#maybe even a blackbird | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonnieisaway · 3 months

Text

anyways while I was editing earlier we have almost a precise ranking of power for the shadow killers despite most of them not actually ever saying/their official ranking never been mentioned. and most of this is either just mentioned in passing or can be guessed from the way the show presents them. up to season 4 spoilers ahead btw

so like, obviously Seven (in his prime, at least - do you think the second spot ever took his when he disappeared btw? like do you think there was a time where he was just labelled missing for ages before somebody else became number one?) was rank number one, it's said and talked about like a million times, Seven was conclusively the highest ranked and most powerful shadow killer by 18 years old.

along with this we hear one other thing: Green Phoenix is mentioned to be the (physically) weakest Shadow Killer. given how much people are sticklers for the rankings we can presume this puts him at the lowest of the seven, even if he chose to appear weaker than he is and his focus is majorly on cunning and wit rather than martial prowess, I assume this is where he's offically ranked honestly

everyone else has never had their number mentioned - or if it was said in some obscure place i don't know it's not on the wiki, but let's be fucking for real nothing is on the wiki seriously one of us might wanna update that thing one day anyways - but I believe we can roughly guess where the rest of the killers rank given by their actions in the show and the order which the show presents them.

which - this might be a controversial one tbh - puts Redtooth fairly low on the list. he is physically more powerful than Green Phoenix, but Green Phoenix is able to outwit Redtooth twice, and Green Phoenix is technically the one who kills Redtooth. But also, Seven at fairly low strength was able to fight Redtooth and almost won on his own. Redtooth is also mentioned in season 4 that naturally, he was physically weak and actually struggled with picking up qi and such - he does not have a natural nor honed talent and his power ENTIRELY relies on the Blood Demon inside him. So he's easily outwitted, he's physically weak without the Blood Demon which, up until season 4 was still restrained heavily, Seven is able to handle him all the way back in season two. Notably, Dai Bo and the rest of the cast are unable to handle him however, even though most of them are built to handle aggressive opponents liked Redtooth.

But it's mainly the fact he appears and is 'defeated' so early in the show that makes me truly believe he ranks so low. Obviously we probably haven't seen the full capabilities of Redtooth and most of the cast however, and this is a ranking with the seal. Obviously he seems to be set up to absolutely rock White Fox's shit in season 5, but it's still really important to keep in mind that this is purely the Blood Demon.

after him the other shadow killer we have the most information on is Blackbird, who Seven ultimately beat into the fuckin ground but boy did we sure almost die getting there!!

So from what we know about Blackbird, from season three, is that unlike Redtooth, he is physically strong, and similar to Green Phoenix he's largely driven by his trauma and his need to validate something that's missing within him, but his weakness seems to really only be his own ego - his weakness (aside from the sun like a fucking vampire. cringelord) is when he can't win, when he is struggling, his frustration is ultimately his downfall. This is one of - if not the only - few fights where 'prime' Seven - or even just Seven as he is now - does not appear to be physically stronger than somebody, and he's actually just barely faster than Blackbird (being able to fucking FLY he's still got a bit of an advantage but Seven's reaction time is evidently quicker, and Blackbird comments that Seven's ambushes and speed used to be infamous - a prowess that Blackbird is almost capable to keep up with) but he wins the fight with wit and outsmarting them. And ultimately, Blackbird's weakness was himself.

Which is a lot to say he's really strong. But it's hard to place him anywhere on the leaderboard without a key thing that Manjusaka says:

"It seems you're the best after all," as she turns to Blackbird. This is (presumably) the direct translation, because in English Manjusaka actually says something different that I wanna touch on again later, but she turns to Blackbird and says he's the best after all. Which would imply: Blackbird took the spot for number one when Seven was missing. Blackbird had been second to Seven in the league - and some of his contempt for Seven may be because of that. This conclusively puts Blackbird in the number two spot for me.

The next three we have even less information on, so it's really hard to put them in precise spots. As for Manjusaka though we have this: she is very cunning and manipulative, and the other Shadow Killer we know to be infamous for their cunning and wit was the lowest ranked - because the ranks seem to have FAR more value in raw martial prowess and strength than wit. Along with this, Manjusaka never actually works alone. In English in season 3, when she turns to Blackbird, she says "I guess we're just better together," which puts a lot of emphasis on her working with somebody, and emphasis on the fact that she's USING the fact that Blackbird is so high rank so that she can be powerful by proxy. She's also the only one who seems to defend her other Shadow Killers - though they aren't immune to her own scrutiny, Manjusaka outright kills three people for shit-talking Redtooth.

Along with this - Manjusaka dies to Green Phoenix (coughprobablycough) and leaves her as an opponent Seven will never (probably) fight. The Shadow Killers have kept appearing in an order of higher and higher ranking, and Manjusaka is the third to ever appear, and of the three, ALL THREE have died and one came back. Just like, the order these characters have appeared in, they usually appear in increasing power and every season has ended with Seven fighting or about to fight a new, powerful Shadow Killer. Manjusaka dying already leaves her feeling fairly low ranked, given the pattern the show has exhibited.

Manjusaka is also tied to Shimen and are inseparable - what Shimen and Manjusaka lack the other make up for. Shimen appears slow yet viciously strong and stone faced, he's nothing but muscle and qi, and Manjusaka is fast and stealthy - she teleports around, she uses deception and poisons to best her enemies. They're also hardly ever depicted apart. They're only separated twice - when Shimen leaves the fight with Blackbird due to general disinterest, and when Shimen and Manjusaka split up in season 4.

(these two symbols fading into each other feel like they represent Manjusaka and Shimen)

They're constantly depicted together and fluently work together. They coordinate easily when that's not the normal for the Shadow Killers - infighting is banned and that's it, they aren't required to get along. But these two are two inseparable halves of one whole, they are both arguably strong on their own but they have glaring weaknesses that the other fills. Their weaknesses, to a point, are when they're separated. This also would seemingly put them next to each other on the ranking - together it feels like they make up one, unstoppable person, and it makes sense that separately they are at similar ranking/strength, just simply excel together, and weaker rankings would be the most likely to bond together to form stronger ones.

Not to mention, Manjusaka dies on screen at the end of the season four and that's it, and Shimen's fate is left entirely unknown because he doesn't appear again and only the leader approaches Green Phoenix. But during the opening for the entire season we see one shot of Shimen we never actually see during the season:

Shimen left alone and unconscious without Manjusaka. And he leaves the Blackbird fight unharmed, he obviously leaves the encounter with Ouyang Zang (is that his name ? straight up might've misspelled it sorry ) alive because he appears again afterwards, and it seems to imply that without Manjusaka, Shimen is left weak and vulnerable. So these two, to me, feel like they're exactly next to each other on the rankings - and possibly ranked somewhere in the middle

Which now only leaves White Fox, who we know the least about personality wise but we've seen some of his martial abilities (AKA: hey guys I can make a nitrogen bomb from my finger. wanna see) and watched him fight the prince of Stan, which does lead to the conclusion that he is fairly powerful, though it seems it's not really physical strength but his qi, speed, and reflexes that let him overpower his opponents. Given the rankings I've given the other Shadow Killers it naturally leaves him at a semi-high spot.

