastic? Quiet and scheming? Angry and bitter? A deluded paragon who thinks they're doing good with their killing game? Someone not even human? When you have it in mind, work backwards and ask how this person would then decide to become the mastermind of this killing game in the first place.

If you're stuck, try reverse-engineering. A lot of us have the outcome of a story in mind first but aren't sure how we get there, especially with murders in these games. I find the best way is to work backwards, starting with the outcome (basically the Closing Argument) and scattering all the pieces of the murder scene around to where it becomes a mystery. Motivations, of course, should be the first thing on your mind and why they targeted a particular character.

EXECUTIONS ARE NOT A STORY. This is probably the biggest hurtle I see with a lot of aspiring fangan writers, where they focus very much on the deaths and executions over everything else. Your fangan can't just be a paper-thin plot designed to get us from one execution to the other, it needs an actual story and characters to keep us engaged. Furthermore, your executions shouldn't just be spectacle, they should have a purpose in the narrative and provide character insights in and of themselves, whether it's ironic punishments or some final revelation about the character.

//And there you go, some tips for writing a fangan. Hope these help! ^^

#mod talks #a student out of time #writing advice #fanganronpa #fanganronpa writing advice #fangan writing advice

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fallen-in-dreams · 10 months

Text

CHAPTER NINE on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 9,004.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Enjoy. ^_^

Tumblr version:

… Chapter Nine: Little Bits and Pieces of Lies. ...

.:.

When I heard that sound When the walls came down I was thinking about you About you

-- Skin, by Rag’n’Bone Man

.:.

The shift change was a few minutes late.

The guard sighed into the paper wrapping in his mouth, puffing out a few smoke clouds, trying and failing to form it into something recognisable. Last week, Yaeko had tried to show him how to make rings, but he wasn’t very good at it. Impatient, he looked back along the ridge of the tallest tower on Suna’s borders. The walls of his village were large and imposing above him. On ground level, he could still trail his eyes along the entrance where Yaeko was supposed to pop out of five minutes ago.

Bloody woman.

This was just a bad night overall. He had no idea how this particular kunoichi had ever made it as a genin, let alone her current rank of chunin. She was always late. She didn’t own a clock and slept like a log. He’d gone to wake her numerous times only to be kicked in the head, or somewhere more precious, as she startled into consciousness.

I shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.

As a newly appointed Jounin, guard duty was supposed to be off his roster. But things had not been going according to plan for several years now. He ran a hand down the front of his flak jacket. There was just no getting used to how much more comfortable this uniform made him feel. The rank came with perks, including not having to do guard duty, but the village had been short-handed recently, with the increase in missions and training of more genin squads than usual. So, he’d volunteered. At least for a few shifts before his new team had been organised. There was nothing to do until then, anyway. Rumour had it, open war was upon them, and his specialty was in high demand, even in this Cold War.

He was a sensor.

This was why he felt it; a sudden spike of chakra that was barely there if you weren’t paying attention. He waved a hand sign to two nearby patrol guards, and they paused, also waiting to see what was going on. If it was another attack, they would be ready. The fires that had spread through their home had come from inside, but anything was possible.

All three guards tensed at the soft flash of light. A figure that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

The newly appointed jounin sighed in relief as their visitor stepped into view. Just beyond the gate there was a blind spot of darkness at night-time that even moonlight couldn’t fill. If you never did guard duty, you’d never know it was there.

“Sorry about that,” she said, looking anything but.

The guard stood to attention. “Lady Temari, everyone’s been worried.” He frowned, eyeing the way she was holding herself; her iron fan weapon was doing most of the holding. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, it looks like we have reason to be.”

Temari grunted at him. “I don’t need a medic,” she said, when he opened his mouth to speak again. “I just need to get home. I have to report straight to…” She winced.

He’d met her in person a few times and if there was one thing he’d learned about the oldest of the sand siblings it was that she hated being treated like she was useless. Nobody helped her. She helped herself. That was the rumour too. By the looks of her, she’d used up all her chakra just to get back and it was clearly embarrassing her. She shifted her stance, attempting to look more imposing. Her face was flushed and there were bruises and gashes on her person he was sure were hurting more than she let on.

No need to drag this out, I guess.

He nodded to her, and she visibly relaxed. “Understood.” He motioned to the patrol guards who were still standing in the same wary stance from before Temari had revealed herself. “I can’t leave my post but–”

“No,” she said, “you.”

Was this because he was a jounin? The other guards were chunin. A number of reasons came to mind, but he didn’t know what the big deal was.

“Come on,” she interrupted his thoughts. Temari started towards him, using her fan like a cane.

He nodded again and ordered one of the patrol guards to take his place until he returned. The blonde grimaced as he slid his arm around her. She stumbled and swore under her breath. They took a moment before he suggested using his own brand of the Body Flicker Technique. She seemed amenable.

“What do I call you, Mr Jounin Guard?” She asked as he manoeuvred them better so he could form the signs properly.

“My name is Arata, my lady.”

.:.

It was only an hour. It felt longer. Gaara carried Sakura’s sleeping form into her room after her breakdown, tucking her into the bedsheets, unable to leave her. For an hour. He just sat on the side of the bed, watching her, and resisting the urge to brush the errant strands of pink hair from her face.

She looks so peaceful right now. And he should leave.

But Gaara couldn’t move. Under normal circumstances, he’d feel like a pervert or creeper for hovering while she slept. But he wasn’t paying attention to her body. Not like that. Not right now. Besides, she was tucked up under the blankets. She was hidden. He just couldn’t bring himself to stand up. To move away from her. It felt like he’d be leaving her behind, or something. It was a ludicrous feeling, he knew, but one he felt, nonetheless.

It was an old story, for himself, how much he’d been worrying over her. Objectively, she was supposed to be his fiancé, so his concern was warranted. But there was a line he’d told himself not to cross. He’d never had cause to worry about that until now.

Gaara sighed as Sakura stirred suddenly. She pouted in her sleep, and he found himself smiling. Whatever she was dreaming about, it wasn’t horrid at least. Without thinking, he reached over and brushed those strands of hair away from her eyes and she sighed, settling down.

Don’t think about that.

Gaara looked around the room. It was a spare room, of course. There were too many rooms in this place. Growing up, he’d wondered if all the rooms were for invisible entities, just like the one that lived inside his head. He’d been too scared to check. After his father started trying to kill him, everything changed. His fear went away. When he returned to the family, he checked them one night only to be disappointed. They were just empty bedrooms.

There was a lesson in there, somewhere, about not fearing the unknown.

His eyes skimmed over what Sakura had done with the room, which wasn’t much since she owned so little. The back of the door worried him. What were all those numbers for? He narrowed his eyes. They were a tally. He didn’t understand it.

Finally, Gaara decided to leave. His presence wasn’t doing anything, negative or positive.

Sakura groaned at the same time he felt a flare of chakra that didn’t belong to her, himself, or Kankuro. It was too weak to identify, and he immediately thought of that Root shadow and, what is he up to now? But it wasn’t him.

Gaara took one quick glance at Sakura to make sure she wasn’t disturbed, and quickly left her room.

Kankuro came bumbling out of his room at the same time, with a stunned look on his face. Spotting Gaara, that expression twisted into a coy one. The redhead had just come out of Sakura’s room, after all. Gaara shook his head to silence his question. There were more important things right now. Kankuro nodded silently, and then barrelled down the stairs ahead of his brother.

The weak chakra flare was closer and stronger now.

“Temari.”

He followed his brother down the stairs and into the study at the forefront of the mansion. Surrounded by comfort and a conference table that his sister had once dubbed a war table, Temari stood in the centre of the room. She was alone. But there had been someone with her a moment ago. Gaara and Kankuro both let out a sigh of relief at the sight of their sister. Kankuro made a move like he was going to rush over to her and then stopped. The tears in her clothes, caked blood, and bruises were all obvious. She wasn’t standing under her own power either, her iron fan signature weapon doubling as a leaning post. Her right hand trembled ever so slightly, out of synch with the trembling of her left leg. Gaara swallowed heavily, trying not to imagine all manner of things she’d been through.

She’s alive, he told himself. And that’s all that matters.

Clearing his throat, Kankuro brushed off his hesitation and moved forward. “Temari, I–”

“Settle down,” she interrupted. “Don’t make a fuss.” She moved toward the largest chair in the room, controlling her trembling as best she could, before stumbling. Both of her brothers stepped forward now, moving to help but Temari held up a hand to stop them. She inhaled sharply through her nose and then sank into the thick, leather lined chair with a deep sigh of relief. “Just give me a moment.”

“Do you need a–”

“No.”

Gaara gave Kankuro a pointed look. But his brother just brushed him off.

“Where is the rest of your squad?”

“They’ll be here in the morning,” she said, not looking at them. “They’re worse off than I am. They’ll need the night to rest before making the journey back.” She closed her eyes for a few blissful, quiet moments before forcing herself to sit up. “I thought I should get this information to you as fast as possible.”

Gaara took the scroll from her outstretched hand, meeting her all the way so she wouldn’t strain herself. He gripped it tightly but didn’t move to open it. She raised her eyebrows at him and glared until he sighed and unrolled it. Kankuro moved next to him to read over his shoulder. After a moment, Kankuro made a distinctly unimpressed noise and moved away, while Gaara reread it carefully. Slowly. Again. And again.

“That’s some intel, sis,” Kankuro said, taking one of the other plush chairs and crossing his arms over his chest.

Temari nodded. “They’re on the move again and the daimyo is moving to intercept. Our spotters have lost their whereabouts.”

Gaara let that sink in. The night that Danzo took over Konoha, the Fire Daimyo called an emergency meeting with all the other daimyo. It was a strategic move to prevent the others from acting on the insurgence. The usurper took over with no consequences on the political and inter-village level. The old man had to know that not all the kage were happy about this betrayal. Gaara was not the only one. Even the Raikage had, allegedly, fought with his daimyo over it. But there was nothing to be done beyond complaining, behind the scenes. To publicly condemn Danzo’s actions, given they were sanctioned by a daimyo, would be too risky. It might even be seen as an act of war.

(It was moments like these in which Gaara missed Naruto most of all. He wouldn’t have taken this lying down.)

So, the Leaf Resistance received no help from anyone. Not officially. They fled their village, those that managed to, and roamed the five nations. Officially, they were deserters and were to be either killed or captured on sight. But the past few years had been very quiet on that front. Because they had received help. Gaara had given it to them. When he could.

That’s a complicated can of worms.

“Should we tell Sakura?” Kankuro asked Gaara.

“Sakura?” Temari sat up straight in the chair, wincing at the movement. “Sakura Haruno is here?”

Kankuro snorted. “Do you know any other Sakura’s?”

It was Gaara’s turn to wince. “She is here.”

His sister looked anxious all of a sudden. “Why?”

Kankuro snorted again, this time a little louder. “Because we have a traitor in the council.”

Temari’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gaara said. Sakura could wake up. They could gather the attention of the Root shadow outside. He felt the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“Why is she here?”

“Danzo sent her,” Kankuro said. She scoffed but he continued. “He and our esteemed council decided it was high time Gaara is married.”

Temari raised her eyebrows at Gaara, and the redhead scowled at the light twitching of humour at the corner of her mouth. She stamped it down, though. “If we can’t trust the council–”

“We can trust Ebizō,” Gaara interrupted. “I have a deal with him,” he added, when his siblings looked sceptical. “And you forget all he’s done for the village.”

“We don’t forget, Gaara,” she said, pressing a hand to her side again and wincing. “We simply overlook it.”

“What deal?” Kankuro asked.

Gaara glanced up at the ceiling. “If he retires now, that will leave the council in chaos. I persuaded him to remain, to groom Councillor Ryūsa for the position.”

“And what does he get in return?”

Gaara didn’t want to say. It wasn’t horrible. It just wasn’t the most ethical bribe he’d ever made. Lord Ebizō had initially gone into retirement because of Lady Chiyo. He’d stopped caring about the cycle of ninja problems because of his sister. And now she was dead. Ebizō had always been the more rational of the two. If things didn’t improve, his retirement would become impossible. Or permanent, if he was ever attacked, out in that oasis all alone.

“Come on, Gaara!” Kankuro said. “You can tell us.”

“I know that. It’s just…”

“You keep him in the loop,” Temari guessed. “Even when you feel the need to hide things from other council members.”

“It is a mutual exchange of information,” Gaara said. He waved a hand between himself and his siblings. “Us, Baki and Ebizō are the only ones I trust.”

“You trust us enough to not tell us about Ebizō until now?”

Temari frowned. “Shut it, Kankuro.” She turned to Gaara. “What about Sakura? How does she fit into all these machinations?”

“She doesn’t.”

“How could she not?” She pointed to the scroll still in Gaara’s hands. “She deserves to know–”

“No.” Gaara returned her icy stare.

“Why?”

Gaara eased off on his stare but didn’t back down. His ability to protect the village lessened with every person who knew about that. He did not believe for one moment that Sakura Haruno would shout it at the top of her lungs, let alone pass the knowledge along quietly to the last people who should know. It wasn’t the point. But he’d promised Naruto to keep her safe. To keep anyone from the Leaf that ever came into his care safe. He did not know when or why it would happen, but the blond had been adamant. And Gaara would not deny the wishes of a dead man.

He closed his eyes, lightly rubbing a slight pain on his chest. Gaara moved to the third chair, feeling exhausted.

But was his silence truly keeping Sakura safe? What would she do if he told her? Would she try to escape and get herself killed trying to track those people down? She was so broken. It was clear to anyone who spent even a short amount of time around her. Could he believe she wouldn’t do something reckless, heedless of her own safety? And how was she even going to find them anyway? Nobody had, for two years. Gaara’s communications with them had been mostly one-sided. He had no idea, right this moment, how to contact them until they broke that silence themselves.

(But of course, he had been trying to, with no luck so far.)

He had no answers for any of that. But Gaara wasn’t an idiot. He knew she would find out eventually. His plans were in a delicate balance right now and pulling one thread from it could bring the whole thing down.

“We need to find out who the council traitor is first,” he said, his voice stronger than he felt. “That is our main priority.”

Temari looked like she wanted to argue more but thought better of it. She sighed and settled further into the chair, almost like she was trying to merge with it. Silence. The siblings all sat, twiddling their proverbial thumbs. Kankuro wanted to talk more about the state his sister was in. Gaara wanted this discussion to get to the point so he could order her to go see a medic. Temari just wanted a hot bath.

She sighed wistfully. “I didn’t know she was still in Konoha.”

Kankuro nodded, biting the inside of his mouth. “Nobody did, apparently. Fire’s best kept secret. Probably some sick game Danzo is playing.”

“How is she?” She asked.

Gaara understood that Temari was more empathetic to people than her reputation let on, but he was surprised by the concern in her voice. He wondered if it was because of what had happened to the Leaf as a whole. Or maybe she was being protective in remembrance for another Leaf shinobi she continued to pine for, long after his death. Gaara remained quiet, contemplating that while his siblings continued talking.

“How long has she been here?”

