Welcome !
So uhh... I usually use google docs to store all of my storage. One shots / soon to be threads ect... & i have had a lot of characters through the past year that I've been using it. Finally getting back into my old drive account i thought y'all might like to see some of the stories / threads I've written and remissness with me!

Rules !
So feel free to comment and quote things from here. But please do not steal my words and use them somewhere else / twist them in any way.

Table of Contents !

It was something heart wrenching to look at- most people looked on afraid and weary as azure eyes giving way to a unpredictable insanity that lurked within those hues. In the same context her scars were warning signs, flashing in the afternoon sun and almost glimmering in the moonlit night- a shadow in the darkness only remembered by her eyes. -When people looked they only saw the monster that she allowed them to see, the beast lurking just under her skin showed in bursts of demeanor, a constant in her swirling eyes. Most as a result didn’t ever look her in the eye. Most feared what they saw, feared what they could trigger by acknowledging it.

The night was settling, and a warm flame blanketed across Obscuro’s home. A deep red flickering- hazing into the air. Black smoke becoming untraceable in the darkening sky. A sliver of black to contrast the brilliant bleeding red of the sky. There was something therapeutic about watching her home burn. Her vigil nostalgic to the very first time her home had caught, the last time anything remotely similar had happened. Now she watched, She watched as priceless journals crumble into ash, furs bleed into the ground and her home decimated.

She imagined getting trapped under it again, fantasized ripping her wing off again, in a blind panic to save her own fur, ripping through her silken dowry limb while scrambling for purchase under a collapsed burning log. She could taste the blood in her maw, could feel the fur singe her skin, and when she blinked- the fantasy was gone, Her home cracked and fire cackled. And she watched.

Would anyone save her if it happened? Or would this clan be the same? Would they fear the fire? Would they not risk saving their own, and watch impassively as she burned?

Yes, there was something to fear in those eyes, as blue eyes flickered up to the sky, she knew. She knew that whoever thought that ignoring her would stop it. That not acknowledging the beast gave her just enough time to do enough damage, to hurt enough people, to set a trap. To come to her own senses.

Maybe she should have left a body in there, maimed a wolf similar to her, It would make this easier, but obscuro wasn’t about easy. She wasn’t as boring as letting them believe they couldn’t save her- while tempting- She was far to personalized to this clan. No, she wasn’t leaving- not yet. She needed to personalize her goodbye, to reveal reason to the twisted, manipulative look in her eye that caused such dreaded fear into others when they gazed upon her.

It wasn’t so much as they deserved an explanation, or that she wanted to take some joy in their faces twisting with the possibility of betrayal. She was done with this clan, and to leave it all alone, she wanted to give them the chance- the chance to see something honest from the wolf. Riverclan had grown into her home, a title she never thought she would ever give again, and it was only fair to them to offer some sort of compensation for housing something so vile as she.

Because in the end, there would always be something honest in her, her soul was corrupted, and her name was tainted,, but in the same context her scars were reminders of her mistakes, Were humbling to remember that she was once just an ordinary pup who grew up too fast, lost too much too quick and saw it fit to rectify the broken in her- by placing it in other. Replacing their burden and setting in on other’s mantles for seconds of reprieve.

In the end, her eyes told a story, and it was a story she needed to share.

By now, others would start flocking to her, people would notice the scent of ash, the tinge of burn on the island. People would rush over, seeking to help, and they would find a humbled wolf with a broken home, broken mind, but revealing, but truthful. Maybe they would see it for what it was.

And so, she spoke.

“Once upon a time, there was a family. Created from a drunken mistake, stitched at the seams but still whole. Still soulful. I stood humbled in my first mate’s den, to marvel at four squirming pups. To never know what family was, i clung to do good by them, to hunt for and provide, to teach and to learn. I never knew what it was like to be in a family before, but my four pups, my daughters and sons I wanted to learn.”

“In a broken home, Between the barren sands and on the prespe of a hostile world I clung to the house i created. To the pups I sired and the mate I loved. I learned what it was like to love, to live for someone else. I loved them all, and I loved her the most, for one time I thought the world was perfect, I thought that everything would be fine as long as I had them, as long as i had something to fight for.”

“And of course I was proven wrong. I lived in the only clan I swore loyalty to, and Before then- I knew the injustice of the world. Kill or be killed, hunt or be preyed upon. I learned that pro-clans were good and my clan was bad, We were seen as the monsters of the world - and that was fine. I thought that title would earn them protection - and I was proven wrong.”

“It was three days after I noticed my son’s disappearance, that he was returned to me. The leader’s apprentice dragged him home- a stranger’s meer mercy was the only reason I was allowed to see my son before he died to his wounds. They tortured him they… They broke him.”

Her voice quaked with the memory, and broke over the lump in her throat as she spoke. She kept her eyes glued to her broken home, to her burning home.


“To think, think it was fear that caused a pro-clan leader to torture a pup. To think it was fear, that made every member of his clan sit back and watch as my son screamed for mercy...” She marveled now at her scars, picking up a paw, and in the light of the blaze she watched as they shined with a dissociative interest. As if she were trying to focus, trying to remember. “He was a kid… He had a little pink bear plush, and his favorite candy was bubblegum lollies. He didn’t hurt anyone.” But the tears escaping from her eyes then showed she was too consumed, she was drowning in her memories, in her son’s death, It was disheartening to watch as a beast- a monster that instilled so much fear naturally break before her crumbling home, remembering time and time again, as it was ripped away, as her chance of happiness.