Which leaves me with my final (guesstimated) ranking of the Shadow Killers, with Seven during his prime, Redtooth's seal still not broken:

Seven

Blackbird

White Fox

Shimen

Manjusaka

Redtooth

Green Phoenix

Shimen and Manjusaka feel interchangeable in their spots, honestly? And I would almost put Redtooth above Manjusaka ...? But it kind of feels natural that he's below her. Also, I went back and skimmed the show to see if anybody else was introduced by ranking, given that a lot of people in the show had been previously, and I only found these scenes:

Which are all only labelled 'the seven greats' according to the translation, unless somebody here speaks Chinese and their rankings are actually said/implied in the Chinese characters and Netflix just didn't translate it which wouldn't even surprise me honestly Netflix just fucking does that sometimes

so yea 👍 that's my estimation on the rankings of the Shadow Killers maybe the show will prove me right eventually. this post took me like 2 hours to make. help

#scissor seven #killer seven #wu liuqi #seven #scissor 7 #analysis #manjusaka #blackbird #white fox #green phoenix #shimen #redtooth #bonnie is once again going stir crazy without content #absolutely nobody is surprised #honestly the rankings feel kind of weird #i supposed they're based only off kills or something similar.. ?#or maybe it's because we haven't seen the full potential of a lot of characters #but majusaka lowkey feels like she should be SO much lower #and shimen should be SO much higher #and i dont even know how redtooth truly is a shadow killer. i'm thinking the last one before redtooth called in sick /j #i mean they are all undoubtedly insanely powerful #i think just analyzing their combat and how theyre talked about for #the past 2 hours of my life has mentally isolated me from the fact that these are the 7 best in the world

48 notes · View notes

mummer · 5 months

Text

did you guys know that sam follows the first half of the hero’s journey really well (pretending that the hero’s journey isnt insanely malleable and can apply to like 50% of fictional characters in the world)

#i just think it’s neat that in the belly of the beast chapter he really was having a miserable jonah moment on the blackbird #they even threaten to throw gilly off to appease the gods!#Unless gilly is actually the hero’s journey haver in question. Like well maybe so #the supernatural aid he gets is so fun!!!!#asoiaf

28 notes · View notes

lunasilvis · 3 months

Text

1 advice to (too) many people: try to start taking yourselves and life less seriously. really

#💛#Like. my dog was taking her morning shit in the backland today and then heard a blackbird sing in the conifer. she looked so mesmerized #the sight of that was everything #Once you understand nothing in life belongs to you (no gains no wins no losses no shit at all) life gets so much easier 🙏#If you think of life as a competition...get over yourself sally and grab a coffee or go look at some clouds. You're enough as you are #Everything is transient. we're only here for a very brief moment. With most ppl we share less hours than we'd think (for whatever reasons)#so enjoy it!!!!! find the weirdness in the mundane!!! the silver lining in the freaking cess pool circus. yea please be a little unhinged #Just breathe. Life isn't out to get you. yeah maybe that fine ass. furthermore just trust it'll all work out in your favor. as it always ha #*has :)#Also be straightforward. Say the unspoken. Be honest to a fault (even if it evokes opposite reactions). Don't bottle shit up #Just relax + smile more. Invest in your own well-being and try to lookout for others' much as you are able to. that's all

9 notes · View notes

piplupod · 2 months

Text

my brain is so nonsensical, i will see omens in the most mundane shit but then when a dead blackbird appears a little ways away from outside the house i don't even blink

#I feel like theres poems and stuff abt dead blackbirds being omens BDJFDLL #i think maybe it doesnt click as an omen bc i am so wired now to just immediately think about helping put the critter to proper rest #(and then perhaps collect the bones after it decomposes fjfkdl)#i think his skull (he was a breeding male im pretty sure but I'll have to double check the photos i took) is too broken to rly collect #but i did wrap him up in cheesecloth and bury him (the crows did not want him) to check on in a few months #hopefully i can finish cleaning the crow and pigeon and mouse I've got that just need disinfecting #(crows are legal to have remains of here btw i know in some places the MBA doesnt allow it but here it IS legal lol)#i will have to check abt the blackbird probably but just burying him is fine even if he's protected under the MBA i think #better than leaving him out on the road i think !!!#also dw abt th3 bird virus that was going around - i always glove up with good quality disposable gloves and wash my hands + forearms after #I do not play around w dead things fjfkfl i dont want to get sick from handling them #i am very careful abt it fjdkdl and make sure to keep the amount i have to handle them (while gloved) to a minimum #dead animal tw #unsanitary tw #maybe ??? its all sanitary the way i do it but maybe it would make ppl feel queasy or triggered hearing abt it #ask to tag #pippen needs 2nd breakfast

4 notes · View notes

arthur-r · 1 year

Text

thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird by wallace stevens (via the poetry foundation)

#have to analyze the symbolism of this before class tomorrow but i got distracted transcribing it into alt text #i’m obsessed with this poem i don’t understand it but i really really love it. it’s the reason i chose to work with this poet #(for english class)#anyway i kind of need to sleep really soon. but yeah this is what i’m analyzing tomorrow morning. going to do it during my other classes #(first and second hour are tests i don’t have to take. so it should work out don’t worry)#but like. look at this poem!!!!#it was evening all afternoon it was snowing and it was going to snow. the blackbird sat in the cedar limbs #a man and a woman are one. a man and a woman and a blackbird are one #anyway i’m getting the vibe that this blackbird might maybe have something to do with death. i just don’t feel like analyzing it right now #so goodnight. but i wanted to share. because it’s really good. and yeah #me. my post. mine.#wallace stevens #thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird

14 notes · View notes

keepthemacramesecret · 1 year

Text

man i gotta say watching regular tv after 2 wks just listening to radio dramas, tv is so hard to hear-

wait hang on my phone is telling me theres new emojis holy shit look at this guy!!! 🐦‍⬛!!!

#a #this isnt even abt modern sound mixing btw were watching x files #audio stuff just has to rly prioritise narrative clarity with its sound #and i feel like radio plays especially excel at this in a way that podcasts dont always need to #maybe bc theyre also fighting radio white noise???not that that applies to bf but theyre def using a more radio format than a podcast forma #anyway more importantly LOOK AT THAT LITTLE BLACKBIRD #still not a crow/raven but ill take what i can get

2 notes · View notes

ravens-two · 5 months

Text

PAC: What your Future Spouse will be like and how will you meet them?

This reading includes:

your FS's personality, vibes, and general info

how and where you will meet them for the first time

songs that represent the vibe of this relationship

The extended reading includes:

your FS's first impressions of you

your first impressions of your FS

a little moodboard

(this first extended reading is available for free!)

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Hierophant, Hermit and Page of Swords

"Love/I said real love, it's like feeling no fear"

How will your FS be like?

Your FS has a lot of earth energy, for me it feels mainly like Capricorn and Virgo, but there's also Taurus here. This doesn't have to be their zodiac sign, I actually think it's more their overall vibe. They're responsible, down-to-earth, grounded and tend to take things seriously. They also seem to be more traditional, or at least they're someone that respects authority and think that you should follow the rules. Despite being traditional, I think that they're pretty open-minded and open to new experiences. In fact, they like to try new things, they give me scientist vibes tbh. It's like they'll try anything at least once, just to see what it will be like.

When it comes to their work they might work in STEM, law enforcement or in management. I also think that they really like to read, mainly non-fiction because they're always trying to acquire more knowledge. If they're not really readers, then this is more of a nerdy vibe when it comes to their favorite hobby. If they love cinema, then they really like cinema and will be telling you about behind the scenes and production stuff every time you two watch a movie.

I feel like they have a hard time expressing their feelings though. It's not that they're thinkers rather than feelers, it's more like they don't feel comfortable being vulnerable, however I also think that they'll do their best to work through this. These people will not cheat on you and they also do not tolerate cheating or any perceived betrayal. They are very loyal. They're in this to actually get married and stay together, not just to play around.

Also, this is very specific but I also think that they're atheists, but they're very attracted to the occult and spiritual - it's like they really want to believe in something, but they can't believe in something they can't prove.

How will you meet them?

I feel like this will be quite different for everyone, but I'm getting two main things. For some of you, you might meet your person through the internet. This could be through a dating app, social media, some of you will even meet them through an online game I'm seeing (I'm actually seeing you being really frustrated with your person, maybe they're playing against you and winning lmao). For this group your relationship might start long-distance or you and your person might have to travel a lot to see each other.

For the other group I see you meeting this person while you're away from home, this almost has an adventure vibe to it. For some, you might be going away on vacation and you meet someone there. For others, this could be a work trip and this person could be somewhat related to your work. I'm also seeing that some of you aren't exactly traveling, but you're out of town, like the city next to yours or something like that.

your vibes in songs

Cherry - Lana del Rey

Like Real People Do - Hozier

Heavenly - Cigarettes After Sex

Blackbird - Beatles

Francesca - Hozier

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 2

Seven of Wands, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Cups

"put your life out on the line/you're crazy all the time"

How will your FS be like?