“I dunno. Maybe three weeks.”

“What has she been doing, missions, hospital–”

“The council wants her in the wedding plans.”

Temari scoffed. “Old farts.”

“I know right? That’s what I said!”

Their discussion moved from what Sakura was doing to what they planned to do with her. This façade of an engagement. How Gaara had been delaying the preparations. And landed on the pinkette’s thievery.

“Plus,” Kankuro pointed a finger at the air, “I’m pretty sure she’s been stealing ink bottles from Gaara’s study. She asked me for some once but that doesn’t account for how much more I’ve had to buy.”

Temari didn’t look convinced. “Why would she want ink?”

“She claims it’s for journal writing. Or maybe it was for writing letters. I don’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gaara interjected as Temari moved to reply. He wasn’t worried about whatever it was Sakura was using the ink for. He had a feeling it was personal, anyway. And if he could help by turning a blind eye, he would. His siblings looked mollified and fell silent. But eventually, Kankuro had to speak. It was a compulsion.

“She’s looking better though.” He waggled his eyebrows at Gaara.

Temari glared at him. “If I could get up without pulling something right now, I’d smack you.” She sighed as her brothers’ expressions grew grim. “About this thing with Danzo…”

That was another can of worms. Temari knew the alliance they had was just for show. But she was behind on why they were going along with it.

Kankuro lost his smile. “His shadows are up to something.”

Temari looked confused for a moment, then it dawned on her. “There’s a Foundation member in the village?”

“I forgot that’s their official name,” he replied, pulling a face. “But yeah, a Root member followed Sakura on this mission of hers. We’re keeping him out of sensitive areas of the village,” he added, when Temari looked scandalised. “And Gaara has a couple of Anbu trailing him at all times. The fucker gets around, let me tell you.”

Temari nodded, then sighed. “It seems I missed a lot.”

“Does that mean you’re staying now?”

“Kankuro,” she said snappily.

“Temari,” he mocked her.

“I have to–”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped. “There are other ninja in this village who can–”

Temari groaned, her voice rising as she interrupted him. “So, you’re fine with others getting hurt and maybe dying in my place while I sit here, holed up and doing nothing of value?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!”

She gripped the arms of her chair painfully, seething and glaring at him as he glared right back. Then she winced and clutched at her side. Temari took a deep breath, her face tinged red with anger. “Well, that’s just–”

“Keep your voices down,” Gaara said, echoing his earlier sentiment. He agreed with Kankuro, but as the Kazekage he couldn’t voice the fact that he’d rather send multiple squadrons out than risk his own sister. Even in front of family. Temari sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling and Kankuro stood, now pacing behind his armchair. This wasn’t the reunion Gaara had been hoping for. But tension was a given among siblings, no matter their relationship. He waited a few minutes for tempers to settle and opened his mouth to speak again, but Temari beat him to it.

Her eyes had drifted in the direction of the internal staircase. She looked determined. “I want to see her.”

“She is asleep,” Gaara said, ignoring the way Kankuro smirked and waggled his eyebrows, clearly remembering where his brother had been when Temari had returned. “I do not wish to disturb her.”

And she was so exhausted, Gaara doubted she’d be lucid enough for an impromptu visit, even if Temari did wake her up. He had no idea how tiring the events of every day was for her. Especially one as jam packed with work at the hospital as the current day had been. Not to mention how she’d tired herself out with that meltdown. She needed to rest.

Temari nodded slowly. “Okay. In the morning, then.”

“You should get healed up,” Kankuro told her. “You’re no good to anyone in this state,” he added, when she growled at him.

“Kankuro is right,” Gaara said, and she sighed. “You could barely walk into the room and are clearly in pain.”

She glared at them both.

“Temari–”

“Fine. If…” She looked away, her cheeks turning red, “someone could help me to the medical core… thanks.”

Kankuro strode over to her immediately and Gaara stood and ducked to lift her slowly so she could stand. She winced again and he almost called his sand to help but decided to manually move her. They hobbled toward the front door.

Kankuro tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got this. You need to rest. You look worse than you did yesterday.”

That was true. His own sleep had been even more strained as of late, as well. Gaara nodded reluctantly and moved out of the way as his brother shifted to guide their sister better. She would not be carried like she was a child, so he kept her upright and grunted under her weight. Perhaps it was her way also, of punishing him for those earlier remarks. Temari spared Gaara a soft look and he smiled at his sister.

“It is not weak to accept help when you need it,” her admonished as Kankuro took her away. He knew she’d heard him. He could only hope she understood.

.:.

The sound of heavy rain startled her out of her cosy dreams. Light streamed into the room and she blinked heavily, a warm smile on her face. There was no rain. It existed only in her mind. But that was okay. She’d slept well, all things considered. Surprisingly enough. Maybe it had something to do with how she’d exhausted herself the previous night. Sakura had cried herself to sleep a number of times over the years but never did it leave her feeling so refreshed, come morning.

Or maybe it was Gaara.

Even if it wasn’t, it made her feel warm. Safe. Content. She snuggled into the bed sheets and poked a tongue at herself, giggling softly into her pillow as she stretched out as far as she could. There was no logical reason for it but she felt ridiculously happy.

Ridiculous.

Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to question it. Sakura closed her eyes and rolled over, away from the sunlight. But the warmth of it on her back was comforting. All she cared about was that post-dream feeling she’d missed having for a very long time. This was what mornings were supposed to feel like. No headaches. No post-nightmare illusions. She wondered idly if the Prazosin she’d stolen from the hospital had anything to do with this but it was probably too early for the effects to kick in.

Not that it mattered, really. She sighed once more before holding her breath, eyes wide.

There’s a new chakra signature in the building.

She sat up quickly and froze, heart racing.

Who is that?

The familiarity of it struck her but she couldn’t place it. They flared and it spiked a few times as though in warning but it came with no war cry or burst of aggressive pulses. No hand signs were being woven.

Just saying, hello or I’m home. What the hell?

But they’d made it through the sealing barrier and whomever they were, Kankuro was with them so she knew it wasn’t an intruder. Sakura laid back down, following Gaara’s chakra as she sensed him leave his room and join Kankuro and the new (but not really new) person down stairs. She smiled. Her housemates had a really predictable sleep schedule.

She knew that Kankuro fell asleep pretty fast, when he was alone. In that case she simply had to wait for about ten minutes of silence, to be sure there were no conscious occupants of the room. Sakura smiled at that, though she was always careful to silence her room as best as possible. It made her wonder if Gaara (or Temari) had ever called him out on how loud he could be.

Gaara was another matter. He clearly still had a residual level of insomnia so if she wanted to sneak down to the first floor (for example), she had to make it look like she was going for a midnight snack. If he found her, she needed an excuse. She liked the snacks they stocked, so it fit.

Or icecream, she thought, remembering the previous encounter she’d had with Gaara. It still burned her with embarrasment. The council wanted to take the kunai back but she felt a weird sense of ownership over it that her anxiety let get out of control. She hated that her weakness was so obvious and that she’d overreacted to the thought of the kunai being taken away. She could still remember the uncontrollable bubble of emotion that raged right over her as she lost control of herself and her common sense.

She sighed.

I need to get up.

Sakura couldn’t lie in bed forever, and she was curious about this new chakra signature. After she quickly showered though, the anxiety had kicked back in so she decided to find out who they were later. Her hand had hovered over the door nob but she wasn’t ready to go out there and face any of them. The owner of the chakra had come upstairs and she realised with startling clarity that she knew who it was.

She still had memories of the tough, no-nonsense kunoichi that had clearly won the heart of her friend. Shikamaru. The thought of him made her eyes moist but she kept the tears from forming. Years ago, there’d been something special between Shikamaru and Temari, mixed in with their mutual griping. And while it hurt her heart to think of them never seeing each other again, she was glad the other kunoichi had survived.

Sakura pressed the palms of her hands against the door, instinctively pushing down her chakra past where she had already done so and listened to the sounds of Temari moving through the house, entering her own room. Followed by a few light crashes like she was tipping something over.

She’s okay?

Sakura wanted to go check but this was enough for now. She pulled away from the door, getting a face full of the messy scribbles of daily kanji she’d been adding to the back of it. She glared at them. No. She could add to it later. The clock on her wall told her it was almost breakfast time. Unlike dinner, breakfast seemed mostly an individual affair in this house.

But six o’clock was too early for her.

Sakura didn’t feel tired anymore though, so she decided to do something else. There was only one other thing that had been on her mind lately. But while she’d already perfected her ink bird creation and sent one scouting around the village, there was little Sakura could do without alerting either the Root shadow or other ninja to any escape attempt. It still felt important to her to use the creatures and find a path out, no matter what happened. But she also needed another provision, if she was ever going to accomplish this. Sakura needed poison. The land of wind had many avenues with which to explore this combat option, but very few that Sakura had any access to. After rattling through a long list of possibilities in her head, on how to do this, only one option stood out as even remotely feesible. She was going to have to find a venomous animal. A local one. A native. Something very dangerous. It was an exciting prospect.

The difference between poison and venom was simple: the former was used to refer to toxins that were injested (eaten, etc), and the later was applied to organisms that bite or sting to inject toxins. The way the foreign substance was introduced into the body was the key. She needed venom.

Sakura knew some poison jutsu learned from Shizune, but did not own any tools that could help. Everything she ever had on her person was highly regulated, even the travelling bag. Objects like her charcoal and a few trinkets she’d collected that had no combat value had only been allowed because they were inocuous and the Foundation members who poked and prodded it weren’t personally aware of any intimate connections they might have.

She had Sai’s charcoal, which he’d left behind in his apartment and was overlooked when Root ransacked the place. A ragged toad figurine that Naruto had startled her with once as a practical joke and she’d found in rubble near his destroyed apartment. A twig from Yamato’s Wood Release from that time he’d used his technique to help her save her dying plant; it had still been in her parent’s house, waiting for her. A fingerless glove of Kakashi’s, minus the metal plate; she’d found it not far from the last known location of his body. And a scrap of material she’d torn from Sasuke’s mostly burnt Konoha headband that was going to be thrown out after a Root member was caught keeping it as a trophy. These items had each been carefully collected over time, starting with the charcoal during her first time free of the Root headquarters.

Sakura ran her fingers over the travel bag without opening it. The urge to do so was strong though. But no, they were best left covered and out of sight. She had trinkets and nothing useful for what she planned to get out of her stay in Suna. She hadn’t gone out of her way to procur weapons or poisons that Danzo hadn’t assigned to her or she hadn’t stolen, in years.

The preparation this kunai was going to need was more complicated than simply dipping it in venom, so her resources were limited. Trying to get everything she needed would draw too much attention.

I can handle this.

She’d had larger stumbling blocks. She just needed to focus on the things she could do more easily, right now. But that venom was non-negotiable.

Sakura had already practised giving instructions to the ink birds she sent on reconnaisance, so she imagined telling one to bring her a poisonous snake wouldn’t be difficult. She just needed the right tools for this job. Ink based tools, to be precise.

Sakura knelt down on the floor of her bedroom, tucking her feet under her bum and opened the stopper for the ink well, laying out the scroll as usual. She didn’t need to reference the book to get the image and proportions right this time. Practice made perfect but only if you were capable of it. She would just have to deal with what came out of this. But the repetitive motions had afforded her more leeway. She could even experiment with the shape more than before. She ran through the familiar movements, bringing the bird to life first and she smiled as it cawed at her.

“Sshh!” She held a finger to her lips and it obediently dipped its head in a show of what this weird version of anthropomorphism would call compliance. It had been loud, but there was no noise from outside her room. No feet rushed to find the source of the noise.

Sakura sighed in relief. “Keep quiet, okay?”

The bird dipped its head once more and flapped its wings.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat. The bird was larger than the rest as she’d modelled it after a vulture (bad artistic skills notwithstanding), though it was still smaller than the real birds of the species. She needed it large enough to catch a viper snake but not so large that many people would be drawn to it. It occurred to her that maybe this bird wasn’t enough. Wherever it found a snake (and Sakura was mostly sure there were some in a sanctuary within Suna itself, but maybe not) it had to grab it without alerting any humans in the area. Or any jutsu that could alert humans.

So another ink animal would be needed to accompany it.

Snakes had numerous natural predators, not the least of which was other snakes. It was perfect.

The size concerns for the ink snake were the same for the ink bird. She settled on forming a few generic looking snakes to test, as she’d done many times for the bird, but didn’t need to do it as much. They were a far simpler design. The snake she settled on reminded her of the viper in the book she’d borrowed from Kankuro and she was proud of how much better she was at that.

Still no better than a five year old’s drawing, mind.

Sakura tested the snake by telling it to leave the kazekage mansion for a few minutes before returning. Her heart raced as she watched it go, her eyes drifting to the clock on her wall as she counted out the seconds. She waited, with the ink bird impatiently hopping around and pecking at her floor (what was up with that?), and waited. Eventually, the snake slithered back in through the open window and she had to muffle a woop of excitement.

“Yes,” she said with a soft hiss and held her hand out to the snake. It moved to her without hesitation and coiled around her wrist, moving gently up her arm. She’d never held a real snake before so Sakura had no idea if these smooth and dry sensations were from the texture of the ink or just her imagination. It felt so soft though, as her poor attempts at scales were not even scales. But she couldn’t stop grinning.

The ink bird hopped over to her and tapped at the ink snake which caused the faux reptile to raise up and hiss at its attacker. It was more of a gurgling sound that only sounded like hissing if you really wanted it to.

“Hey,” she snapped. “Settle down.”

The bird gave her a baleful look that only made her chuckle at it. How did the damn thing have so much personality?

Maybe it stole mine.

That thought caused a new round of giggles from her. Her creations were so sloppy compared to what Sai could’ve done but the immensity of pride she felt over them could not be quashed. She hadn’t created anything for herself in so long, it felt like a lifetime since the last moment she’d ever felt this proud of herself. Sakura couldn’t remember the last time but logically it was from before Danzo’s takeover. Perhaps in the midst of battle or an accomplishment while studying more difficult medical jutsu.

It didn’t even matter.

She felt so free in that moment. So weightless.

I feel like I can take on the world.

If she could recreate these things then her plans were going to be so much easier.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, and both bird and snake facsimiles turned to face her. “I need a venomous snake. A real one. But…” She didn’t want it dead but Sakura also had no experience dealing with live snakes. They were dangerous, even if you chopped off their head. She could use the ink animals to subdue it but there’d always be that underlying fear that it would break loose and bite her. It was not rational for them to bring it back alive.

Sorry.

She sighed. “Let’s try for a viper – they’re native to the desert. Work together. Find something within Suna if you can, but stay out of sight.” She paused. “And kill it first. Quickly. But keep it constrained at all times, and bring the carcass to me, but only if I’m alone, like in this room. Just… don’t be seen.”

No reaction. Their lifeless eyes just stared at her. It was kind of creepy, but she’d prefer these to her look-alike mirage any day. “Now,” she barked.