Because his death was not the only one. His death was the first, and his siblings stumbled to follow behind, their mother disappearing not long after. Her son was the mark of her downfall, the loss of one life was far great, but she found no reprieve afterwards. Like dominoes the rest followed and her family crumbled, her home crumbled. By far, the memory of her burning home, the fantasy she illuded to- SHe would do it, again and again if it meant that none of it ever happened. That her kids were safe, that she still had something to fight for. That she wasn’t here- wasn’t seeking justice only for it all to fall together again, only to fall apart- again and again.

Where most would be innocent, Obscuro was not. She had grown in the midst of an anti-clan. Been molded by their ways, in all her life, she spent most of it honing her ability to kill, manipulate, and torture. It was an addiction, the purest form. She craved carnage, blood and the ​screams​ of her enemies. It was fulfilling to know that she was feared, to know that her clan was safe simply because her enemies knew better than to cross her. She would always default to this nature- to hurt rather than to be hurt. To kill rather than threaten, she was volatile and gruesome, she was a threat- a wolf covered in lambs wool around her clanmates and she knew it well. She wore it; with the scars- the bold predatory prowl she always set to, the near growl her voice took naturally and the quick witted way she could escalate from talking casual to spreading anyone's guts across a nearby tree in the same casual tone and mannerism.

She reveled in her monstrousness, in her ability to fool and manipulate those around her. Toying with her clanmates- friends and family the same way a sociopathic kit would their food. Gutting their emotions, peeling layer by layer their skin- sanity in slow torturous- but precise movements. No one ever seems to know what she is capable of until it is too late. The best part- the worst part of it all would always be the betrayal. There was nothing better than betraying someone, knowing the pain, the grief and the surprise one felt from thinking they could trust her shatter in a single instance she twisted that knife into their back. Metaphorically or otherwise.

But the life of an immortal very rarely would stay in the same place. Where she had gone from anti-clannerism had been much worse. From standing in the dark to embracing it with a broken mind. Taking every rule that was set to limit, and break each in every way. She went out of her way to be cruel and in kind built a reputation for herself. A cautionary tale to any kid and adult alike. Not only extending to weak-pro-clanners but even their much darker counterparts. Crippling control and ruthless addiction to kill and maim going hand in hand with madness- she had experienced insanity in it's purist form. She ate her own demons and became a part of them as they did of her. She was no longer that little not-so-innocent-pup.

She was no longer the frail little adolescent that denounced their family too late- that already abandoned them. No longer Whisper- no longer Obscuro. She had a new name then; the very same that burned with pride and she would always carry close to her heart, weather that burn turned on her or outwardly- She became Zactov, renamed and reclaimed in madness, the wolf’s heart fully committing to It’s spiral of chaos. From the darkness of the tunnels, she had ensured many into the same trope of villainous- Chaotic evils. Worked to mimic herself- even a sliver of the fraction inside of herself- into others. Breaking then the same way. Placing her hurt with them to equalize the burden she had carried.

Where darkness lay, light was sure to filter in. Chase in away the darkness around her, but never the impression, never the ash from her for nor the ink in her veins. It was a slow tedious process, where obscuro took years prowling the loner lands, taking back her names and hiding her blood name away. Searching listless for some sort of purpose, some drive to escape the caves- an excuse to not return to the madness of these tunnels and the spiral. Like most things, she had gotten her answer in a dream.

Waking up to realize the voices in her head couldn't be counted as illusions anymore, and the loudest was a small, timid and shy. Impressions of violet fur, of stuffing and rubber knives. A torrential river of rage swept through her, and she- like most other things, flung into the idea of vengeance. To which she traded her face for a mask, and her body for a puppet on strings. To which she pulled mercilessly. The name tasted fowl on her lips, coming from a time she had once casted it aside, but she had no other way. She was not willing to make a new one, less anybody but her take the credit. Convinced that it was obscuro’s loss, and she should have the chance to extract it under the same name.

In the game of masks and puppets, it was not her first. She had toyed with the idea of minions, deciding to rather split herself - divide and conquer. It had been simple at first. When one mask broke another took Its place. So the cycle continued, even as the spiral swirled behind the clouded expression of her eyes, it bore the intensity of insanity. It really was a wonder how no one noticed. Even in days of peace- as she reverted from her home and her insanity in trade for peace- she could still feel the creep of it under her fur. Feeling it's cool tendrils grip her tightly in moments mostly unconventional. She was never one for controlling her impulses, but she found herself being tested.

Obscuro seemed to have the sense to draw in the ones that always leave. It wasn't anything intentional, she guessed- but it was ironic in a sick, twisted way. The fact that she was sitting civil with the clan that killed her late cub. That as a shinigami- she had a demon's mark. That the time she stopped- refrained from killing- trying to better herself the people around her start to drop like flies, murdered, killed, missing. She couldn't simply blame the clan, it seemed anywhere she went- tragedy followed. A loyal dog hounding it's master. Rare and seldom in between she wanted to laugh, let the hysterics in her swirl out into the air- let out the briefest flickers of crazy that boiled and simmered in her heart.

She was so tired of trying to be something she wasn't. Tired of palpitating some foolish hope her clan mates held and show them the errors of their ways. Show them what the world did to people- to it's undeserving and the wrongness of her still being alive. She had killed many-she had tortured thousands​, send that loyal dog- ​tragedy​ to almost every clan, every family with her name on their lips in ​scorn​. Zactov, her blood-name was meant to be ​feared​, Obscuro was  a broken thing, one that many thought irreparable, used only a cloak of sheep's wool, to hide in- to shed and do away with when the night hung and the hopeful settled for blissful sleep. She missed the thrill of the hunt and she was so ​hungry​--