Oh right away your person attracts other people's attention and jealousy. They're probably very beautiful, visually striking or they've got money or status. Either way people can't take their eyes off of them. For some of you, this attention isn't for the best reasons. People might feel wary or scared by your person.

This is someone that doesn't take shit from anyone. They are assertive and have high self-esteem. People might try to put them down, but it's literally impossible. I'm actually feeling Leo, Libra and a bit of Taurus vibes here. They're like the brightest star in the room. They also believe that they're the best - not in the sense that they're better than other people, but more in a self-motivation way.

If they've got money and status - like a good job for example (I also think that they're known for their job and they are very good at it) - it's because they worked really hard for it. They don't really come from money, they worked hard for what they have. That's the other thing they are hard workers and will not settle for less than what they have envisioned. They also don't like lazy people or debbie-downers. They firmly believe that everyone makes their own destiny. (for some reason I'm also getting that they like the movie Brave lol).

When it comes to the relationship they love to shower you with gifts, it might be their love language. Also, something that they will do is support your goals and motivate you when you're feeling down.

I also get a bit of a secretive vibe from them, it's almost like they make you look at the brightest parts of them to distract you from the shadows. They sometimes might struggle mentally, I feel like this might come from some childhood trauma or anxiety. Despite this, they're fighters and don't stop trying to get better.

How will you meet them?

Unlike pile 1, I feel like this is a very old-fashioned type of meeting. You might meet in a public place, like going out to a party or to a restaurant or something like that and you see them and they will start a conversation with you and ask for your number.

Others of you will meet your person through someone else, like a friend or a co-worker will introduce you to them. I don't think that this will be match-making, but you two will be instantly attracted to each other.

Either way, this feels like a more traditional courtship type of situation lmao. You'll both take your time getting to know and really dating each other. I feel like this will be very romantic.

your vibes in songs

Art Deco - Lana del Rey

Angels - The XX

Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens

Yellow - Coldplay

Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 3

Tower, Knight of Swords, Eight of Pentacles

"they say I'm too young to love you/they say I'm too dumb to see"

How will your FS be like?

Talk about scorpionic energy. Your person is a force of nature, pile 3. They might have a lot of Pluto or Scorpio influence in their chart. I feel like this is the bad boy/girl pile - in a good way though. If this is a woman she is the embodiment of that dark feminine aesthetic, think Megan Fox for example. In general, they give me dark, edgy, goth vibes. But some lean more towards a romantic, Byron-esque energy. These are the type of people who will seduce you with their gaze and then with their words. They have a very intense sexual energy.

Your person isn't afraid of change, in fact, I think that they crave change. They might start out as being a bit commitment-phobic actually. Your person has also been through a lot, they might be the tortured artist type. They are deep thinkers and love to talk. Like they will talk and talk and talk. Honestly, they're happy to talk about anything, but especially about philosophical stuff or conspiracy theories or that type of thing. Also, as they are so open minded they will be open to talk about anything and are really good listeners. Like, for example, you might love Star Wars but they've never seen it, they're still super happy to talk to you about it and will know about it enough to hold a conversation. They have this gemini energy that they know a little bit about everything. They are very supportive and whenever you have a problem or are feeling down they'll sit you down and ask you to tell them everything.

I get the feeling that they know more than one language and they might actually work as translators, editors or linguists. In general though, I think that this person works freelance and does a lot of different stuff. They want to try as many professions as possible.

They love poetry or music and will either read poetry or sing for you. Again, there's an artist vibe here. They might not be an artist by profession, but they love the arts.

When it comes to their love and emotions they are very passionate. They might express their feelings in really over the top ways. It's like when they're happy they're really happy, but when they're sad they're also really sad. They feel things deeply. Being loved by them is something all-consuming.

How will you meet them?

I actually feel like most of you will meet your person through work. This might mean that you will be co-workers or that you will meet them whilst you or them are working. Let's say that you work as a lawyer for example they might become your client and that's how you get to know each other. Of course, nothing can really happen whilst they're your client, but it will happen afterwards.

For other people, you will meet them during a period that you are very focused on your career and/or you have a lot of work to do. For some people, I'm even seeing that this will be while you're doing your thesis. You're completely focused on something, maybe even feeling a bit stressed and you just meet them randomly. You won't really have time for them right away, but they'll be persistent and keep showing up on your radar until you have enough time to actually get to know each other.

your vibes in songs

Brooklyn Baby - Lana del Rey

West Coast - Lana del Rey

Can't Catch Me Now - Olivia Rodrigo

The Louvre - Lorde

Patience - Guns N' Roses

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 4

Queen of Wands, Fool rx, Nine of Swords rx

"I live to love you/and I love to love you"

How will your FS be like?

Right away I can see that your person is very stubborn and strong-willed, pile 4. This manifests in both a good and a bad way. It means that they are persistent and don't change their minds without good reason. But, it also means that once they have their mind set it's very hard to make them come around.

This person is very fiery. Mainly I see Aries and Leo energy here. They are extroverted, confident and some of them are a bit brash, while others are charmers. They are also very confident in their charm and sexuality, and it's probably what will draw you to them at first.

I also see them as wanting to boost your self-esteem and show you off to others. They love some jealousy lmao (you being jealous, and also others being jealous of them and your relationship). They are absolute drama queens/kings. It amuses them to blow things out of proportion and they love it even more when you do it back at them. Okay, the scenario I'm getting is they trying to make you jealous by doing something silly or talking about an old partner, they would then love it if you were super dramatic about it and pretended to be really upset. They like to argue for fun as well. Like, honestly you need to rein them in at the dinner table so that they don't push your families/friend's buttons. They are very passionate.

I also think that they are a bit pessimistic at times, but when they really feel like that they will try to keep it to themselves instead of being overtly dramatic. I also think that they're looking for stability and a serious relationship after a time of not having it.

They really don't like surprises. And might not be too excited about change. They would prefer if everything always stayed as it is. I also, feel like sometimes they have a hard time balancing between feeling adventurous and not feeling like leaving their safe space.

I think that most of them speak really fast, and often without thinking. Which ends up with them regretting their words more often than not. Also, acting without thinking.

How will you meet them?

I'm not getting a place/physical circumstance as much as the other piles. But, I think that you will meet your person after you have been through a really hard time. Perhaps you have been struggling a lot with anxiety and are now recovering and then you randomly meet them. I feel like you'll know it's them because they will give you a feeling of calmness and peace.

For others I think that this will be a really difficult situation like the loss of a friend, family member, pet, or even a job. It will take you a long time to recover and you will still be quite vulnerable when you meet your person. You might also be a bit anxious about getting into a relationship at first.

your vibes in songs

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana del Rey

Religion - Lana del Rey

More Than Words - Extreme

She - Elvis Costello

National Anthem - Lana del Rey

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

#pac #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #future spouse #fs pac #fs pick a pile

999 notes · View notes

inkskinned · 1 year

Note

im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

#i hope you are okay #i wish i could help more #i hope the pain eases soon #and i hope that you stay #ps . to those of you reading this thinking i should help you too: please just dm me #it makes me really #really really scared when it's anonymous #bc i cant check in with u #i am not a professional and i am not actually good at helping ppl through their troubles #this is an exception bc they are 16 #not the rule #ps if u misunderstand ''being a teenager is the hardest thing i ever did'' when i mention briefly that i was in unsafe housing...#trust me. it was worse there. by like A HUGE margin #every person raised in unsafe housing nodding their head like . oh yeah worse stuff TECHNICALLY happened after but leaving that home was #legit the hardest thing i ever did

2K notes · View notes

ravensvalley · 5 days

Text

#HuntedUntilExtermination

Northern Raven...

I am extremely pissed off today of our "changing and depending on which region of Canada we are living in", because laws are flexible and can change at any time.