They moved immediately; the bird hopped up to the window and waited for the snake to slither up to it. Under their own, respective power, they disappeared. Gone through the open window. Sakura watched them vanish, now feeling morose. Her mood dimmed. She had no idea if and when they would return, but despite this, was confident none of this would be in vain.

.:.

There was no excuse to delay it any longer. The day had begun. And like it or not, she had to return to her previous obligations. For now. Fresh on the high of having finally sent her ink creatures out to capture and kill a snake for her venom, Sakura dressed (having already showered), and then tentatively made her way downstairs, knowing all three of the sand siblings were waiting for her.

They were in the kitchen.

Sakura smelled the fried breakfast from the top of the stairs and on the last step, her stomach gurggled painfully. She walked into the kitchen and stopped immediately, her body tensing as one of the figures in the room turned and threw themselves at her. Normally, she’d have ducked out of the way and counterattacked but Sakura found herself rooted to the spot as Temari embraced her. The pinkette didn’t hug her back, despite all the alarm bells ringing in her head, reminding her she probably should. It was a weird way to feel torn. But she did relax into the blonde’s hold and waited her out instead of trying to push her away.

“Come on, Temari,” Kankuro said eventually. “Let her breathe and eat something before you attempt to suffocate her, at least.”

“Sorry.”

Sakura plastered a fake smile to her face as Temari pulled away. The blonde winced immediately.

Bad fake smile.

She was ushered over to the island in the middle of the kitchen, next to Gaara, who gave her a small smile that she easily returned. It seemed they were all waiting for her to do or say something.

“Thank-you,” she whispered, when Kankuro handed her a plate ladden with fired bacon, eggs, and tomato.

“Anything you want to add?” He asked, and she chose some extra bacon and some onion. Lots of it.

Sakura smiled around her food as the siblings fell into silence, thankfully not all staring at her now.

Well this is fun.

.:.

After breakfast, a knock on the door signalled the arrival of Matsuri and Yukata, who had taken over supervisory roles of escorting Sakura to the wedding planning. Gaara had been able to get Sakura out of most of these ridiculous days, but the council had insisted she attend a few days a week, and today was one of those days. He watched her face fall when she realised, but then lighten up when Kankuro flung the door open to reveal her new escorts.

Matsuri and Yukata greeted Temari warmly, clearly having not realised she was back, then did their duty and escorted Sakura away.

Silence fell in their wake. Not that there had been a rabble of noise before then.

Kankuro whistled. “Well, that was interesting.”

Temari’s confusion was evident. She was biting her bottom lip and staring at the door like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Gaara felt the need to tell her everything. So, he did. In short, stilted sentences, but leaving out all the intimate moments he’d had with Sakura. Just the highlights of the important things.

Temari let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, fuck me.”

Kankuro laughed and coughed at the same time. She ignored him.

“This complicates things,” she said. “How much have you told her about this fake engagement?”

“He’s been avoiding her,” Kankuro said.

“I have not.”

The brunette just laughed.

“She joins us for dinner every night,” Gaara said. “And… I may have. A little.”

Except for moments like last night. Which they didn’t need the details of.

Temari snorted. “Well, if it’s from some misguided sense of not wanting to get close to her since this marriage thing is clearly a sham, then stop it.” She held up a hand to stop his retort, if in fact he meant to reply when he stood taller and opened his mouth slightly. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that by avoiding her, you might be doing more harm than good? That it could be interpreted as her not being good enough. That you might as well be strangers?”

“Aren’t you overreacting?” Kankuro asked.

“No,” she snapped.

The emotion on her face startled her brothers. Gaara remembered Temari had been on good terms with Sakura several years ago but that hardly equated to the level of protectiveness rolling off her right now. Again, he wondered if it was misdirected concern because of that Leaf shinobi she had grown close to.

“I cannot speak to the reality for those on the front lines,” Gaara said. “She went through… something. I don’t know.” He sighed. “She is not the woman we recall.”

“But–”

“But,” Gaara began, drawing the word out. “I have no intention of allowing harm to come to her for as long as she remains our guest.”

“You should tell her that.”

“I want to,” he said, and sighed again, running a hand over his face. “She is strong but fragile. Anything I say may set her off. She seems so delicate. Like a battered flower more than the emotional teenager from my memories. Last night, she broke down over a kunai that was meant to kill her. I do not wish to add to that.”

“Look,” Temari said, “I can’t say what everyone under Danzo’s tyranny has gone through, but from my own personal, subjective and limited experience with anything to do with that regime, I think that whatever you can imagine she endured, the reality was worse.” Her brothers shared a confused look as she continued. “I’ve heard rumours; nothing that can be corroborated. The Foundation are very good at brainwashing techniques. The really barbaric kind of techniques.”

Kankuro groaned. “What does that mean?”

“Danzo is an expert in sealing jutsu,” she continued, ignoring Kankuro and addressing Gaara. “Rumour has it that he implanted every Root member with his own personal sealing jutsu. I can only imagine what kind of invasive things he’s done to others, including Sakura.”

“Where did you hear all of this?”

“Around.”

“No wonder she is the way she is,” Kankuro said. “I’d have run off by now, in her place.”

Gaara knew from his own experience that a broken mind was easier to predict than most people believed. She had nowhere else to go but back to Konoha. It was familiar. And she likely had no idea the Resistance even existed. What else was she going to do? And he knew that runaway Leaf ninja were not spared quick deaths. It still boggled his mind that she was still a part of all that though.

“Anything’s possible,” Temari said, leaning back against the island in the middle of the kitchen and crossing her arms. “The human psyche is really complicated.”

Gaara didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but these things needed to be said. “She needs therapy.”

“Therapy?” Kankuro was confused.

Another thing he had to explain.

They both gave him strange looks.

“Maybe you could be her therapist,” Temari said. She raised an eyebrow at Gaara when he baulked. “Or maybe I’ll do it.”

“She’ll have to be willing,” he said.

“How to convince Sakura-san to go to a mind medic. Hm.” Kankuro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was clearly drawing this out for dramatic effect. “Well, I’m drawing a blank.”

Temari scoffed. “You’re always drawing a blank.”

“There’s no such thing as a mind medic,” Gaara said.

“Oh? I guess I just assumed…”

“Then what was all this talk for?”

“Civilian therapist.”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Gaara.”

The redhead scowled. “I want to be honest with her. But… I don’t know how.”

“How she’ll take it?”

He nodded. “The civilian therapist said not to force or manipulate her into it. She has to do it willingly. And knowingly.”

“You spoke to a civilian therapist on her behalf?”

Gaara felt his face heat up. But what he was so embarrassed over, he didn’t know.

“Well, at least it’s a start.”

That was that, then. What they needed to do was convince her in a way that didn’t back her into a corner.

“How much of this do we tell her?” Kankuro asked.

“Only what’s necessary,” Gaara replied. “We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“And we need to kill that Danzo bastard,” Temari said. She rolled her eyes when Gaara raised a non-existent eyebrow. “Don’t try to convince me you’re not planning on it. This isn’t the world that Naruto wanted. And it’s his vision you’re trying to uphold. Everything you’ve been doing behind the scenes, apparently with Lord Ebizō’s approval, has been leading to Danzo’s head on a spike, right?”

Gaara sighed, nodding.

“Then it’s like I said: we need to kill that Danzo bastard.”

“Hell yeah!” Kankuro let out a whoop.

“Let’s hope it all goes according to plan.”

“Don’t be a wet noodle, Gaara.”

“Don’t forget we still have one or more council traitors to deal with first. We can’t move against Danzo until they’re disposed of.”

Temari smiled. “You really are a wet noodle, Gaara.”

He shook his head but couldn’t suppress a smile. They fell silent for a moment. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air.

“This feels strange,” Temari said. “Talking about Sakura like this behind her back,” she added, when her brothers looked confused. “I know we don’t mean anything by it, it’s just… after everything that’s happened. I think we’re all a little broken.”

Gaara stood up straighter, unable to prevent the pang of guilt he felt at the reminder that he still sent Temari out there in this climate. His sister was too stubborn to just sit on the bench and wait it out. She had also lost someone she loved, just as Sakura had. The Nara boy whose given name Gaara could never remember. Temari didn’t even have the closure of knowing who killed the Leaf ninja, let alone how it happened.

He was just gone.

And that is why she still goes out there.

“You should ask her on a date,” Kankuro said suddenly. He blushed as they both turned to stare at him. “Well, he should.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Temari said, impressed. “He could do it under the guise of getting to know her better because of the engagement.” She poked Gaara’s arm. “Which you will do, regardless. Date her, talk to her, and try to figure out how we can help her in the meantime.”

He sighed and nodded. Gaara wasn’t opposed to the idea, but there were so many ways this could go wrong.

“This is cool,” Kankuro smiled widely. “And if they really hit it off, maybe it won’t be fake anymore.”

Gaara just rolled his eyes.

“In the meantime,” Temari said, rubbing her hands together in a mock evil genius gesture, “go get that date organised.”

“When I return tonight,” he promised, before turning on his heel and leaving.

His siblings watched him leave.

Kankuro gave Temari a one-armed hug. “Aaww, he cares about her.”

“Get off me.” She shoved him away, ignoring his yelp when Kankuro fell over. “Brothers.”

.:.

Where the hell are they?

Sakura had just returned from her day of hellish wedding plans and one of the few things that had gotten her through the day was the hope to see her ink creations returning with a dead snake in her bedroom.

Weird kink.

“Perfect for someone so fucked up.”

Sakura glanced toward the door to her closet where the mirage stood, a maniacal grin on its ugly face a shiver running down her spine. She tried standing up to the damn thing, but it made no difference. It freaked her out. Old and new pain.

“Just admit it: your little experiment failed. You took drugs to sleep better but you’re as fucked up as ever.”

“Shut up.” Sakura started pacing her room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just a mindless, stupid, ugly mirage.”

Not mature, but she didn’t care.

The figure floated toward her, and she stepped backward.

“You’re regressing,” it said. “Letting your fears barricade you in this room. Because you know you don’t deserve anything better.”

“You’re wrong.”

It cackled.

Shaking, Sakura moved toward the window and turned away from the ugly mirror that was the mirage. It was like turning your back on an enemy when you know they have a kunai in their hand. Her own kunai was currently tucked in the window frame. She stroked the handle as it sat in the grooves of the frame, lovingly. There were no distinguishing marks, because it had been procured for a man whose final mission was to sneak into the hidden sand village for assassination, but she liked the blandness of it.

And soon it’ll shine. Soon it’ll sing and shine and kill. With poison.

She smiled at that, forcing herself to ignore the mirage, hoping it had disappeared behind her back.

The sunset was still a little while away, so she just stood and watched the light patters of the bright rays as they slowly changed colour to signal the end of the day. A soft breeze made her shiver, but she embraced it. Even the occasional shadowy hint that her Root stalker was nearby didn’t lessen the contentment she felt as she stroked the kunai. Over and over again.

Blessed silence.

And then the sun fell from the sky.

When she finally heard Gaara return and climb the stairs to his room, Sakura pushed away from the window, leaving the kunai behind. The mirage watched as she grabbed the stick of charcoal from her travel bag and wrote the kanji for twenty-four on the back of the door before leaving the room. She wasn’t going to get anywhere just hiding out with her broken psyche. It grinned at her, like it was silently challenging her to do what she was about to do. Or telling her she was too chicken to even try.

I’ll show you.

She drew a deep breath and then threw her bedroom door open. Adrenaline drove her. She moved, forcing herself not to overthink it. If she stopped and ran through the ramifications of what she was about to do, in her mind, she would not be doing it.

Now or never.

Sakura knocked on the door. His door. No hesitation. No fear. Even as she clasped her hands together in an attempt to control the trembling. Noise from within. She gulped. And forced a smile to her face as the door swung open.

Gaara looked a little surprised to see her. She supposed if her chakra wasn’t currently suppressed instinctively, he’d have sensed her coming.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Sakura cleared her throat. “Can we talk?”

Gaara moved to let her into his room and closed the door. “I was hoping to speak with you soon.”

“You were?” She was surprised.

Gods this is nerve wracking.

He looked a little nervous now too.

“We should spend some time together.”

What the hell was that?

Her eyes widened. He just blurted it out. The edges of his ears were tinged pink, and his face was slightly flushed. It was cute. He was cute. Incredibly so. She had to hold back a grin. Her heart was racing. In a good way.

“Like a date?”

He nodded. She didn’t think anyone’s face could get that red, that fast. It made her swell with pride. Maybe she could have a little fun with him after all. If he was up to it. If he even knew what that meant. But no matter how excited he was making her; Sakura still felt a bundle of nerves eating at her stomach.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to stutter. He let out a sharp breath and a genuine smiled lit up his face, making her face warm. She tried to return the smile as nonchalantly as possible. “Yeah. I’d l-like that.”

Did someone raise the thermostat? It just got incredibly hot in here.

.:.

#GaaSaku #fanfiction #my fanfiction #A Beautiful Lie

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spirk-trek · 1 month

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Contact Fanzine #6 | Merle Decker, 1979 These pieces were drawn for Home is the Hunter by Bev Volker, which can be read here in PDF format (beginning p. 214)

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cdragons · 1 year

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Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 2: You are my Best Friend, the Family I Chose, the Home I Found

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: The Reader/OC will be mentioned but not written in this chapter, but she will make an appearance in the next one. I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but please comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! Also the OC's name and her pet's name are not in Mandarin but in Romanization because the characters in this chapter are thinking in English.

Also many thanks and love to @valeskafics as my beta! Check out her work if you don't follow her already, she's amazing!

Warnings: sexual content, sexual abuse, mentions of SA and r*pe but no descriptions, violence and violent themes, depression, suicidal actions, mentions of PTSD & survivor's guilt, offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister.”

Theon’s POV:

Theon Greyjoy was somewhat of an enigma to most people, and to himself if he dared to be honest. He was known as Robb Stark’s best friend and brother, but Gods Old and New help him if he forgot that he was young Lord’s, no sorry, the young King’s inferior. He was the rakish and obnoxious ward graciously taken in by the honorable Eddard Stark, late Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, Warden of the North. But the term “ward” doesn’t hide the fact that he was their captive, their hostage. A hostage who at the age of ten, was robbed from his family, his culture, his home, after witnessing hundreds of Iron Island sailors and civilians being completely annihilated, just to be plopped down in the middle of a frozen mainland where no one likes him. Ned Stark may never have beaten him, but that didn’t mean the fact that he could with full jurisdiction send Theon to the gallows with a single word, and no one would bat an eye. He was supposed to an Ironborn, except he wasn’t, not since he lived amongst mainlanders for the past decade. He wasn’t a Northerner and couldn’t be a Stark, and he certainly wasn’t an Ironborn and he despised being a Greyjoy. He wished he wasn’t one the moment he stepped foot on the mainland, since he was brought to Winterfell, since he felt the gaze Lady Catelyn Stark’s cold and righteous eyes. But by the Drowned Man, he never hated his family name so much until he knew you.