Example: Nearly all native birds in Canada are protected, even if they don't migrate. But this law concerns only the category of small birds. Which is terribly weird for me because these small birds are here in abundance, like thousands and more of them. But for most native species as birds of prey, they are excluded from being protected, like; Hawks, Owls, Eagles, Falcons, Kingfishers, Ravens, Crows, Jays, as for three other species in the blackbird family, like; Rusty Blackbirds, Common Grackles, and Brown‐Headed Cowbirds. Unbelievable if we think about the White Headed Eagles who can have only one clutch of 1-3 eggs per year, (and the first born, the strongest one, can kill the other two to have more food for him, which mother Eagle will also let him do) and can be hunted? As for the rarely seen, Royal Eagle, who is always moving further to North for fear of human. Weird right!

Regarding to the BC Wildlife Act, "Ravens are Schedule C Wildlife, meaning they can be hunted any time, but you do need a hunting licence, unless !!! "you are hunting them on your property or they are damaging your property." Ravens are protected under the, Wildlife Act, except !!! in those regions of the province that have a hunting season for them. Ravens can trigger a wide range of human reactions. It may be disgust for some people to see them feeding on roadkills.Or to see them from your bedroom window can be annoyingly diligent at letting you know that it is 4 o'clock a.m. For Native people, Ravens are still honoured in many First Nations’ cultures while for ranchers can be horrified at them to find the eyes of newborn beef calves pecked out." -bcmag

Ravens, foxes, wolves,… they only try to survive like any other wild animals. It is called, the food chain… hello??? Maybe we should exterminate Roosters too?

So to say, Ravens are protected by the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Act in Canada but, don't have anymore any form of legal protection today.

It is like cannabis; it is against the law to grow marijuana in Québec but if you "live" in Canada, it is legal and you can!

What kind of Canadian bullshit law is this. Ravens have been hunted, trapped, poisoned, etc… for so many years until practically extermination. Ravens even teach their siblings to stay away from human as far as possible for all these reasons, but for some people, it is not enough.

So yes, I am right now fucking pissed off at our country. Ravens can now be hunted "again" because of some people that are disgusted by them.

@BenAdrienProulx May 15th, 2024

210 notes · View notes

reduxulousoctopus · 25 days

Text

X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).

I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.

Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.

“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.

Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”

No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.

Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.

When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Morph winces.

“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”

“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”

From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”

“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”

“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”

The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”

“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”

To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.

Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.

Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.

How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?

Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.

“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.

He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.

“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”

Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.

“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”

Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”

“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.

“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”

Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.

“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”

The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.

“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”

Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”

“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”

“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”

“Who else knows?”

“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”

At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.

“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.

Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.

“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.

Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.

“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”

Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.

He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.

Badum-tch.

Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.

Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.

Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?

“Morph. Look at me.”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.

“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”

From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.

It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.

Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.

One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.

The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?

Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.

Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.

If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.

Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.

The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.

But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.

He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”

As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.

“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”

Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…

He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.

That’s real enough for him.

#x men 97 #x men #morph #wolverine #morpherine #my stuff #wait what this actually ended up good #have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair

77 notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 3 months

Note

full disclosure i've been sitting on this thought ever since i first read blackbird but the amount of emotional whiplash i've been put through both from silly season and life in general has prevented me from stringing it into a coherent ask

but like i've been thinking about danny his little birdie getting matching blackbird tattoos on their leg and when they stand together it looks like the two birds are taking flight. thinking about how some of their favorite pictures are the ones taken on balmy summer nights, where the two of them are pressed together so close, where you can see the two little birds taking flight together, twin flames. and thinking about how it becomes the spot that danny always kisses when he's slotted between her thighs, the spot he worries his thumb over when they're pressed under the covers late at night. he doesn't even need to see it to know it's the right spot, the muscle memory is there.

-🌠

star babes. star, my love. star. i saw this ask this morning and it kept me going all day. i actually had a note while i was writing Blackbird that just said “stick and poke tattoos?” but i didn’t find a way to work it in, so this is perfect i love it thank you so much. adding a read more bc this got long.

i think they’d get the tattoos after they’ve been together for a bit, but tbh not that long? like maybe they’re hanging out over Danny’s winter break and they pass by a tattoo shop and she suggests it and he is absolutely all for it. like yeah matching tattoos are sort of a big deal but it’s not like they’re getting each other’s names, right?

they go in and start looking through the flash designs, and when Danny finds the little bird they’re both set on it. they hold each other’s hands through the process. it’s adorable. he’d get his on his left leg so it stands out, so it’s prominent and not hidden away in all the other ones he has. ugh i can picture them in the tattoo parlor, standing close together while the artist puts the stencil on so they can make sure they line up perfectly.

she’s always liked his tattoos, loves tracing them, but that one’s special because it’s hers, too, you know? and Danny… he’s got a whole photo album on his phone dedicated to her tattoo. some of the pics are sweet and innocent- her in shorts on a camping trip where you can see it peeking out, the picture from the tattoo parlor when it was fresh. but some of them are also for his eyes only. his hand around her thigh, the little birdie between his fingers, her in her underwear, the bird displayed prominently, hickeys and bite marks all around it. you get the idea.

in my head they go on camping trips together a lot. i think they’d sit around the campfire in separate chairs, but close enough that their legs are pressed together. he hates when it gets chilly enough that she puts pants on. definitely pushes the hem of her shorts up if they’re covering the tattoo just so he can see it.

can so see her kissing his thighs when she goes down on him and paying special attention to that spot. he does the same for her. and he def runs his thumb over it as he’s falling asleep, sometimes in his sleep. he swears the skin feels different. she’d call him crazy if he didn’t find the spot every time without even looking.

also i think eventually his nickname for her morphs into just straight up Birdie. and when she meets his friends/people in the paddock they’re surprised to find out that’s not actually her name. just a lil headcanon of mine. someone definitely asks if the tattoo is bc of her name and she’s like… “oh that’s actually not my name, it’s a nickname, but Danny has a matching one!” and he’s either pulling up his shorts or pulling down his pants to show his off

thank you for giving me an excuse to word vomit ab them i love Blackbird Danny sm

#box box #anon #🌠 anon #shootingstar scuderia #mutuals 💛#dr3 x birdie!

69 notes · View notes

brayneworms · 4 months

Text

fearful, wonderful | scaramouche

general tags. kabukimono!scaramouche, trans!scaramouche, yokai!reader, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, yokai lore/imagery, very slowburn, food consumption/eating, tatarasuna.

content warnings. gender dysphoria, allusions to war and death.

word count. 5k

notes. this is an 18+ blog. minors and ageless accounts do not interact, you will be blocked.

synopsis. the puppet learns the horrors of the body.

masterlist | prev | next | ao3

III. SHED YOUR KNUCKLE VELVET, TORN ON MY TEETH.

Winter aches by.

The puppet had come to you in the middle of it, and now even as you watched, bunches of green leaves had begun to sprout upon the skeletal limbs of the trees. Exactly as predicted, the pathway up to the Hisehide’s house iced over, and those hacked-up cornstalks along with it. The puppet eyed them as warily as one might drawn blades, and insisted on holding your sleeve when you passed them.

As the days and then weeks unroll before you, the ground becomes crunchy with ghostly frost, and you’re able to see your breath in wisps as it escapes your mouth. A thick sheet of ice sweeps over the lake near your house and remains there staunchly for weeks, glittering whitely in the smudgy watercolour sun. The sky overhead is blanketed in dense clouds, dove-grey and swollen-looking, prone to pouring rain, sleet or snow as they saw fit.

Winter aches by, and the puppet gets a name.

It’s not you who gives it to him—that still feels wrong, feels grimy. Feels parental. And it becomes increasingly clear as the weeks pass that whatever you are to the puppet, it is not a parent. You’re scarcely even a mentor. You’re the owner of the house he sleeps him, the one who collects him from his tutoring lessons. The one who still hasn’t told him about the gold feather in your cupboard, or the Electro mark on his nape. You’re not even sure why.

Kabukimono. Strange things. The name that had stuck to the puppet as the townspeople slowly accustomed to his presence. Nobody knew the extent of what he was, nobody but you and Niwa and Katsuragi (though you suspected Honoka knew, too, with the way she never quite seemed to leave her children alone in either of your presence). They did not know he was inhuman, but they seemed to sense it on him. That particular feeling you are accustomed to.

There is a bird that frequents the lavender melon tree outside of your door. A blackbird, sweet and silent. Kabukimono becomes fascinated with her. He leaves dried fruits and cracked chestnuts outside on the frozen earth to peck at, and when he sees that she’s poking at his offerings he scampers to the window to watch. Over the course of around a week, he gains her trust.

One day you walk outside to find the blackbird perched on his finger. His expression is soft and open with wonder, as though awe had pulled him apart from the inside. His eyes round as pennies, lips parted. One of the porch steps creaked under your foot, and the blackbird twitched and took wing.

Still. One of the children nearby you owned a cat. It was never going to end well. But you wish you would have warned him.

You were woken early one morning by a scream. Any fatigue left you with a jolt, and when you peered around the room and realised Kabukimono was gone, your stomach lurched. You barely paused to pull on your hanten before rushing outside, barefoot against the frosty soil, looking around wildly. The cold air stung at your skin, the dawn mist curling at your ankles as you rushed around the house.

You came upon him in a heap. A soft shaking pile of cotton nightwear, his fingers digging into his hair and pulling at the roots. You approached, aghast at the honest fear you felt as you knelt before him.

“Hey. What is it, what’s wrong?”

You almost asked, are you hurt? But maybe his answer still would have been yes, because you think—you think this sort of thing really did hurt him. Splintered his ribcage apart and twisted up his insides. When he looked up at you, his expression was agonised, dark eyes shot red and spilling over with tears.

Your eyes trailed down to the tiny dark corpse at his feet. Wings splayed apart. Blood matted those dark feathers.

“Oh.”

“C-Can you… fix it?” He asked it with a sliver of earnestness, was the worst part. As though a part of him truly believed you would say yes. You wanted to, in that moment.

“I’m… it’s dead.”

His expression screwed up, contorted. “But I don’t want it to be dead.”

Your mouth opened and closed wordlessly. You wanted either to scream or to laugh. If only it were that simple!

But you did neither of these things, and your lack of response only seemed to frustrate the puppet further. “I don’t want it to be dead,” he repeated, his voice rising, cracking horribly. “It shouldn’t be dead! It’s not right!” He clambered furiously to his feet, and when you tried to follow him he flinched backwards. “Fix it!”

“I can’t.” You look at him in disbelief. “It’s dead. Understand? Nothing in this entire world can bring it back, certainly not me. Look, just—”

He cringed back, holding the poor dead bird in his pale shaking hands. “N-no!”

“Listen to me. Listen.” You stormed up to him and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Things die. That’s the way it works. The things around you die and you live on. You can’t break down and weep every time it happens.”

“It’s not fair!” Kabukimono screamed, hands trembling so badly that he dropped the bird anyway. “Why did she have to die? Why did she have to leave me?”

You open your mouth furiously to answer and find that you do not have one. The puppet stares you down, eyes hard and furious and glimmering with tears, his pale cheeks flushed with fury, his mouth open and wet. Your eyes trail down to his hands; there is blood on them.

“Come back inside. It’s cold,” you say, even though he cannot feel it. He opens his mouth as though to protest, but there must be something in your expression that screams that you aren’t in the mood to be argued with. Instead he wilts. Deflates from the shoulders down and hangs his head and he shuffles past you to the door.

You look down at the bird, and find with an obscure sense of unease that you cannot conjure up even a smidge of sadness. The dark-feathered corpse on the floor may as well be an ink stain for all the empathy you feel.

Still, something compels you to pick it up. You bring it into the house, place it in a box. Kabukimono, still crying, watches you as you move around.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks, his voice hoarse.

You don’t answer, digging in your cupboard. You come up with a couple of incense sticks and a match, set them alight in a cup to catch the ash. Funeral rituals. It’s been so long you barely remember the steps. With humans, you’re supposed to water the lips and wash the body, but this will do for now—it’s a more extravagant burial than any vermin killed by a cat could hope for.

“We’ll bury it later,” you tell Kabukimono.

There is blood all down your front.

“I’m going for a bath.”

It’s unnecessary—most of the gore had stained your nightclothes, and there was only a little on your hands and arms. But you feel dirty. It’s not that blood makes you squeamish, it just makes you wish you were dead.

You boil the water over the stove and pour it into the tin tub. You’re impatient enough to find that just over the halfway mark is good enough for you as you strip off your clothes and clamber in, sitting with your knees on to your chest and your back to the metal. You tip your head back against the tin lip, feeling obscene, feeling heavy, feeling incorrigible.

You don’t often like bathing. It thrusts the imperfections of your skin out in the open. Broken apart and sealed back together with gold at the seams like a shattered cup. Like seto. It reminds you that there is no soul holding you together, like most human bodies. Only paint and a prayer.

The door ekes open, and you scramble to cover yourself. “What?”

Kabukimono’s huge sorrowful eyes peer around the frame. “I need to wash my hands,” he says tremulously. You tuck your knees closer to your chest, hesitating. It shouldn’t bother you to let the puppet see your naked body. You don’t think of such things as humans did, anyway—as yōkai, your form had never been a vessel for pleasure or gentleness. All you’d known was breaking apart and being put back together. In any case, you don’t endure the shame or embarrassment most humans feel when unclothed.

But Kabukimono is different, and you’re not even sure why.

You’re being irrational, you tell yourself, and nod over to him awkwardly. “Just… dip them in the water there.”

He nods, shuffling in. You scrunch against the hot metal wall of the tub and watch him out of the corner of your eye. His cheeks are still faintly pink, his eyes red-rimmed and splotchy; when he dips his hands in the water, they tremble slightly, sending shuddering rings spiderwebbing out from them over the steaming surface.

One of his fingers bushes against your ankle, and you flinch back like you’ve been shot.

Kabukimono raises his eyes to you, and you hate how pinned you feel by them. It’s something in them that makes him difficult to look at, like trying to peer straight into the sun. Something good, something innocent that you’re going to ruin.

Katsuragi has made a huge mistake. You sit in the bloody bathwater and you’re sure of it.

You’re going to ruin him.

You’re going to make him just like you—

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Kabukimono’s voice is soft, inquisitive. It makes you want to grow brambles over your skin and hide. “What?”

He straightens up but stays kneeling on the floor beside the bath. The expression on his face is sort of… bewildered. And hurt. Your stomach lurches.

“You don’t offend me,” he tries, earnestly confused. “You told me before that my body wasn’t offensive, yet you still asked me to hide it. Because of… decency.”

You remember. The diamond cut of his white limbs in the stormlight, in the middle of your dark parlour room like a melting wax candle. But it’s true—yōkai have no shame. You are born naked and often live in it. You clothe yourself whilst you live among humans, but for their comfort, not yours. But Kabukimono is not human, and if shame exists in his soul it is you who taught it to him.

“I was… wrong to say that,” you whisper hoarsely. “There’s nothing indecent about your body.”

Kabukimono’s lashes flutter. They’re long, delicate wisps, framing those eyes, those eyes. Globe thistles shining out of the thin cage of his head.

“What about yours?” he asks breathlessly, every word clinging to his lower lip as it escapes him. You flinch again, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t know the half of it, the things this body has done.

You are shameful. You are indecent. But not for the reasons he thinks.

Kabukimono looks upset again. “Why would your body be indecent but not mine?” he presses, and your skin is starting to prickle. His eyes drop, trailing over the exposed skin, and you wish you’d filled the tub to the brim if only so it would provide somewhere to hide. Every crack in your flesh that has broken apart and been painted patiently back together, and it doesn’t sing so much as it screams.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you choke out.