Oh gods, you. He couldn’t help the sheer pride and love in his smile thinking about you, even in his sorry state. Because despite how his body still healing from the wounds brought by the ambushed arrows, the pure elation and shock from you storming the shit-stained Frey keep with five-thousand men (if he wasn’t so fucking plastered, he would’ve cried) and saving Robb and most of their asses, with minimal losses of only 157 men 158 if you include Talisa. You had even managed to subdue both Roose Bolton and Walder Frey before dragging their asses to the prison cells, along with the rest of their traitorous kin. However, there wasn’t time to celebrate their (really your) victory as you immediately put everyone to work. For someone who worked in the shadows, you looked so natural in organizing the camp to sections reserved for healing those who survived, and preparing the burials for those whose lives were lost. After that, you rushed every lord whose mind was just lucid enough in the largest empty tent. You insisted that finding whoever assisted the Frey’s in this ordeal, as Walder Frey may have been a vile greedy cunt, he wasn’t a tactical mastermind. And while Roose Bolton was an apathetic amoral sociopath, he could never possess the imagination for something so grand scale. After countless sleepless hours, the pieces were all put together, and ice that froze every lord’s blood in learning that this was a premeditated trap engineered by one fucking Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. The chaos and fury that followed was a sight to be memorized and passed on for years to come, any lost morale before that moment came back by a thousandfold strong. The southern snakes had really done it now, even if the plan had worked, the North would only drawback until they could strike once more. If there was one thing about the North that would always remain true, it was the fact that the North and its men never forget, especially an act as sacrilegious as what they now call the “Red Wedding”.

Every lord was shouting and screaming out blame, whether it be the execution of Lord Karstark, the release of the Kingslayer, the broken oath to the Frey’s, and on and on did they go. They didn’t stop until Lord Umber blamed on Theon for his father’s invasion to the North (despite that 1) he didn’t even know about the bloody invasion, and 2) he never left the fucking camp), and the usually mild-tempered Daiyu leapt on the table and knocked the Greatjon Umber on his great ass in retaliation. The sight of you in command will never leave him, not even when he had forgotten his own name and was too feeble to wipe his own ass. Even in your most irritable state, you dared not publicly showcase your emotions. But everything from the cold fury in your eyes to the raw determination in your spine, was enough to freeze a dragon’s fire. By reminding everyone while nothing can change the past, this event only further proves how there is no limit to the Lannister’s teachery, and that it was imperative to secure the North’s independence from the Southern leeches. You then told them of how you learned of the plan through a deal with a stranger wearing a red tunic and grey cloak, and that if they managed to survive the treachery, they were to immediately send word to Dragonstone.

“Dragonstone,” shouted out Lord after Daiyu grew bored of him and was now contently purring against Theon’s legs as he stood by you, “why in the seven hells would we send word to Dragonstone? So that we can get pissed over by Stannis Baratheon? How do we know you didn’t just make up the deal so that we could bend the knee to Stannis, or perhaps you’ve been working for the Lannister’s with the Boltons and Frey’s? Well? Answer me you chink-”.

Theon drew out his sword the second before he could finish, “You take those words back and beg for my sister’s forgiveness right now before I cut your tongue out and feed it to my falcon, you rancid shit.” Theon could allow disrespect against him, he grown used to it after all; but he would be flayed, eaten by hounds, and broken to a shell of a man before he allowed anyone to utter a word of disrespect to you, let alone that word. Each of the bannerman’s eyes shifted between the men, as most knew better than insult the mysterious spy from the far orient in the presence of the young Kraken. If Theon was not with their king, he was by his sister’s side, arm over her shoulders and her head on his, more often in silence as words were never needed in order to take comfort in one another.

And the girl was no different in her devotion to her brother, as her protection over him was as ruthless as it was creative. More than once had there been instances of soldiers throughout the camp making claims ranging from mad visions in their sleep to horses stampeding them throughout the woods to those who spoke ill of the Stark’s ward. The bannerman would have demanded their king to call for her head hadn’t her punishments been more amusing than irritating. Not that it would have worked, if there was only one thing the two young men had in common, it was the devout protection they showered the stoic spy. Even when the young king broke his oath to the Frey’s to marry his pretty foreign healer, did he remain true in his defense if anything it only grew. Such was the case with his own direwolf, who although remains steadfast in guarding his currently comatose companion, adored the Yi Tish girl far more than the now late queen if they were honest, as he was often seen being petted and fed scraps by her and even playing with her shadowcat. However, they just reasoned it was due to being acquainted with one another since the pup’s arrival at Winterfell shows what they know.

You placed a hand on your brother’s wrist, stopping any further action on his part towards Lord Umber. Theon’s eyes immediately darted down to your hand, and then looked at you. To an outsider, the act would look no different than a scolding to a child; however, those who had watched the two grow together, like one Lady Catelyn Stark, recognized the interaction to be one of the many of silent conversations between the two of you. Her eyes darting down to her late husband’s ward’s wrist, eyeing the rather poorly made charm bracelet you had gifted him for his name day so many years ago. Being a ward to one of the seven great houses, Theon was gifted many precious things, from expertly made blades to fine cloaks; but that little…thing was the item he treasured more than life itself, that and his loyal falcon, Ari. A falcon abandoned by its mother, was found by Theon and was assisted in healing the poor creature by none other than you.

A moment passed, and another had gone by, followed by a few more before Theon reluctantly lowered his arm and sheathed his sword. You turned your gaze to Greatjon once more, hand still holding on your brother’s wrist, before speaking in a loud and clear manner, “I will graciously ignore you accusing that I would ever betray House Stark, even going so far to suggest that I would ever switch loyalties to a southern house I had never cared, but may I first ask you what is the purpose of the North’s campaign to the South?”

“Pah! Aye, I can tell you, to march down to King’s Landing and swing our steel at enough of their piss-haired inbred to free the North-,” Greatjon was interrupted by the slamming of your fist to the table.

“WRONG!” You exclaimed, “Our goal from the beginning, our true purpose was to free our Lord Eddard Stark and his daughters from King’s Landing, and upon his death, we swore to avenge him and rescue his children! Have you forgotten my lords, forgotten Ned Stark, late Lord of Winterfell, the man you swore fealty to when you bent the knee to his house? Now we stand, fighting in a war, leagues from our North, miles from King’s Landing, from his daughter who he loved and cherished so dearly that he confessed to crimes he did not commit in attempt to save her from the lion’s den? Does Ned Stark stand here, does his daughter Lady Sansa? In fighting for the North’s freedom, we had forgotten our first goal, our true purpose! To avenge the blood of House Stark, to fight and protect their children! And as a result, the Gods have punished us for forgetting that purpose to the state we see ourselves in now. We have lost our greatest bargaining chip, half our men in taking Lord Karstark’s head, and now with greater losses in numbers with the betrayal from both House Frey and House Bolton. We may have regained one wolf, but such a miracle cannot be claimed by us as it had been Ser Sandor who brought her home.” Your words brought the attention of Sandor Clegane, who was standing in a corner. He was observing the scene unraveling before, in both shock that you thanked him for his act, and cursing you for bringing any attention at him at all.

“And do not ignore that another young wolf still remains at the lions’ mercy. And if Sandor’s words of her treatment hold truth, then I fear that her livelihood is at more risk than ever when word reaches the Red Keep that Tywin Lannister’s plan had failed.” Your voice grew more somber and quieter as you finished your speech. It seemed as if time had stopped, shame overtook every lord’s and lady’s face at your words, and Lady Catelyn knelt on the ground, sobs overtaking her body. The relief and joy in being reunited with her Arya, was overshadowed by the realization that still had one daughter far from her arms. Greater grief struck her in learning that her sweet Sansa had been routinely beaten and ridiculed at court by Joffery’s orders.

Ever so carefully, you knelt beside her, and gently placed your hand on her shoulder before grasping her to stand while allowing her to take comfort in your strong but gentle grip. You quickly called for a squire to fetch some cool water before handing Lady Stark a simple but clean handkerchief to wipe her tears. Such an act of familiarity to a highborn from a lowly spy would never be tolerated in normal circumstances, but no one dared to point this out, fearing that their Lady would fall apart had it not been for your support. After what seemed to have been an eternity to pass, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island stepped forward.

“The girl is right.” Her voice left no room for argument, “In fighting for our freedom, we had forgotten our people, our past leader, and his own blood. We lost sight of our true goal, and in doing so we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable to our enemies. Right now, Stannis Baratheon is our best hope in retrieving Ned Stark’s daughter. And we need all of the hope we can get, be it in numbers or supplies.” The next words coming out the fierce Mother Bear of House Mormont shook everyone to their core, “I can sacrifice our independence, I can bend the knee to another Southerner, but I cannot call myself a northerner if I forget my oath in avenging the Quiet Wolf, along with Jory Cassel, and the rest of the northern men that died in that rotten keep.”

“But how can expect Stannis to hope true in his word, is he even aware such a deal took place?” Lord Rysell rose from his seat, his voice filled with trepidation. “After all, was it not Stannis who killed Renly, his own brother, his very own blood? How can we expect a Southerner, nay, a KINSLAYER to hold even a weight of honor after witnessing the mutiny we all had barely escaped with our lives? And what of the cost? What was traded for such information?”

“Stannis Baratheon along with Jon Arryn had been running King Robert’s kingdom throughout his entire reign. While Jon Arryn tried to reign in Robert, Stannis was the one who had actually proposed new laws in attempt to benefit the kingdom. This was a man who at age of 17, held his brother’s castle at Storm’s End and ate shoes and rats rather than surrendering to a hopelessly superior army from both land and sea. He, who ensured that his men, smallfolk, and his little brother were fed before him. And more importantly, Stannis has ships, ships that can lay siege to King’s Landing by targeting Blackwater Bay, should he want for an alliance.” Theon couldn’t keep the pride out of his eyes, here you stood, recounting the accomplishment of one man, stunning every lord by your extensive knowledge of military history in perfect clarity. Those hours spent in the Winterfell library and extensive lessons with Maester Luwin seemed to have paid off.

“As for the matter of honor, this war will not be won through honor, no this is war that will be done on the matter of duty.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you braced your body in continuing, “Ned Stark’s duty as Hand of the King was to the kingdom. In choosing his honor, he lost his head. Robb Stark chose love over duty, and it cost him the lives of his wife, his child, and nearly 3000 of our men. Our duty to the North was to avenge Ned Stark’s death and protect his children, and in that we have failed miserably. Whether Stannis Baratheon is honorable remains to be seen, but it was his devotion to his duty had made his men so loyal to him and his enemies call him a man ‘truly just.’ As for the matter of proof, I would hope that this message that bears his seal to provide some comfort.” You hand a creased letter to Catelyn Stark for confirmation. After vigilant investigation, she confirmed that it was indeed written in his hand and that seal bore House Baratheon’s sigil, along with the seal of Dragonstone.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

“What comes after you get those details and finish escorting them?” Theon didn’t recognize his own voice. “Do they send you somewhere else, who’s this person, where are you going?” Seven hells, is that panic in his voice? “When do you come back?”

You looked towards your precious brother, eyes trying to convey a hidden message you don’t dare to speak aloud. You take a deep and shaky breath before clearing your throat in an attempt to keep your voice steady and clear, “I don’t.”

And just like that, chaos erupts once more.

Theon doesn’t realize he was asleep before being so rudely pulled out of his dream…memory?

“Well, memory it may have been, but a nightmare to relive it once more.” Theon thought as he tried to focus on his surroundings, before seeing the reason he was awoken in the first place. On his chest, stood a majestic falcon gazing into the eyes of his owner. Despite being a first-class hunter, one would think this bird of prey that feeds on both fish and birds alike by swooping at tremendous speed with little to no sound, was really a smaller parrot if others knew how spoiled Ari was for attention and treats. “Forget Robb, the real challenge will be in keeping this little fellow from going mad from losing his main benefactor,” thought Theon as he lovingly stroked a finger on Ari’s head, the falcon sweetly preening from attention from his beloved savior.

“THEON!” A familiar voice bellowed as the footsteps whom Theon was sure belonged to one auburn-curled king grew louder as they stride closer to his tent.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Knowing what will soon come, I only hope to find a barrel of ale to drown my sorrows in afterwards.” And with that being his final thought before rising from his cot and just finished dressing himself before his tent’s flap flew open, and in came the Young Wolf with a fury so terrible it would bring down the Wall.

Robb’s POV

After arriving at the camp, Robb immediately jumped down his horse and demanded a steward to take care of his steed before he marched forward with only one person in mind, Theon Greyjoy. His father’s ward, his best mate, his brother without blood and in-arms, and the brother to one particular Yi Tish girl that was sailing further and further from where she belonged. If there was one person who knew where she was going, it was Theon. He had to know, Li and Theon had a bond between them. A bond that Robb loathed to admit many times, as it was that bond that could not be easily shattered or poisoned as such with the bonds of mere companions or even lovers. For companions, some periods of time apart would often do the trick, but even on the most drawn-out operations his father sent you out on, time only proved to strengthen the bond as you would return with tales of the people you were sent out to watch, and even come back with small gifts as tokens of fond remembrance. Every single one of those gifts, no matter how often Theon would act as if he were given something burdensome, were treasured and placed inside a wooden box that he secretly commissioned one of keep’s craftsmen to create in order to store them. Even if you two were lovers, however painful that would be for him, it would be of great comfort to Robb knowing that it such affections would one day pass. No matter how great the flames of passion arose, they would usually die out, especially in one’s youth. In your case, hopefully in a way so spectacularly horrendous that it would kill any hope of rekindling those flames ever again. But no, instead you two stubbornly remained siblings, and your bond was that of great platonic love and adoration. It baffled Robb to no end as to why the two of you remained so insistently loyal to one another, but it was the same answer every time Robb brought out his frustrations.

“He is my brother,” you would say without fail. “He is the family I chose to love and cherish, and so I will choose him. I will choose him every time.” You would look directly at him, with your big brown almond-shaped eyes, so warm and frank, as if you were stating so completely plain and obvious to a tempering child.

“Can’t you choose me? I would choose you. I could be your family.” Robb exclaimed in great exasperation at your persistence. After all, why couldn’t he be your family? He who saw how well you played and calmed his younger siblings when he, his mother, his father, and even the septas were too busy; who would always help you whenever you stumbled upon a difficult word that you couldn’t spell or pronounce; who would show you the secrets of the Winterfell Keep that he would not even show to Jon or Theon; he who saw your secret smiles and hidden protection you bestowed upon the many strays and smallfolk children in the village town. By the Seven’s sake, he was to be the Lord of Winterfell and of the North after his father, who better than him to take care of you?

“No,” you stressed out, “No Robb, you couldn’t. You and I could never be each other’s family, not the way that he and I are, not in the way you want us to be.” You looked at him with your eyes, your big, brown, warm, cruel eyes; eyes that looked so genuinely apologetic that it almost made him forget his anger, almost. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Robb was sure that he sounded pathetic, but he needed to know, to understand, why he couldn’t be the one for you. Was it the differing status between you both, did his mother speak ill to you when he and his father were unable to witness it, or was it because you had feelings of love for someone else, someone not him? Oh gods, he could feel his young heart breaking at that final thought.