“But—”

“That’s enough. Get out.” Kabukimono draws back, blinking at you. Stung. It only makes you sicker. “Get out, I said! I don’t want you in here, I don’t want you to look at me, I want you to leave!”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Either get out of this room or get out of this house, understand?”

Kabukimono gapes, scrambling back like you’d struck him, and a soft, cut noise escapes him from somewhere high in his throat. He hightails out of the room, the sliding door rattling from the force with which he slams it shut. Your hands clench at nothing in the water, feeling too big for your body, your skin feeling delicate and bruised.

You stick your head under the water and scream.

It’s unclear how much longer you stay in the bath; you don’t want to step outside the safe confines of your tiny bathroom. Don’t want to face the puppet and his big reproachful eyes and trembling bottom lip. You don’t want to be reminded of how monstrous you are in the face of his innocence.

Still, by the time you make the move to lift yourself up out of the yawn of the bathtub, the water is bitingly cold. You dry off and dress methodically, stalling for as long as possible. You wonder, briefly, about curling up on the condensation-wet floor and sleeping there. Certainly, you’ve rested in worse conditions.

You’re being ridiculous. It’s your house.

And yet you creep through it like a stranger, like you’re the ghost in the walls, the trespasser. In so many ways you suppose you are. A spirit in a human house almost feels like a sick joke. You move quietly, bare feet padding over tatami mats, and you slide the bedroom door open like you’re trying to keep a secret.

The puppet is a bundle of bedsheets scrunched into the corner. You know he’s awake—both because he doesn’t sleep in general, and because of the way the bundle flinches when the door clicks shut—but he doesn’t say anything as you slip into the room. You feel like he had breath, he’d be holding it, and you suddenly feel desperately sorry and desperately disgusting.

You crawl into your own futon, searching for comfort in the sheets but finding only the starchy smell of clean linen. Instead, your eyes trace the patterns that the moonlight paints onto the wall, and you count your own heartbeats until sleep slips you under its dark veil.

You dream, because of course you do. You dream of a sunlit field dotted with white chrysanthemums. You lay among the grass as the sun casts a lazy arc overhead, and you are so young and so stupid and nothing bad has happened to you. Summer carries by on a warm breeze, and your friends’ laughter pollinates the air. You feel that you could drown here. You feel that you could just die—

A soft weight creeps over you. You groan, tuck your head back against the flesh of the mattress, about to slip back into your halcyon dream, and—

“I thought you wouldn’t come back.”

You snap out of sleep like you’ve been slapped, all traces of summer draining from you in a cold plunge. There’s frost on the windows, but you’re not necessarily cold, and in the dark a shadow moves over you.

Kabukimono hovers over you, knees on the side of the futon, face above yours. His weight is braced by one arm next to your head. You can just barely make out his outline as your eyes settle into the pitch-darkness; it feels like you’ve only been sleeping for an hour or so.

“Wh—what?”

The arm beside your head shakes. “I thought… you truly meant it when you told me to leave. I thought about it. Just going. But I remembered about the ice on the path and I got scared, I got scared. Don’t you see? I need you.”

Your throat tightens. “Kabukimono—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong, please, please. Don’t send me away. Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Okay, okay. Hey.” You fumble in the dark, still half-delirious but sobering to reality as the seconds ooze past. You sit up, carefully dislodging him. “Don’t be upset. I’m—I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“You tried to make me leave,” he bursts out, his voice shaking, cracking horribly like broken glass. “Is that really what you want?”

Yes, you scream in your head. But not for the reasons you think.

“I’m not—suited,” you say haltingly. “To take care of you. I will make you into something miserable. As miserable as I am.”

You can just about make out the fuzzy outline of Kabukimono tilting his head. “Then why did you agree to take me in?”

“Because you’re not human.” The words rush out of you like vomit, and you feel the puppet go very, very still. “And nor am I. And I know how lonely that can be. To sit and watch the whole world go by with you unable to keep up. To love something not designed for you to love. And I—I’m too…”

The silence that swells between you is as heavy as concrete—at least until you feel him move. Hair brushes against your chest, right to the left of your breastbone. You stiffen, tense; achingly slowly, Kabukimono presses his cheek to your chest.

“What—” Your mouth dries, fills with saliva again at a rapid rate, and you swallow hard. “What are you doing?”

Kabukimono’s head twitches against you. And then he murmurs, “You have a heart. That’s more than me. I don’t think you’re doomed. Only I am.”

“You’re not doomed.”

“Everyone I love sends me away,” he whispers, voice catching, thick and wet. “I’m not meant to be kept. I’m not coveted or desired. I’m a burden.”

“Stop that. Stop it.”

“Even you don’t want me.”

“Stop it. It’s not that I don’t. I don’t want to mess you up.”

“You won’t. The only way you will is if you leave me. If you force me out.” His voice is thick with emotion. “Please, please…”

Your heart thuds treacherously in your ears. “Do you mean it?”

His body scrambles against yours, alight with sudden feverish hope. His head retracts from your chest, hovering excitedly in front of you. “Yes. Yes. I mean it. Just don’t send me away and I’ll be fine.”

It’s inconceivable. For someone to want to be wanted by you. But his voice is so tender, so weak, and you find you don’t have it in you to spurn him.

So you make the worst mistake of your life, and you tell him in hushed tones, “Alright. Alright. I won’t send you away.”

“Promise? Promise me.” His voice is like torn sandpaper, ragged and raw. As though if you say the wrong thing here and now he will be irrevocably ripped apart.

“I promise.”

That’s where it begins to unspool, you suppose now, even if you had no idea then. Kabukimono jams his head in the crook of your neck, trembling hard, and you can’t help but think you’ve made a mistake.

You have. But there’s no way you can know this, not yet.

For now, all you know is the puppet on top of you, bracketing your hips with his knees, and your shame rises until it chokes you back against the pillow.

Your incorrigibility pulses. Your indecency grows teeth.

So winter aches by.

The days roll into weeks, and the frost gradually dissipates. One morning you wake to find that the lake beside your house has thawed during the night, stretching out in an endless glittering grey ribbon away from you. The dry frostiness in the air leaches away, filtering in humidity and warmth.

The winter thaws, and so do you.

There’s a rustle in the village one morning. The sun ekes out, bathed golden instead of muted white for the first time since the winter began, and it’s as though the people of Tatarasuna rise with it. You peek out of your window to see the slow procession making its way around the eastern hillside.

“Where are they going?” Kabukimono asks, craning his neck. It’s a spill of people, old and young. You spot Niwa’s bright hair in the crowd, his sister and her children at his heels. He’s painstakingly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair up the ornery pathway—his grandfather, you think, knowing of his presence but never seeing him for yourself. He’s frail and so, so old—about as old as you know humans are capable of getting. His skin is papery, clinging loosely to jutting bones.

You know at this age, his own body is failing him. His joints are all swollen with arthritis, and he’s so ill that he rarely leaves his room, let alone his house. Every jolt and jerk over that rocky path must be agony. And yet he smiles. He looks up at his family and he smiles, watching his great-grandkids rush along and play-wrestle each other. He reaches up with a shaky hand and pats the one Niwa has on the handlebars of his chair, his thin lips stretching into a weak grin. Niwa laughs, turns to Honoka, and she laughs too.

Aging is one thing you have never coveted the humans for. And even then, it seems they are coping with it better than you.

“It’s hanami,” you answer after a distracted moment. “They’re going to watch the sakura bloom, to celebrate the beginning of spring.”

“Can we go?” Kabukimono wheedles, lit up hopefully. You sigh, the No already on your lips. What is the use in marking another human year, when they seem to go by as often as seconds to you some days? But you catch the puppet’s eyes, and something inside you lurches painfully, like the string of a bow snapping and loosing a bolt into your heart. This is his first year outside of that Pavilion, that endless brambly dark labyrinth sparing him never a glimpse of the outside.

Who are you to isolate him as you isolate yourself? If he wants to assimilate with the humans, if he wants to observe their traditions and find a home in them, who are you to stop him? For a moment a siren sounds in your head, a flashing warning baring Ruin! Ruin!

…But. The only way you’ll mess me up is if you make me leave.

“Fine,” you find yourself saying. “I… let me get dressed.”

Kabukimono’s eyes light up, and the vision stays with you as you return to the bedroom and pick out a cotton yukata, plain and unassuming. Putting it on feels methodical, draping it over your limbs, trying the rope knot at your middle. You think for a moment—and then you reach inside, hunting for another. This one is dark, with the hips cut wider and less intricate knots. You carry it out with you and press it into Kabukimono’s hands.

“It’s traditional for the humans to wear yukata for the flower viewing,” you tell him. “You should… put this on. It’s a man’s one, I think donated to me by a teenage boy in the village when he went off to apprentice as a blacksmith. It’s… yours, if you want it.”

Kabukimono turns the cotton fabric over in his hands as though it’s spun gold. “For me?” he whispers. “Truly?”

“Have it.” You’re not sure what compels you to say it, but you continue, “It’ll suit you.”

You barely have time to take in his reaction before he launches himself at you. You stumble back with the force of it, and it occurs to you that a regular person of his size could never hope to knock you off your feet. There is so much strength packed into his small, slender limbs. Finding remnants, tiny reminders of his infrahuman make up feels like reassurance, feels like a bite. He curls around you like a cat, burying his face in the crook of your neck; the fabric of the yukata crushes between your bodies as he digs his fingers into your back, a little too hard.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your skin. “Thank you, thank you—”

“It’s alright,” you say awkwardly. Your arms dangle limply at your sides. “It’s nothing. Just—alright. Just go put it on, alright?”

He draws back, trembling, bright-eyed and so sickeningly human in his earnestness, in his gratefulness, that you feel more inhuman than ever. You grow outside of yourself, looking in, looking at the monster in the house. The warrior in the home. The bloodstain on the tatami mat.

And then Kabukimono brushes past you to the bedroom to change. You run your hands over your face like you’re trying to hold it together, and by the time he returns, pink-cheeked and bashful, you can almost breathe again.

“Did I put it on right?” he asks, holding out his arms.

You run your eyes over him. The yukata drapes over his form, just a shade too large, but these things are hardly desired to inflict anything but a linear shape anyway. The knot is wobbly, but secure. But—

“You’ve tied right over left.” You step towards him, hands going out to undo the knot around his middle; he follows your hands nervously, swallowing hard when they brush over his stomach. “You must wrap the left side of the fabric over the right. Right over left is how you dress humans who have died. It’s bad luck.”

You untuck the fabric, leaving it undone in a straight line down his middle. There is a line of white skin slashed against the black cotton like a door cracked open in the dark. You wrap carefully, the right side first and folding the left over it. Several times, your hand brushes against the plane of his stomach; it’s unsuspectingly warm, and it tenses when your knuckles glide over it. Finally, the band, resting just over the jut of his hipbones, and the thick rope that you tie in a neat knot.

“There,” you murmur, and Kabukimono gazes up at you, lips parted and eyes wide and starry. A red blush melts over the high apples of his cheeks, and you step back as hurriedly as if he’d burned you. “Come on. We’ll miss the procession.”

You slip on shoes and hurry out the door. The weather is still a little cool to where you resent the thinness of the cotton a little, but it’s so much milder than the bite of winter that you relish in it. The earth of the path next to the cornfield is damp and soft as you hurry over it, but Kabukimono grips your sleeve anyway.

The path trails lazily around the eastern hillside and into a valley that wriggles itself between two mountains. On either side of the valley grow copses of cherry blossom trees, arching overhead to create a dappled canopy, an archway flooded in pale pink and white and lilac. Even as you approach, stray petals drift down from the groves, catching in hair and lashes and snagging on spare threads. In the valley, a stream rushes past; Rie and Shinsuke, as well as a host of other kids, have kicked off their sandals and splash around, spraying each other or else picking up lone crustaceans unlucky enough to have wandered in.

Kabukimono’s grip on your sleeve tights to a vice as you slip under the canopy, his neck craned up so high he’s in real danger of spraining it.

“Y/n! I never thought I’d see you here!”

Katsuragi emerges from the crowds and slips towards you, a genial grin on his face. He looks tired, circles the colour of bruises arching beneath his eyes and his hair scraped back carelessly into a ponytail, but his smile makes five years melt off his face easily.

“Katsuragi,” you greet wanly as Kabukimono tenses excitedly. “I thought you’d be too busy to participate this year.”

“Ususually I would be,” he agrees solemnly. “My father is sick at the moment, though. I got the day off to care for him. Just a flu, should pass soon, especially now the weather is warming up. And I thought the spring air would do him some good, so I brought him over. He’s by the stream. But enough about me—how are you two doing?”

You shrug. “Kabukimono wanted to come and observe hanami,” you say in lieu of answering. Katsuragi grins.

“Is that right?” he asks. “How’re you liking it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Kabukimono whispers reverently. “Does this really happen every year?”

“Every spring,” Katsuragi confirms. “You should come every year. It’s always beautiful, and always nice to see after a long hard winter. Reminds you that life has a way of turning around even when it seems grounded in what it is. Right, Y/n?”

You look at him archly.

Why entrust him to me?

Who says I’m not entrusting you to him?

“The flowers are pretty,” you spit, annoyed all over again. Katsuragi’s smug grin doesn’t help.

“Indeed they are. Don’t let me stop you enjoying them,” he chuckles. He reaches out, ruffles Kabukimono’s hair. “Enjoying the new haircut, by the way. Suits you.”

Kabukimono glows, pink-cheeked and delighted as Katsuragi meanders back over to his father. Pest.

The two of you walk over to where you see Niwa. He greets you delightedly, and even Honoka offers a wan smile and a halfhearted wave. Rie and Shinsuke splash over to you, babbling about some sort of fish they’d found under a rock. Kabukimono talks emphatically to Niwa, first about his reading and writing, and then about metallurgy. You raise an eyebrow and both the men shift sheepishly.

“Kabukimono here was wondering about learning a little bladesmithing,” Niwa says. “What do you think?”

You shrug. “It’s… a valuable skill to have. If you don’t mind teaching him, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Niwa beams. “Rie and Shinsuke adore him, you know? Even Honoka has a soft spot. Soon enough he’ll be part of the family.”

He misses the way Kabukimono freezes as soon as that word leaves his mouth, misses the look of longing and disbelief that wrenches over his expression. You catch it, though, and then you wonder when you started paying so much attention to the puppet, to the ghost in your house, because you’re sure you know exactly how he feels and what he’s thinking.

Niwa and Honoka, Rie and Shinsuke—they can be a family for him. The kind he deserves. Empathetic and practical and good. You are not built for family. You are not built to be a home.

You are tsukumogami. That is all you will ever be.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer oneshot #kabukimono x reaer #kabukimono oneshot #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader

72 notes · View notes

the-lost-girl-in-the-tardis · 11 months

Text

A chance meeting.

(Aka I'm bored and messing about with ideas.)

The ninth Doctor.

Weeping Angels:

The bookshop is quiet this late in the day. Just shy of an hour before closing. Some patrons are muttering amongst themselves. Sometime to you to make their final purchases. Others begin to wrap up whatever they were doing on computers and laptops.

You hum to yourself as you check in books. Stacking them in the rolling cart to later be shelved. The dimly lit room is bathed in the red light of the setting sun. There is a comfortable warmth in the air. The last remainder of a warm summer day.

After a while you stand. Popping your back after having sat down in one spot for so long. You began directing the customers out. Wishing the regulars a good evening as they leave.

When the door bell chimes one last time you sigh. Flipping the open sign to close as you locked the door.

Silence. Save for the distant rumbling of cars and the howling dog.

You still had to clean up. Gathering bits of trash from people who couldn't see the clearly labeled trash can. You stacked coffee filters back up. Open a new container of tea. Made a note to buy more syrups and more creamer.

You began to hum to yourself again. Half mumbling the words to the Beatles Blackbirds as you swept.