“Theon and I…”, you tried to find the words that could capture the meanings you didn’t know the words to, words that were not in any of the languages you had learned and spoken, “he and I are bonded. In a way that goes beyond words, beyond simply moments and memories. It is built on an understanding that only the two of us know of, something you have never and I pray that you never will understand, because it is a pain that very few our age knows about, and that is really all I can say of the matter.” With that being the final word, you turned and walked away, leaving the young heir more lost and aggravated than ever.

“Oh Li, my sweet, darling Li.” Robb thought as he admonished your words with tender childing. “How could you be so blind to your so-called brother’s selfish and arrogant ways? Do you not see how he would ruin you, how he would twist your naïve and tender heart with his cunning words and leering eyes?” After all, brother or not, Robb was not as stupid as many would like to him to be. Yes, he would admit that marrying Talisa was in poor taste, especially in letting her believe that she meant far greater to him than her original purpose. A purpose to strictly bring physical comfort and to destress after hard-fought battles, as well as to help him forget that he was to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters and to forget about you. While he had never meant in their affair to go so far, he will admit that he got carried away with her. He got lost in their conversations and banter, in her altruistic warmth and kindness, he allowed himself to give into the idea of championing love and how it would conquer any obstacle set before him. But most of all, he longed for the idea of sharing a love with someone new, someone who didn’t know him from his youth. He wanted to love someone who didn’t know of the many insecurities that plague his mind whenever he planned for his next battle. He pined at the idea of someone who didn’t see the vulnerable boy he hid away to project the undefeated wolf marching towards the lion’s den. He was desperate for the warmth and frankness that would be rewarded to him from a woman whose love was sweet and generous and easy.

Talisa had been all of that, and more, so much more. She was opposite to you in every way, physical and emotional. The only similarity that could be shared between the two of you would be that your hair was dark, but even in that there were too many differences. You had routinely cut your hair to your armpit, whereas Talisa’s hair flowed past her midback. And upon further inspection, one could see very things streaks of silver and grey as a result of stress, meanwhile there were no such signs in his late wife’s dark locks. Both of your faces were beautiful and similar in some features but your beauty differed in hers not only in the regions of birth, but in evidence of treatment. Both of your faces had a straight nose, downward turned lips, and almond-shaped eyes. But Talisa’s elegant and angular visage contained no markings or blemishes of any kind. There were no crow’s feet, or scars. Even after witnessing her most laborious treatments and amputations, did she contain an angelic maturity that would envy the wealthiest of highborn women. Everything about her… her willowy and pliant frame… unblemished reddish hue complexion…angelic lips…legs that stretched for miles and were connected by full hips…all of it in the form of one truly mythic beauty.

Whereas you…if Talisa’s beauty could be compared to an angel that glowed compassion and wisdom, yours was that of a survivor that radiated the hardships from years of regimented training for an enduring body and great mental fortitude. Your shoulders and rib cage were broad, but your stomach was slim with a taut core. Your arms were a bit trim, but years in learning how to properly shoot a bow and arrow, along with varying combat made them toned and fine. Your calves were strong and thick and they stretched your trouser legs, and while many insisted you looked more man than woman, you relished in their power in action. Your waist was sinched in a way that showed off the fullness in your hips, and perfectly gave way to your marvelous ass that he stared at more times than he likes to admit, especially with Theon’s overly protective gaze following him no matter the time or place. But he had remained respectful in his gaze if you don’t count the number of times, he spied you while swimming in the springs with the sheer small clothes as your only barrier, or when he watched you bathe in your quarters in the secret compartments or whenever he stroked his cock with an unwavering gaze as you rubbed your clit calling out his name.

While Talisa’s skin bared no markings, there seemed not to be a single patch of skin on your outer framework that didn’t contain a fading mark or scar. Even your proportional facial features: with downward lips that usually remained stoic, and straight framed nose that rarely crinkled even when it was red in the harshest of winters, and eyes that seemed unemotional until one paid close attention in order to see the carefully guarded mirth and gentleness that brightly shone in your peace; were littered with marking brought by you whenever you spied a pimple and removed it, letting it bleed and fester before it healed and scarred. This aggravated his mother and sister Sansa to great lengths, especially Sansa as she would insist that you were spoiling your own beauty and that no man would ever want to marry a woman with such awful scars on her face. You would turn to her stating that you would likely never marry in the first place, nor did you want to leave. Marriage would mean leaving Winterfell, the Stark family, and your new friends, including her who gave you your first gift. This shocked and flustered Sansa, as that “first gift” was a poorly embroidered handkerchief she just wanted to throw away, but instead gave it to you. Not long after, Sansa gifted you a much prettier embroidered handkerchief, one that had little blue flowers sewn across the borders. She insisted that you throw out the first, but you told her that she made both, so both were too important. So, you bought a small wooden box from your meager savings, and tucked both away neatly and lovingly. She still chided you something fierce whenever she caught you picking and scratching your own face. But sometimes Robb would pass by Sansa’s chambers, and double back in shock seeing the two of you conversing (well, more akin to Sansa gossiping and fantasizing about the South while you gave monosyllabic responses) on her bed while she practiced braiding your hair.

This brought up the most glaring difference between you and Talisa, although neither of you were born in Westeros, let alone in the North. But Talisa would never, could never be a Northerner, not in the way he and his family were Northerners as they were Starks, not in the way you grew to be a Northerner. She would never be able to adapt to the bitter cold and snow, could never love the harsh and biting winds, take comfort in the fresh air and scent of smoke wood burning in a hearth the way you had when you were brought to Winterfell by his father. There was no doubt that she would be respected, admired even, but the North and its people would never take to her in the way they took to you. You, who after weeks of careful interrogation and healing, took off running in the Godswoods, climbing its trees, breathing in its holy air, sitting before the weirwood tree with no fear as if you knew it your whole life. While it took a good while for you to gain the castle’s staff trust, it hadn’t taken much time for the village folk to look after you, despite being a foreigner who barely spoke the language. Granted there was the occasional drunk and youthful miscreant who still called after you in offensive terms, but they were quickly taken care of by Theon (who was the third in the keep to take you under his wing, after his father and Maester Luwin).

In return for their kindness, you became somewhat of a silent guardian. You made sure that no wild animals harmed anyone, even those who lived outside the village and in the deep forests; ensured that no child was lost after dark, often returning with bitemarks and long bleeding scratches; and fought off cruel men to the women working in the brothels and the barmaids in the Smoking Log. You even went so far as to “educate” the men who crossed your ire with you... somewhat disturbed skillset from the streets of Qarth. These particular teachings brought you much favor with the town’s women, none more so than Ros (who just so happened to your brother’s favorite whore). So much so that she liked to refer to herself as your “best friend,” a sentiment you returned wholeheartedly, as she was one of the few who heard you laugh, not just a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh, and seen you genuinely smile more times than anyone (besides your brother of course and him). And animals, gods. Don’t even mention to Robb about the animals, he could go on and on about how you seemed determined to take in every stray that wondered around aimlessly, hoping for some scraps of food or a place with walls to keep out the cold. In the first year you were brought, Robb could name over a dozen separate occasions you brought in a stray to care for before being found out. His father had hoped that by letting you keep your beloved shadowcat, you would stop this habit. This caused the very opposite of his hopes to happen, as you had no intention to stop taking in every stray that looked you with sad eyes. You only made sure to hide them in more…discreet locations, mostly in Jon’s and Theon’s rooms, as they shared a fondness for a singular cute creature with sad eyes (you).

But even that was not the limit of your protection. You even provided help to the wives whose husbands abuse them in cruelties beyond imagination, to where these men’s cruelties extend to their own children. These circumstances were tricky to say the least, as there was little to be done as the wife and children belonged to her husband and father, as he was usually the main provider of the family. Very few women dared not indicate any signs of abuse to anyone, much less towards his lord father. Robb was in his father’s solar at the time, learning about his future duties when in you barged in, holding a thick stack of evidence and documentation of not only the alleged offenses, but also proof in showing that these women willingly came to you to bring forth justice, knowing that their Lord Eddard Stark could only do so much. Not only that, but you also found evidence of reports of similar offenses being thrown out, meaning that you took the time and energy to fish out the documents from every trash heap in order to properly present your case.

This is where your true talents laid, in your relentless empathy and your perseverance for change. You may hide your heart in guarded walls made of heavily forged iron, but that didn’t take away the fact that you cared, you cared so deeply. You would use the skills you tirelessly trained for the purpose to protect those who cannot demand protection from those in power and cannot afford to bring attention upon themselves. In presenting the evidence, you asked whether this would be enough to request a change in policy regarding the protection of women and children in not only Winterfell, but across the North. Your body in steeled posture, expecting refusal and rejection, froze in shock in hearing that he would immediately establish a new policy regarding the treatment of familial relations, and punishment in violating that policy would result in amputation or beheading. Immediately, you raced across his desk and hugged him so tightly that Ned Stark was sure you had been possessed by a strange benevolent goblin. Noticing your precarious position, you straightened yourself out and apologized profusely before thanking him and swiftly exiting his solar. When brought up to House Stark’s vassal houses, many protested, though none more so than Lord Roose Bolton, as rumors of him leeching and torturing his wife and smallfolk were legendary in infamy. He questioned why such Lord Stark felt it necessary for such a policy to be implemented, but Robb’s father remained firm in keeping your anonymity, knowing you would be targeted for serious punishment if the lords knew of your identity.

“Being a Lord is like being a father, except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing the fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle.” He paused before continuing, “But it seems, I have forgotten what it means to be a father to many others. I have evidence, of hundreds, if not thousands of reports stating the mistreatment by a family head’s hands. Reports that were never brought to me by men I thought I could trust. As Warden of the North, it is my duty to care for these women and their children, but I have failed in my duty. That is why I have created this law, and any violations of this law will be brought to my attention by the official guards of each house’s town. However, any knowledge of these violations going unpunished will be informed to someone else, someone personally placed and hidden that not even your best spies will find. They will be my eyes and ears; they will be my messengers. Should you bring your own twisted sense of justice upon them, I will know, and as you all know, I’ve never been one to use a headsman to do my beheading.” With that being the final word of the matter, Robb’s father dismissed his men, and called for the ravens to carry out the new law across his land. Robb would never forget those words for as long as he lived.

True to his father’s words, reports of these violations were kept in the known, and the Northern houses were expected to carry out the law’s sentences. Wicked men who violently struck their wives and children without proper justification had their hands chopped off. Those who starved their families were thrown into the dungeons without food or comfort for varying periods of time. And vile rapists had public castrations, and were also faced with beheadings. The lords ceaselessly hired the best spies and sellswords to find Ned Stark’s eyes and ears, but nothing came out of it. Soon enough, crimes of not only this offense, but other unrelated offences started to cease. Time continued forward, and the number of reports continuously dwindled until women felt it safe to walk at night without the need of a dagger, children felt it safe to play with outside after dark, and those with wickedness in their hearts learned what it meant to act properly without needing intervention of a higher power.

Smallfolk across the North sung praises to Ned Stark, for his kind and noble heart, for his true sense of justice, for being a man with true honor and knew the meaning of a lord’s duty of his people. But the women and children of Winterfell knew the truth, and it was you they silently revered. After all, only you listened to their cries, to their pain and anguish. You who searched for proof and evidence until the amount grew so great that you knew it could no longer be ignored. Things were not perfect, no far from it, but they were better. They were so much better, and they had you to thank for that. You were their paragon of justice and truth, someone who pushed for action in their lord’s idleness. One young man came up to you in privacy, and cried his thanks. He revealed to you that he and his brother were raped by their mother since their father’s death, but he could not tell anyone the truth, he could not bear the shame. But thanks to you, that wretched cunt was beheaded, and he could finally take his siblings far down south, where they would hopefully find better work and start a better life. You were silent until you carefully asked the young man if you could have his permission to hug him. When he granted it, you carefully and slowly placed your arms around him before both of you were sobbing and wishing good fortune to one another.

“No,” Robb thought as he almost reached Theon’s tent, “Talisa would never be accepted as his queen, not when you had taken the hearts of Winterfell’s inhabitants.” And as much as he felt guilty for her death and how he wouldn’t truly love her, he knew that this was for the best in the long run. Talisa was intelligent, and kind; but the coming winter would be ruthless, and her warmth would be swept out long before spring would arrive. He did mourn for his child, but he knew that with you by his side, there would be plenty of opportunities to create new heirs, and soon enough Winterfell will be run amok by little wolf pups and laughter once more. “Even if you do not understand it now, you cannot hide your feelings from your mate, little dragon.” As furious as Robb still was by you running from him, he knew that sooner or later that the two of you would find each other once more, and in finding each other, you would rule by his side as his queen and the North would only prosper in your reign together. A reign that would come a lot sooner than later, if he knew where in the seven hells you were off to.

“THEON!” Robb shouted before he stormed into Theon’s tent, he watched with furious eyes at his oldest friend and greatest enemy when it comes to you as Ari off his shoulder and perched on top of Grey Wind’s head. His chest was heaving, his nostrils flared in barely veiled anger, as he vented out the words, “Where is she?”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Theon quipped out as he began to pour himself some water, inhaling it in a few gulps before continuing, “you’ll have to be more specific. I don’t have the faintest idea of who this ‘she’ would be?”

“Oh, so that’s how he wants to play this out,” Robb thought out as he took a deep breath. He should have known better than to expect Theon Greyjoy of all people to give a straightforward answer. He quickly sent Grey Wind out to guard the tent, and not anyone in before curtly replying, “Don’t act dull. You know exactly whom I am referring to.”

Theon sat at his desk before pretended to ponder with his chin in one hand, and elbow in another, before continuing, “No, no, I’m afraid not, your grace. ‘She’ could really be anyone, would ‘she’ happen to be your mother? No, no, no…how about Arya, or perhaps Sansa? No, Arya just got here, and Sansa’s still not here, no thanks to you…Oh! Might ‘she’ be your late wife? The one who you fucked, then married and got killed- “Robb grabbed his throat before he could continue on, fury finally getting the better of him, and slammed the back of Theon’s head on top of the desk.

“Don’t you start with me Greyjoy,” Robb could barely contain himself, but he knew he had to, if only to get the information of where you were heading. He swallowed his pride before loosening his grip, and spoke his next words through clenched teeth, “Where is Long Li going? Don’t even think of lying to me!”

Theon’s eyes softened at the mention of your name, before whispering out, “Are you demanding an answer as my king?” His eyes and voice hardened to prepare saying the next words without spitting at the man above him, “Or as my brother?”

“Aye, I am your brother, now and always, but right now, I come to demand you answer me,” Robb’s voice grew stronger as he stated his next words, “as the man who intends to take her as my future wife and mother of my children and future heirs.” As he finished speaking, Theon felt anger surge throughout his body, and he gripped Robb’s doublet with both hands and flipped him onto his back.

“What makes you think I know?” Theon venomously spat out with a bit of condescension, “And for that matter, what makes you think that I would ever tell you? The boy who threw duty for love, that’s what everyone’s calling you. And for good reason too. Robb Stark, King in the North, the Young Wolf that never lost a battle, almost got 3000 men killed for love, and did get his wife gutted for it.” Theon let out a mocking laugh Robb, who struggled to get out of his grip, only to remain pinned on the desk. “If it weren’t for Li, we’d all be dead, bodies thrown into the river, rotting at the bottom. And because of you, she’s gone, gone with some mad man who could do anything to her.” Theon could feel his throat constricting, but didn’t bother to restrain his worst fears. He wanted Robb to bleed out more than when Roose Bolton shoved an arrow to his chest, “She could be gutted, maimed, or raped by now, and it’d be all your fault.” Theon released his grip and quickly turned away as he wiped the tears running down his cheeks at the thought of you getting hurt, and him not being there to protect you. Recalling your tearful goodbye, filled with gripping hugs and sweet words, and refusal to acknowledge the fear of never seeing each other again. The thought of you, the only person he truly, completely, and unconditionally loved, gone forever killed him. He tried to not completely fall apart as he remembered the final look you gave him before urging your horse into a gallop to put as much distance between you and the camp on your way to Seagard.

“I begged her to not go. I told her that no duty was worth her, that she’s done enough for others and that she should just stay here, where she could be safe.” He let out a bitter laugh before persisting while pacing around his tent, “But she wouldn’t hear of it, said that she had to go, and worst of all, I couldn’t go with her. She said that she needed me here, to make sure that you had your head an’ wits still with you after you wake up. She told me, ‘Robb’s lost too much already, and you’re his best friend. He just lost the woman he loves and their child, he’s going to need you to keep him grounded more than ever now.’” He poured more water, and swung it back before continuing, “‘Keep you grounded’, yea’ fat load of grounding I did before, eh? No matter what me, your mother, or Li told you…you still married your pretty healer queen, because you thought you were entitled to more happiness than the rest of us. Some king you are, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Theon finally stopped before sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, sounding so tired and small that Robb wouldn’t have believe it was him if he weren’t right in front of him, “My sister is gone and might turn up dead and it’s all your fault, Robb Stark. And even if she’s alive, she can’t come back. You’re a shit king for making her doing this, for everything she did so that you’d and your family be safe.” Theon looked up, tears still streaming down his eyes, and stared directly at Robb as he scoffed out the next words, “She left feeling guilty, for so many things, all out of her control. First, for being too weak and injured to outfight the Tarth bitch; second, for not guarding those Lannister boys well enough, and the final part? The last’s the worst ten times over, because she thinks it’s her fault that Talisa and your child got murdered, that if she were just a little quicker and a little smarter and a little better, she’d get there earlier and both of them would make it out breathing. She almost went mad over it you know. I almost had to talk her out of throwing herself off the fucking Frey bridge, as if she hadn’t lost enough of her sanity already.” Both of them went silent after that, only until Robb walked over and sat by Theon and broke the tense silence.

“I didn’t love Talisa,” he rasped out, “I thought I did, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” He looked at his feet, shame overtaking him as he only just realizes what Theon had lost as a result of his selfishness. “I cared for her, I loved our child, but I didn’t love her. I couldn’t, not when I already love Li, not how I will always love Li.”

“I know,” Theon responded, “I know.” Because while he was still angry, he knew Robb was genuinely sorry, even if he was an entitled prick.

“So,” Robb looked over to ask his old friend, “what happens now?”

Theon took in a deep breath, eyes closed in careful thought before answering, “We get out of this tent, execute some Bolton’s and Frey’s, meet with the bannermen, and make the preparations to Maidenpool to meet with Stannis to bend the knee or some shit.” He then turned his head to look at Robb with his trademark smirk and quipped out, “But before that last part, we’re going to find the biggest barrel of ale we got, and then drain the whole damned thing.”

Robb barks out a quick laugh, and tries to grip himself together in saying, “Perfect, what comes after the ale and before Maidenpool?”

“After the ale, we fight some more, drink some more, and then probably piss ourselves in our sleep.” Theon lists off before the two young men erupt in laughter, both tired of being mad at their best friend. “And before you ask, we’re meeting Stannis at Maidenpool because we got no bloody ships, and it’s going to be you, me, Arya, and Blackfish.” He saw the confused look in Robb’s eyes before going on, “The note asked for me specifically, probably to call me out for treason in being a Greyjoy or something. You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb chuckled out, “Aye, at least he’s not Edmure. And it’d be good for my mother to return to Winterfell, she likely wants to see Bran and Rickon more than she wants to see Sansa.” Satisfied with everything out in the open, the two men got up and called for their animal companions who guarded the tent from onlookers as they had their squabble.

“Come on now,” Theon slapped his king’s back as Ari flew to his right shoulder, “let’s spill some traitor blood and finish this meeting quick. Ale waits for no one.” And Robb laughed and smiled, remembering how good it felt to be laughing with Theon like he had in Winterfell. When everything was alright, his father alive and well, his sisters bickering but together, his mother with all her children, him with Jon and Theon in the training yard teaching Bran and Rickon how to shoot. No war to fight, no battles to be won, and most importantly, you were still by his side.

Please like, reblog, or comment your opinions if you want to, but please remain respectful. If I missed any warnings, let me know.

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violent-darkness · 22 days

Text

Monsters

Billy Butcher x OFC/Second person POV

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Chapter II: Caught in a Dream

Chapter I

Chapter III

AO3

*Special trigger warning about this chapter. It tackles a range of intense and traumatic subjects.

Summary: When things go terribly wrong during a mission you and Butcher unwillingly discover deeply personal details about each other. *This is an x OFC story, told from the second person POV, with minimal physical description of the OFC.*

*At its core, this is a story about how people deal with their inner demons. Are monsters truly capable of love, or do they only seek to destroy? Can broken parts be mended?*

Notes: I decided to rebrand my fic into an OFC one (she really has too much personality to be a x reader), while still maintaining the second person POV, which I prefer, and keeping the physical description to a minimum. I hope it's okay. :) Reblogs, comments, and feedback are always welcome.

The car was parked by the road. Each of you grabbed your backpack and prepared for the long hike to the cabin, coordinates for which had been provided by the CIA.

Butcher stood a few paces away, his gaze sweeping over the dense trees that loomed around you. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, his jaw clenched, and then turned to face the group. "Listen up, you lot," he muttered. "This wanker we're after is supposedly batshit crazy and paranoid. The kind who'd probably string up traps in the middle of nowhere just for fun." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a while. "Keep your eyes open, every one of you. And for God's sake, don't look him in the eyes. Apparently, that's where his powers come from."

About two hours in, Hughie suddenly stumbled, his foot catching on a nearly invisible wire strung low to the ground. The sharp snap of the wire cut through the quiet, and everyone froze, hearts pounding in unison. Eyes darted around, expecting something—anything—to happen. But after a tense moment, only the sounds of the forest filled the silence. Hughie exhaled shakily, relief palpable in the group, though tension still lingered in the air. "This is probably part of an alarm system," MM muttered, his voice steady but his eyes wary as they scanned the surroundings. "Keep your eyes open."

The team’s pace slowed, every step measured, every rustle in the underbrush setting nerves on edge. You had an increasingly bad feeling about the whole mission and this made you jumpy. You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a constant prickling sensation crawling up the back of your neck. Yet time dragged on, and nothing happened. The tension eased bit by bit, until the group finally halted for lunch. The break brought a collective sigh of relief, as sandwiches were unwrapped and bites were taken. Hughie's sandwich, however, was an assault on the senses. The pungent tang of pickles mixed with the sickly sweetness of marshmallows hit your nostrils, turning your stomach. Frenchie seized the moment. "Mon Dieu, Hughie! Your taste buds, they are under attack!" he quipped, grinning as he waved a hand in front of his nose. Laughter rippled through the group, the tension from earlier melting away, if only for a moment. But just as Frenchie was gearing up for another jab, something in the corner of your eye caught your attention. A figure, barely more than a shadow, moved silently through the trees. Your breath hitched as you focused, and there he was—Mindstorm, slipping into view behind Butcher. Your eyes locked onto him, as you tried to process what you were seeing. Butcher, noticing your stare, instinctively turned.

"Don't look him in the eyes!" MM's shout came too late. You suddenly felt a strange tingling sensation, and then all the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if you were plummeting. Your vision swirled, the world blurring into a dizzying vortex, and when it finally settled, everything had changed. Once the dizziness passed, you found yourself in a bizarre setting. The forest was long gone. You were now inside a small, old house. The TV was showing a football match, the faint sound of the commentator’s voice barely cutting through the tension. A half-empty beer bottle sat on a scratched, shabby table in front of a threadbare couch, the upholstery frayed at the edges. The place was clean, but the furniture spoke of years of use, each piece worn down and tired. Your mind raced to make sense of the sudden shift, heart pounding in your chest. Before you could process it, Butcher was already on the move, panic in his every motion. He charged at the door, ramming it with his shoulder, then kicked at the windows with all his strength, but they wouldn’t budge.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" you approached him. "I believe we are caught into some sort of dream, maybe?"

Butcher's shoulders slumped as he finally gave up on his futile attempts to escape. He avoided your gaze, his voice rough with frustration and something deeper. "That's the wanker's thing. He traps you in a nightmare you can't escape from. Makes ya relive it over and over again. And this here..." He gestured weakly around the room, his face a mask of shame, "...this is mine." His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, his shame so palpable that he couldn’t even look at you.

Just then, the door creaked open, and two boys entered the room. One was a spitting image of Butcher, only much younger, while the other, even smaller, clung to him with a kind of nervous energy. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—you were witnessing scenes from Butcher's childhood. You both seemed like ghosts, invisible to the figures from his past. "I didn't know you had a younger brother," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I had a younger brother," Butcher replied, his tone laced with bitterness. The weight of his words made you frown, a chill running down your spine. The boys played quietly, but their fragile peace was shattered by a booming voice from another room.

"Lenny, where the fuck are ya, boy?! How dare you disrespect your father like this?! I am going to teach ya a lesson!" The voice was slurred with alcohol and dripping with menace. Young Butcher's face tightened with fear, but he moved quickly, pushing Lenny into a closet and shutting the door. Without hesitation, he faced the source of the voice—his father. The man staggered into the room, reeking of booze, his eyes wild with anger. He lunged at Butcher, fists swinging, and the sickening sound of blows landing filled the air. For hours, it seemed, you were forced to witness the relentless brutality of Butcher's father, each blow echoing in the small, confining space. Butcher, the man beside you now, stood in silence, trapped in his own private hell, his expression one of brooding despair. His shame and horror radiated off him, a palpable force that made it impossible for you to meet his eyes or offer any words of comfort.

A wave of dread churned in your stomach, rising with each passing second. The scenes unfolding before you were both heartbreaking and horrifying. Butcher was an asshole, no doubt, but as you watched him endure this nightmare, your heart ached for him. He didn’t deserve this—no one did. He was just a kid, after all. And you, more than most, knew how the past could cling to you like a shadow, a burden you’re forced to carry for the rest of your life.

Finally, Lenny took the gun out of the upper kitchen cabinet and blew his brains out, finding his own escape from the abuse - but not before turning to Butcher and proclaiming it was all his fault. Butcher just stood there, rooted to the spot, his face a mask of silent devastation. It was as if a crushing weight had fallen over him, pinning him in place. You had never seen him like this, all the smugness beaten out of him. The man who always carried himself with such confidence, with a smugness that nothing could shake, was gone. In his place stood someone completely different—broken, empty, and utterly lost.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered under your breath. You felt like an intruder, an unwelcome presence in this most private, agonizing moment of his life. The horror of what you had just witnessed hung in the air, a suffocating cloud of grief and guilt. You didn't belong here, in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. Butcher was laid bare before you, every defense stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. The sight of him like this—so utterly defeated—tugged at something deep within you, stirring a mixture of sorrow and unease.

Before you even had the time to process what had just happened, the scene abruptly shifted. The room around you dissolved, replaced by a child's room in another house. It was a girl's room, with soft pink walls and two small beds neatly made up with matching floral covers. Your heart plummeted as dread coiled in your chest, squeezing tighter with every breath. You knew exactly where you were, and it took every ounce of your strength to stop yourself from shaking. You should have known this was coming.

"Shit, we have to get out of here or he’ll end us both," you gasped, rushing to the window. Your fingers clawed at the edges, hysterically trying to pry it open, but it was sealed tight.

Butcher's voice cut through your panic. "Where are we?"

You swallowed hard, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Now we're in my nightmare."

Butcher took a slow look around, his gaze settling on the room's details. It was a typical little girl's room, cute and cozy, if a bit worn around the edges. Childish drawings adorned the walls, and pictures of horses were everywhere. Two girls, sisters by the looks of them, lay in one bed, the older one reading a bedtime story to the younger, whose facial features closely resembled yours. A pang of recognition flashed in Butcher’s eyes, but he stayed silent, watching as the older girl kissed her sister goodnight and moved to her own bed. The scene was so peaceful, so innocent, that it almost broke you.

Just as the two girls drifted off to sleep, the door to their room creaked open with a sound that sent ice through your veins. A man entered, his steps slow and deliberate, and your breath caught in your throat. He approached the older sister’s bed, lifting the blanket and sliding under it with a practiced ease that made your stomach churn. The girl’s eyes widened in fear, her lips trembling as she whispered for him to leave, to go away. But he ignored her pleas, his voice a low, menacing growl as he ordered her to be quiet. The threat hung heavy in the air—if she didn’t comply, he would visit her little sister’s bed the next night. You could see the devastation in the older sister’s eyes as she fell silent, her small body tensing as she submitted to the horror. The younger girl, the one who looked so much like you, lay trembling under her blanket, every muscle in her body taut with fear, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be asleep. The scene was appalling, and a wave of nausea crashed over you while you were observing, leaving you trembling with helplessness and disgust. Butcher was motionless beside you, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. The sight of the man’s actions ignited a firestorm of rage within him, a fierce, burning anger that only grew stronger as he realized he was powerless to intervene. The knowledge that he was just a spectator in Mindstorm’s cruel game, unable to stop the nightmare, fueled his fury even more. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with a murderous intent, but there was nothing he could do. He glanced at you, his gaze softening with an understanding that cut straight through your defenses. He knew better than to try and comfort you now— any attempt would only deepen the wound, reminding you of his presence in this most private, agonizing memory. The pain was yours to bear alone, and all he could do was bear witness to it.

The scenery suddenly shifted, and you found yourself standing in a kitchen bathed in the warm light of a bright, sunny morning. The little girl sat quietly at the table, her small hands wrapped around a bowl of cereal, her eyes downcast as she chewed in silence. Across from her, a storm was brewing. Her older sister and their mother were locked in a heated argument, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. The mother’s voice was sharp, filled with frustration and denial as she accused her daughter of having too colorful an imagination, insisting that her new boyfriend was finally someone good in her life, someone she deserved. A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, a harsh sound that seemed to echo in the sunlit room. "This went on for quite some time," you murmured, more to yourself than to Butcher, your voice as cold as ice. "Until one night, mom finally caught him entering our room."

The scene shifted again, this time to a rainy morning in the same kitchen. The light was muted, shadows gathering in the corners as you and Butcher observed the mother and the older sister. They sat close together at the table, their voices hushed, but the strain in their tones was unmistakable. Both of them were crying, tears streaking down their faces as they clung to each other, the mother’s apologies spilling out in broken whispers. "I’m sorry," she kept repeating, her voice trembling. "Tonight, it’s happening tonight." You watched as the older sister composed herself, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand before gently pulling the little girl aside. She knelt down to her level, her voice soft as she spoke. "I’m heading off to school," she forced a smile. "But later, I’ll come back to pick you up for a sleepover at my best friend’s house." The little girl’s face lit up with a grin, her earlier silence forgotten in the excitement of the promise.

The scene flickered once more, transporting you to the early afternoon of the same day. The living room was filled with the sound of toys clattering and the television playing in the background as the little girl played on the floor, completely absorbed in her own world. The door suddenly burst open, and her mother’s boyfriend strode in, his presence immediately filling the room. He held a small suitcase in one hand, his voice booming as he announced, "Surprise! I took the earlier train!" The little girl looked up, her smile faltering as she took in the sight of him. The tension in the air was palpable.

The mum turned to her daughter with a concerned look. "Go to your room and stay there, no matter what happens," she instructed with an urgency that sent a chill down the little girl's spine. That’s what she did. She went to her room, with you and Butcher following her, where she tried to focus on her favorite book, the one with stories that usually brought her comfort. But it was impossible to drown out the escalating sounds from downstairs - the screams, the crashing, the blows. As the noise grew louder and more terrifying, she couldn’t stay put any longer. She was scared, but she had to know what was happening. Slowly, she climbed down the stairs, each step making her heart pound faster. When the girl reached the bottom, the scene that met her eyes was like something out of a scene from a horror movie. Furniture was broken and tipped over, the chaos reflecting the violence that had erupted in her home. Her mother’s boyfriend no longer looked human. His face was twisted into a grotesque, ungodly smile, and his eyes were clouded with a terrifying rage. He was beating her mother mercilessly, his voice filled with venom as he screamed, "I won’t leave! I’ll do whatever I damn well please!"

The little girl was terrified, tears streaming down her face as she watched in shock. But despite the fear, she couldn’t just stand there. It's been one of your most persistent traits, following you around throughout your life to this day —no matter what, you couldn't turn away when faced with injustice. She ran down the last of the stairs and her tiny fists started pounding against the man's side as she cried out, "Leave my mommy alone!"

He merely laughed—a cruel, chilling sound. Without hesitation, he picked her up as if she weighed nothing, grabbed the duct tape from the kitchen, and tied her to the radiator. "Stay here," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

The girl kept screaming, kicking, and crying, desperate to do something, but she was helpless. The beating continued, each hit echoing in her ears like thunder. Then, out of nowhere, the man stopped. He hovered over her mother, who was curled up on the floor, her clothes stained with blood, her face by now a faint memory of what was once a human being - all puffed and bruised. The man’s face showed utter indifference as he reached under his shirt and pulled out a gun.

"No!" The horrified screams of both younger and older you merged and pierced through space and time. But they were in vain. The past could not be altered. The man - a machine, merely covered with flesh and bone, raised his hand, pointed the gun and squeezed the trigger. The deafening sound filled the room and forced the little girl to close her eyes for a second. That’s all it took - a blink of the eye and your mother was no more.

Butcher gasped, the shock of what he just saw clearly etched on his face. This was all too much, even for someone like him, who had seen the severe cruelty of life in all its forms.

You watched the whole thing with a hollow, vacant stare. The pain that had marked you all those years ago, the stark reminder of what was taken from you, threatened to crawl its way out of the small closet of your mind where you had locked it away. Your hand shook as you reached out, fingers just inches away from the shoulder of your younger self, but you couldn’t bridge the gap. “She feels so alone now. I don’t want her to feel that way. No one deserves this,” you mumbled. The words hung in the air, mingling with the silent, oppressive weight of unspoken sorrow.

"This really happened?" Butcher asked, his voice unusually soft, seeking desperately to comfort you and to ease your pain somehow. But the realization that he couldn’t only fueled his anger.

You nodded slightly, your voice barely a whisper. "There’s more…"

The man went over to the kitchen, opened the top drawer, and started rummaging through it. The flicker in his eyes and the light humming under his breath created a jarring contrast with the devastation unfolding in the house. He finally grabbed a kitchen knife and approached the little girl, who was just standing bound to the radiator, like a broken mess. Her pain was so overwhelming that it managed to mute everything else. There was nothing else in her life now - only pain. Her big, teary eyes were now hollow, devoid of the lively spark that normally every child possesses. The man leaned over her, and she looked at him pale as a ghost. Butcher shot you a nervous look, unsure what was coming next. The man cut through the duct tape and freed the girl, then grabbed her by her tiny trembling hand and dragged her to the middle of the room. His menacing laughter was a triumph of evil as he explained to her that he would leave her a gift—something to remember him by. He pinned her to the floor, his knee lying heavy against her back, and, with the knife, started carving the initial letter of his name into the nape of her neck. His work was slow and meticulous. The girl didn’t even scream or fight anymore; she just stayed motionless on the floor, feeling more dead than alive. When he was done, the man took a good look at his deed. A wide grin appeared on his face as he left the house continuing his humming from earlier. He didn’t even notice that his gun was laying on the floor beside the girl’s mother. As you watched the events unfold, you unconsciously reached behind your head and traced the scar with your fingers; it was still there, the rough texture contrasting with the surrounding skin. In a twisted way you were grateful for it. It really served as a reminder of what one person could do to another, of the evil spread like a disease among the human race.

Butcher observed you, his face etched with pain. This certainly wasn’t in your file. He instinctively felt the need to take care of you, to ease your pain in any way he could. He realized that he cared for you more than he would ever admit, and this realization took him by surprise. If anything, his admiration for you only grew. “Luv, I am so sorry,” the tender words sprang from the bottom of his rotten heart. He was giving you his most precious and rare gift - his empathy. He reached out to place a hand on your shoulder, the tips of his fingers barely touching you. At that moment, the little girl snapped out of her trance. She quickly stood on her feet and grabbed the gun from the floor. The cold metal and its heaviness contrasted with her warm gentle hand. Beneath the pain, shock, and tears, Butcher saw a flicker of rage in her dark eyes. This was the same rage that he had occasionally noticed in you since you joined the Boys. He saw it on the boat right after you kicked him to the floor and it intrigued him greatly. He had always wondered what was its source. Now he knew.

It happened quickly. The girl followed the man outside, with you and Butcher behind her, and then stopped a few feet away from him. He didn’t even notice her, too engrossed in his own sickly thoughts. The girl clutched the gun, struggling to keep it steady with her tiny fingers wrapped around it, using the last ounce of strength she had left. She then closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. A loud bang echoed, filling the air with the smell of gunpowder. The man turned around slowly, shakily. The blood was soaking his shirt. He took one last look at the girl and took a small step towards her. He fell dead a minute later, his grin never leaving his face. Tears were now streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably.

“They declared it self-defense, psychoanalyzed me for months after, and then placed me in an orphanage. They separated me from my sister." You told Butcher after a long pause, trying to compose yourself and control your sobbing. Even speaking to him was hard. You didn't even dare look at him. "Now you know. You know my story.”

Just as he was about to respond, the world was once again sucked into a whirling vortex, a tingling sensation crawling throughout your body. You woke up abruptly and couldn’t really grasp the current situation. Your mind felt heavy and disoriented.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hughie shouted above you, his concern evident.

You were as pale as a ghost, but somehow managed to pull yourself together. “What happened?” You asked, your voice shaky.

“Petit Hughie managed to convince the supe to release you both,” Frenchie said, stepping in to explain. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Butcher a few feet away from you, visibly shaken by the events, but you couldn’t bring yourself to engage him after everything he had witnessed. It seemed he was avoiding you for the same reason.

“And where is the motherfucker now? Cause I really want to say some things to him,” the rage inside you started to build up.

“There was an accident. He stepped on one of his own traps and set off a small land mine,” MM gestured to a small crater, a few feet away. "We are waiting for the CIA to confirm his death and hopefully clear our names as promised."

You sighed deeply, “I really hope it was worth it.”

#billy butcher #the boys #billy butcher fic #monsters fic #billy butcher brainrot go brr #billy butcher x ofc #billy butcher x you #karl urban #billy butcher imagine #the boys billy butcher #the boys tv #william butcher #butcher the boys #the boys amazon

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starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 2 years

Text

WIP Intro(s)

Alright, alright, I'm finally biting the bullet and making this damned thing XD

Wip 1

[ID: The words Beautiful Lies and Shattered Dreams over an image of branches with shimmery purple flowers. end ID]

This is the first in a planned (I use that word loosely) trilogy. It's also my first piece of writing. Ever. *looks down at all that stuff* I think I did pretty good, if I do say so myself :D

Genre | Dark Fantasy Romance (New Adult/Adult)

Style | close 3rd, past tense, multi-pov

Status | Complete (115k), beta read x2, another round of editing

POV Characters

Alaia, human (19/F)

Serin, human (23/M)

Kadin, seraph (~150/M)

Darian, fae (~100/M)

Basic idea:

Alaia (19/F) manifests as a mage in the human realm of Elysia. While mistreatment of mages should be a thing of the past, she finds that is not the case when she is almost killed, then taken captive. A little dragon, a fellow captive mage, and pure stubbornness motivate her escape plans, while secrets and a fierce desire to protect the one she has come to love complicate them. It may seem that Alaia’s choices are simple. Escape and live or die in captivity. But there are bigger forces at play—in Elysia, and among the gods. More depends on her survival than she knows, including the lives of the fae beyond the Veil.

Themes and Vibes | hurt/comfort, forced proximity, forbidden romance, shared trauma, DRAGONS-little ones :D, magic with glowy eyes, elemental magic + structured magic, healing magic, empaths, light political intrigue, do anything to save the one you love and almost die trying, matebond only felt on one side, stupid decisions have tragic consequences, all decisions suck anyway :) , cliffhanger ending

CW's | profanity, captivity, loss, SA (non-graphic, dubious consent, attempted rape), physical/emotional abuse, fantasy violence/torture/implied death (one explicit scene), consensual sexually explicit scenes, forced marriage (this is the short version 😶)

Tags | shattered dreams

Deleted scene | buried memories (noncon)

Magic | magic inspo tag game

Matebonds | ask

Wip 2

[ID: The words Fractured Pieces of a Shattered Soul over an image of gold sparks on a black background. end ID]

This is book 2 of the above mentioned trilogy.

Genre | Dark Fantasy Romance (New Adult/Adult)

Style | close 3rd, past tense, multi-pov

Status | First draft, 121k and closing in on the end

Same cast of characters, plus a few one-shot pov's

Basic Idea: I need one? :')

This picks up after the cliffhanger of the last book and any description I can think of is kinda spoilery for the first lol. Lets just say Alaia escaped and we get to see lots more of the fae in this book.

Themes and Vibes | magical fae lands, healing magic, empaths, found family, some more hurt/comfort of course, recovering from trauma, soulmates, refusing a matebond, more dragons, tragic backstories, backstabbing fire bitch goddess, secret enclaves, a ridiculous amount of angst and sexual tension, hopefully some revenge, and probably another cliffhanger lol

CW's | I haven't put an official list together, but pretty similar to the first... profanity, captivity, loss, grief, PTSD, flashbacks, SA (non-graphic, dubious consent, attempted rape), physical/emotional abuse, fantasy violence/torture (graphic)/death, mental manipulation/mind control, breeding, consensual sexually explicit scene(s)

Tags | shattered soul

Charater Art | Alaia & Fyel

WIP 3

The (hopefully) final book in the trilogy.

This is just vague ideas right now and isn't yet named.

#wip intro #writblr #writeblr #writing community #shattered dreams #shattered soul #original writing #writers of tumblr #fantasy #fantasy romance #will edit this as i go #:D

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gayyoungtapeworm · 1 year

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EFFIE'S FAR CRY 5 PLAYLISTS. see below the cut for my descriptions/commentary!!

DIVINE PROVIDENCE. [ post / spotify ] DIVINE RETRIBUTION. [ post / spotify ] DEPUTY'S DARK DOO-WOP. [ post / spotify ]

To preface: I haven't finished the game yet, I could be missing a lot of songs that perfectly describe FC5 plot points. Anyway, here's some info on each playlist, the themes, why I chose the songs I did, etc.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE. "You're not here by accident or by chance."

The first one, the best of the best, all the country gothic you could hope for. I wanted it to capture the creepy vibes through the music and the lyrics, even in the shippy "interpret as you will" category. Another one of my goals was to have a lot of songs that dealt with destiny, fate, and never truly being able to escape what happened in Hope County. No matter what the Deputy does, even in canon-based fanfics, can they ever mentally escape the Seed Family? And why is the Deputy in Hope County in the first place? Divine Providence.

My Top 3 Songs (from this playlist):

Waters by Eliza Shaddad: I'm more of a Joseph x Deputy shipper but this has converted me to a John x Deputy shipper. You know exactly what cut scene I'm thinking about with this song and the lyrics "as the water begins / to slide up my skin / and I'm fighting giving in to you".

I Will Never Die by Delta Rae: you could make this about Deputy x Seed sibling or (however you may ship it, platonic or not) Seed x Seed. It also hammers home my fave theme of never being able to escape the situation, even if the other person dies. You're always going to be haunted by them and by their actions and by what took place in Hope County. It's the love and the PTSD, baby!

For What It's Worth by Trills: this one is a cover and I included the 60s original in my other playlist. My favorite lyrics are "there's battle lines being drawn / and nobody's right if everybody's wrong" along with the stanza that starts "paranoia strikes deep". The citizens fear being overrun and kidnapped by the Peggies, just like the Peggies probably (sorta) fear being overrun by the citizens of the county.

DIVINE RETRIBUTION. "If violence is the only language you choose to speak, then I'll speak your language."

This playlist is a classic rock playlist and has a few repeats from the above playlist and from the game itself. Another caveat is that not all of the songs are "rock", some are rock-adjacent. Either way, the songs wouldn't exist without the rock genre and all the precursors that led to the creation of a beautiful, beautiful genre.

A lot of the songs comment on real events and/or deal with religious themes. For What It's Worth was a protest song of the 60s and Gimme Shelter comments on the brutalities of war. Sunday, Bloody Sunday reflects the events of the Troubles and the violence committed in the name of God. All Along the Watchtower has more subtle Christian tones (like with a lot of Bob Dylan songs, it can be analyzed in a million different ways). Personal Jesus is sexy and I think the same could be said about Missionary Man, even though that one is more about manipulation.

My Top 3 Songs:

A Horse With No Name by America: you're probably wondering why I included it -- well just listen to it, it's weird! It's one of those songs that could've been included in the last, Bliss-inspired category of nonsensical songs. I like how it focuses on names and lack of names.

Burning Down the House by the Talking Heads: another nonsensical song with lyrics that make sense in this context. The Deputy is an "ordinary guy / burning down the house". And at some point, someone has definitely told them "watch out, you might get what you're after".

Murder by Numbers by the Police: I have a very mixed relationship with this band because I don't like Sting's voice but I love the songs. That being said, this song and Every Breath You Take are absolute gold. "Because murder is like anything you take to / It's a habit-forming need for more and more".

THE DEPUTY'S DARK DOO-WOP. "I spent my entire life looking for more things to say 'yes' to."

The overarching theme of this playlist is that the Deputy and the Seed Family are one and the same. They use violence as a means to an end, as a means to "save" people, though their goals are totally different. Whether or not they come to agree on how to "save" people will define their relationship. They could be enemies to lovers, enemies and always enemies, or the classic "you're my enemy and HELL NO, your love is not reciprocated".

Again, I wanted to include a lot of Christian themes and that's reflected in Personal Jesus, Big God, Devil's Backbone, and Apocalyptic. Included in that list is Devil's Resting Place which includes the lyrics "If you must drink of me, take of me what you please ... / ... I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place". It plays into my love of kidnapping tropes and all that comes with it.

My Top 3 Songs:

Ritual by Ellie Goulding: this one also plays into the religious themes and, to me, suggests enemies to lovers. The Deputy has to go through the rituals before becoming a member of the Family. "It's far too late to be rescued" and "the ritual, we lose it all" makes it seem as though they don't want it to happen. Then they say "But I'm ready now, but I’m ready now" and repeat "It’s a ritual, and I know you feel it", as if convincing themself the other person feels it too.

No One Knows but Me by Torii Wolf: I feel like this one would be from one of the Seed fam's POV, maybe in a delusional way thinking the Deputy loves them and is willing to be a part of the family. The lyrics "They don't know you like I do / no one knows but me" feel (un)intentionally creepy, especially applied to the Seeds who have no idea what the Deputy was like before they got involved in this shit. They don't know their likes, dislikes, hobbies, family history.

Dark Doo Wop by MS MR: Here's where the title comes from! A song about a couple facing the end of the world! "As long as we're going down / Baby, you should stick around ... / ... Baby if you could, I know you would hatch a plan / That's my, that's my man" The lyrics speak for themselves.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fc5edit #farcryedit #the seed family #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #faith seed #*my stuff

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sinha-ri · 1 year

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I know nothing about your ocs so please give me the rundown I NEED to learn about them but have no idea where to start

Strap in this is going to be long bc i will give you a rundown of each lil fucker I have gl on the read ive been oc obsessed for YEARS also warning for lots and lots of dark and tragic themes not a single one of my ocs has a good life (at the start anyway)

Lily Artesia

he is the blorbo bleebus, the guy i was obsessed with for over 3 years and has over 110 art (that number is just as much as i could find on this laptop alone and NOT including shittier sketches)

he's 28 in present time, gay and asexual, trauma heavy fella, at this point its what hasn't happened to him he has the worst luck, chronic pain, shit dyslexia so he cant read, and his left eye is missing

He is a runaway prince from the holy star kingdom. His family is blessed by the stars and he is their first ever 2nd child, as they were "cursed" to only have 1 child, he has been the only outlier ever. This made him have a few of the blessings rather than all (list of said blessings)

As a runaway prince, he traveled across the sea to another land where he became a mercenary/bounty hunter, worked in the black market, dated a shit ton of questionable ppl, uhh..false sex work that ended up just being murder (as in..he murdered) before being kidnapped and enslaved for a year. He was saved but more like ownership traded w the military he uh, i guess he served there for a while and got in a questionable relationship with Valdis (more on him later) Almost died in battle, was saved by Oliver and ended up recovering and having a fufilling life with Oliver that turned to marriage :D.

He's a lil sarcastic, a big heart, arsonist, selfless, pretty empathetic, likes to murder (ppl he finds irredeemable), just a caring lil guy that copes in the only ways he knows which is ofc murder, self harm (this takes a few forms) and generally getting defensive where he can turn to violence if he really thinks he's in danger (which doesnt help when he has major anxiety and ptsd)

TOYHOUSE if you want anything on tumblr, just search lily in the tags of my blog and you will not run of content on there

2. Oliver Artesia

He is a favorite but sadly doesnt reach blorbo status as lily and hero but he's up there

30 in present time, demi sexual and romantic, doesnt know he has ptsd, isolated himself for over 5 years lol

Born as a grand mage (i cant find my source talking about this so uh, basically mages here are born with 1 skill type but grand mages can learn any skill type thats all you need to know (and theyre rare)) and a branch of the Artesia Family (rant here lol). Oliver's mother always wanted a daughter and so she would dress Oliver as one, enrolled him in school as such, and prevented him from trying to question her authority or pretty much do anything himself. She was abusive and held him to high standards. This led to a lot of bullying and being unable to make any friends.

This got him to be taken into the custody of his uncle, but once he hit 18, he was enrolled into the military (war just started) as a frontline medic. He absolutely hated this job and found it pointless to save someone who will only go back out to battle. He ended up committing War Crimes by lvling a field with foe and allies, tried to cause war disruption on his own, then let himself be caught so he could be bewitched (also cant find where i talked about this but basically, their magic is nerfed and theyre unable to physically lie), he ranaway soon after and lived alone for over 5 years in a refugee village, becoming the village doctor, herbalist, and pharmacist (he isnt licensed but he knows what he's doing)

He starts off selfish, blunt in adding unnecessary details/comments, has a really cheerful and upbeat energy to him but he will say the most vile bitchy thing ever, over confident in himself, smaaallllll power complex, comforting in his gender (being male) but will roast your ass if you call him she/her (Intentionally)

TOYHOUSE he is also one you can find a lot on my tumblr if you just search up his name on my blog

3. Jonah Artesia

the fucking baby boy, protect him with all your life

around 16 in the present, queer, god someone help this kid he is drowning in anxiety, low self esteem, and separation anxiety that makes him feel like he needs to be useful

Jonah was born into a Mage Family but was given the short end of the stick by being born a Dark Mage (a magic type that is feared and pretty much banned from these mages to practice at ALL), he was abandonded when this was discovered (around the age range 10-12). Trying to live a decent life, he found himself attempting to be useful via being a guide. He makes maps and sells them, he can read the stars and find his way out of most forests and places. He was finally taken in by a group of teenagers that needed a guide, in which he fit in perfectly. He tends to keep quiet and never voices his opinions, doing anything to be a ppl pleaser in hopes they'll let him stay, which they do after they find out he's a Dark Mage.

in the future, he ends up being adopted by Lily and Oliver, growing in a healthier steady environment where they try to help him recover and grow as a well adjusted adult

he's a big doormat, way too kind and caring and way too selfless, will never speak up for himself, he just doesnt wanna be left alone again and will give up as much of himself as it takes to :(

TOYHOUSE uhh you can find some lore on him but a few of it can be dated

4. Alexander (i dont have a last name yet sobbing)

he's recently been rising in my mind lately, he is the local WHORE

currently 32, his sexuality is anyone he can have sex with lol, he copes with sex, suffers from insomnia, he makes the absolutely worst dog shit decisions when it comes to his brother its astronomical how stupid he is and how much of a King manbaby he is with the way he approaches the situation.

The first son of the royal family and elder brother of Lily, he is currently King. He is the reason lily ranaway and blames himself for the rest of his life, aiming to make it right by all means. He is a good and caring leader that attempts to listen to his people. But he's very two faced in that he's actually super tired and bitter in the inside and would throw all this away if he could. He hates his job, he hates his life, he's miserable but never lets himself show it nor change how well he does his job. Due to his first lover having been someone who only used him to steal money from him, this man has never fallen in love since. The only intimate relationship he'd have with anyone is through sex but even than its under a disguise. He has no friends, he hates other royalty and nobles, but he will never lash this out on people. The kingdom loves him and he puts on a serene and comforting smile for them to stay trustworthy and complacent.

he's very Fake nice and flirty, he tries to look under the true intentions of anyone who attempts to have a relationship with him. Hardly trusts nor listents to anyone, he's actually pretty awkward when he isn't being King or doing official business, he just really does love sex

tOYHOUSE you probably wont find anything much on him on my tumblr except from pretty dated things i probably scrapped and are no longer canon lol

5. Valdis Nevermore

this is an image of him in the future but i dont have any of the present. i would say hes a himbo but hes problematic

31, bi, hes got a hero complex, turns from occasional drinker to alcoholic real quick after certain events, complicated family relationship

Valdis is born from a family of knights, and being the eldest, he follows in the footsteps of his father and his ancestors before. He knows there is a problem in the system, but he hopes to help change it from the inside, but finds himself following their orders more than questioning them. Despite this, he does have high morals especially when it comes to treating others and commoners. He attempts not to use his status as an advantage against others. However, once he is in charge of lily during lily's time in the military, he finds his passion reignited to question leadership and develops a hero complex towards Lily, feeling as if he has to help/save him but ends up making things far worse than they should. Once lily is assumed dead, valdis deserts as a Knight, gets disowned by his family, and is on a constant run from being tracked down. Lives with regret and drowns in alcohol

He is a very helpful guy, very kind to all, and a bit of a loser lol. Charming and charismatic when he's not wallowing in pity, he really does have a good heart that is misguided.

he has no toyhouse and very little information is avaliable on tumblr

6. Lenn (might change her name so ill just keep her nickname)

i have so little woman but GOD am i gay for her, she is wife

35, lesbian, she needs time off and doesnt deserve the treatment she gets fr, get a better job or beat alexander up

a half dragon half human that was "adopted" into the royal family. It was more like taking her in when she was a child, raised as their older sister, but eventually assigned herself the role as the royal guard to the brothers once their parents passed away. She has dedicated her life in trying to protect the remaining family she has, yet it seems alexander hasn't seen her as such in a long time. He hardly listens to her advice and attempts to shoo her away with unnecessary tasks. but she wont let up, even if they no longer see her as family she will strive to protect this family from ending itself even if her worth is no longer appreciated

when around alexander she is serious, stern, and straightforward. Yet in a casual setting, she's rather quiet and wants nothing more than have a moment to relax, yet her mind can't seem to let her. It's been long since she's ever been in a relaxed setting away from the King, but she can get pretty bashful away from it all

she has no toyhouse and almost nothing on my tumblr LOL

two more before i let you choose if you wanna listen about another OC that i will just list and give even more basic information on or give yourself a mental break from the absolute OC brain i have

7. Sergio Cartias

who brought their weed dad, for some reason i have so little of him yet he is SO loved

30, uhh, i forget what its called but he likes fem presenting people regardless of gender (but he is married to someone who uses she/her). honestly my most normal guy his biggest flaw is he smokes lol.

born from a mage family (listen..i did not realize how many of my ocs come from important Line families istg this was unintentional but when put together it does not seem that way) this branch specalizes in information and history, making him following in the line and steps of becoming a professor/teacher, specifically on witches. while the job was accepted by his family, the specifications and how he teaches about witches is not. The reason being he was Oliver's only friend that really sympathized with his situation and figured bewitching a mage doesn't exactly mean they're horrible people, because he couldnt believe some of the vile shit they would say about Oliver. He lived a fairly normal life with his spouse and being a pretty great teacher that students grew to love.

He's very laid back, he really is Just A Guy but in a good way and has the least drama carrying. He sees his own family above all, but he will be there for his friends or anyone who needs him or just someone who wants to talk to someone. Oh and he's a lightning mage and knows how to use magic with just his hands! (this is relevent?? sorta?? in my lore using your hands for magic casting is the ultimate control sign, as most mages use wands or other mediums given they have easier control with them than hands which is harder to master)

he doesnt have a toyhouse either and you can find some bare minimum stuff on tumblr

the next character is from an entirely separate universe/story, as everyone above is part of the same one.

8. Hero

foaming at the mouth and rolling around the dirt he is THE blorbo right now omfg I CANNOT stop thinking about this absolute piece of shit person he is my WORST character i fucking love him rn

228 years old baby, aro/ace with extreme sex repulsion and generally physical touch repulsion, god he is so fucked up there is so much wrong with him, might have autism but unrelated to him being an asshole he just isn't neurotypical aint no fucking way (this was done unintentionally btw but certain parts of him made me realize oh, typicals do not feel or think this way usually)

Born half human/half druid, he was left abandonded in a village filled with mixed species. He never knew his parents and he was never given a name. the village he lived in was raided by knights and many kids, including himself, were captured. After captured, he went through what is known as the Hero Project, in which they aimed to find and raise the most suitable to be the kingdom's official "hero". Hero, being the most human passing, was given an advantage already. When tests were conducted, he passed with desired results (praised/rewarded for following orders unquestioningly, least hesitant to harm others) It is no surprise he was the winning candidate to be Hero. Throughout, he was still never given a name but instead called by his title once he earned it. their biggest gripe with Hero was his personality, but through time, he learned to mask his true personality and instead showed one of heroism and kindness. All his expressions were calculated depending on who he was speaking to and especially in public. However, outside of the public eye, he was a nightmare to work with

He cared for no one, he is pure selfishness, he will strike down anyone in his way and in fact enjoys killing to an addictive degree. All crimes he's ever committed were swept under the rug in order to keep his image clean, and so he knew he could get away with anything he pleased. He will torment you in any way that will gratify him and worsen you, be it physical or mental torture. He thrives on seeing the expressions of despair and betrayal. He betrays his kingdom and party members at the drop of a hat because he was simply bored. He betrayed the only person that he somewhat cared for because he refused to change, continuing a campaign of destruction as he used his status as Hero to confuse those who haven't heard the news of his betrayal.

He's cynical, calculating, and will do anything to let himself stay in control of his life

TOYHOUSE there is also so much more lore on toyhouse but ive dropped quite a bit on my tumblr recently

Time for speed rundowns:

Peter/Petros/Petra: The leader of golems that will do all in their power to ensure they thrive. the oldest golem that has little hope for humans, but isn't stubborn enough to put their people in jeopardy over them

Jairo Torrance: A farmer that is currently the closest to a friend Oliver has. He is generally nice but dislikes Lily given he was there when lily temporarily ruled the kingdom

Diene Artesia: the eldest daughter of the artesia family and the next in line as head of the family, she is a lesbian disaster and monster fucker

Azazel: a golem that is half sheep/human, he is mute and the 2nd oldest golem, but he keeps his whimsy and cares for Ophiuchus

Ophiuchus: a golem that follows azazel around, he helps communicate to others what azazel attempts to say and keeps him company and protection

Caide/Mushi: a demon working under a prince of hell, he had forgotten his purpose on the surface before coming to his senses and continuing the plan they had set in motion

Dylan: a half demon/human who was named "Demon Lord" by humans despite being far from it, he wishes to leave in peace but when push came to shove, he will do what must be done

#ocs #original characters #hooooo boy gl anyone #lily #oliver #alexander #alex #ollie #valdis #val #jairo #hero #lenn #sergio #jonah

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