"Take these broken wings and-" Youpaused. Your broom had hit something solid behind the curtain. The yellow straw curled around stone grey feet. You laid the broom against the wall.

Your fingers met the sun bleached blue curtains you hadn't remembered closing. Having opened up all the curtains and windows to let in a breeze. The bookshops ac had broken a week ago and David still hadn't found someone to fix it.

"What are you?" The words left you in a mumble. The curtain rings scrapped against the metal curtain rod when you drew the fabric back. What sat before you was an angel esque statue. It's hands were over its eyes.

Something about it felt off. An age old instinct inside you yelled. Raged against your new age brain. You reached your hand out despite this. Grazing your fingers against the back of the hand of the eerily warm statue. You shivered. Swallowed thickly.

With your hands now on your hips you huffed. Tutting your tongue as your grumbled. "David and his weird decor choices." No doubt he had hid the damn thing behind the curtain to spook you. It wouldn't be the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

You reached for the broom. Shivering as a soft breeze blew through the open window behind the statue.

It would just be your luck that you had to sneeze in that moment. Having forgotten to take you allergy pills that morning.

As you were wiping your nose with your handkerchief you just happened to glance up. Only to let out a curse and stumble back into an old bean bag. The statue had moved. Honest to god moved.

You shot to your feet. Eyes not moving from the statue as you walked backwards.

"Acho!" You and your luck. Maybe that's why you never won the lottery. The statue had moved again. A table sat between the two of you. The statue was grinning. Arm outstretched. Reaching towards you. You were close to panic. Hands shaking and palms sweating. You were cold despite the summer warmth.

You curse again when the lights began to flicker. A few bulbs in the children's section actually busting. Loud pops of glass had you flinching.

"I don't know what you are." You spoke. Reaching for a book left on the table. "But i'm not going to be that person who gets got in the first few minutes of a supernatural episode."

The book arced in the air. Smacking against the against the angel uselessly. The pages fluttered. Flew like confetti as the book exploded. More lights pooped. Slowly making its way towards the two of you.

You got the feeling that this thing liked your fear.

You began backing up again. Hands flailing behind you to guide your way. More lights burst. You hand meets the cold brass doorknob. You pushed the button to unlock it.

Nothing.

You tried again.

Nothing.

You jumped when you heard the whirring on the other side. Then the muttering of a man. Stupidly you looked away. Only to scream when the angel was right in front of you.

The door opened with a too cheerful "Ding!" And you fell into the arms of a man. The smell of leather heavy in your lungs.

"Hello!" The man spoke. His voice was accented.

"Hi." You spoke out quickly. Voice high with panic. Eyes still on the angel inside the book shop even as the man helped you to your feet. "You uh. You wouldn't happen to know what that thing is would you?" The man slammed the door closed and you got a proper look at him.

Leather jacket. Red shirt. Dark jeans. And a weird glowing pen in his hands. The sound of the whirring earlier obviously as he waved it around the door.

"That was a weeping angel. Quit lucky you." He pointed his pen at you before pocketing it. "I'm the Doctor by the way." He grinned.

"Y/n." You drew your name out as you spoke. A little more than confused. Both of you jumped when the door began to rattle.

"This is the part where we run. Come on!" The man, The Doctor. You'd ask Doctor who later. As it was it grabbed you hand and pulled. Leading you down the street as the world began to plunge into the night.

The Tenth Doctor:

Alien Invasion :

You had been painting when it happened. Sat out in an open meadow. Canvas only half filled. You wondered sometimes if it was still there. A burst of color in your otherwise greyed world.

The aliens had come without warning. Nothing save for the breaking of the atmosphere as their ships descended down to Earth.

You hadn't bothered to gather your things. Only turning and running before the behemoth of a creature could spot you.

Your truck had died over halfway through on the drive back. You later learned it was caused by an emp blast from the aliens. And so you ran.

It was late by the time you had gotten home. Both in the day and...

Still you could not think of it. Lest you make it more real. More tangible.

You chose to believe that they were ok despite the rumours surrounding the labour camps. You had been one of the few. The only who were outside those camps. The alien cities. Everyday was a fight for survival. Both against them and your fellow human.

As of right now though the squabbles have settled. At least amongst each other. Instead all of that fight was focused on one man who stood in the center of the room. Dimly illuminated by old oil lamps.

He called himself the Doctor and asked how he could get into the heart of The Capitol. The Aliens main base. A place that promised nothing but death.

"I have a friend there. Donna Noble. I need to get her out." There was a series of scoffs. Laughter. And uproar.

"Ya. You and everyone else here mate." A dark haired man spoke. You never bothered to learn his name. Or any others. To many people to lose to get attached. You had lost enough already.

You watched from your little corner in the room. Eyes fixated on the man as he tried to reason with someone. Any one in the room. There was something about him. They way he carried himself. When he circled his trenchcoat curled around his long legs. Brown eyes were darkened in the dim lighting. His lips were bit raw with worry. His shoulders tense.

"Please. Your the last group of people." Someone cut him off. The Doctor blew air out from his cheeks. Brows furrowed. He scowled. A type of anger you had never seen before flashed across his face. His mouth opened. Lips curled around teeth.

Until you stepped forward.

"I'll help." You told him. It wasn't some loud affair when you spoke. Quite the opposite. Your voice was quiet. Hoarse from lack of use. And when you moved closer to him Dian pulled at your sleeve. You shook her off. "I'll help." You spoke again. Wanting to clear away that look of disbelief from his face.

If it had been your family there. You would want help to.

.............

You were glad that you had helped him. Watching him interact with his friend. Donna had thanked you as well when it all settled down. At least now humankind will be able to re-build. Because of the Doctors efforts the Aliens had been driven away. Catapulted back into the skies where they had come from.

You had never met a man before that could instill so much fear with his name alone.

That left you here. Sitting well away from everyone as you sketched for the first time in a long time. Some skill had been left behind but the rest was still there.

You drew them. Happy. Smiling.

It hurt your very soul. Broke your heart. Even after all of this you still couldn't find them. And you had no one else to lean upon.

The pages darkened and his voice sounded in your ears. As did the sweet perfume you had first smelled as Donna sat beside you.

"What about you y/n? What are you going to do know that the earth is saved." You said nothing at the Doctors words. Merely shrugging your shoulders and closing the sketchbook before they could see what. Who you drew.

"Same thing I have been." You spoke quietly. Not looking at either of them as you looked over what had once been the Aliens Capitol. "Traveling. Moving." Alone.

You could see Donna look up at the Doctor from the corner of your eye. Such a kind and worried look on her face.

Then the Doctors hand on your shoulder. You look to see his face near yours as he bent down.

"Then how about traveling the universe? The stars? Lots more to draw than what's out here."

The Eleventh Doctor:

Crash Landing:

You are walking along the old graveled road to your home. Rocks crumbling underfoot as you go up the familiar trail. It's one you've taken for years now.

The air was cool and crisp. Sweet in your lungs as you breathed it in. In the distance you could hear the croaking of frogs. The chirping crickets. Here and there there was an owl. The sounds were comforting. Familiar.

Something was different about this walk though. Just. Have you ever walked into a room and it just felt different? Only to later learn that your friends or siblings had moved all the furniture a few inches to the left? That's what it felt like right now. That everything that you have seen for the last 15 years was moved a little to the left.

You took a step. Then paused. Ears straining to hear what you are no longer hearing.

The woods around you have fallen silent. No frogs, crickets. Nothing but the wind winding through the trees and the soft lapping of water on the shore from a nearby lake.

You turned on foot. Hand held light briefly lighting up the road, then the trees as you moved. You glanced up and into the sky. The moon was full and round. Almost bright enough that you didn't need the flashlight.

The air blew softly. Picking up with it the scent of wild flowers. It curled around you. Blowing around strands of hair and fluttering your open jacket.

You swallow thickly. Nervous. That was a new feeling on this road. This walk. Nervous. As if something was about to happen.

You stood on the spot for a few minutes. Eyes glancing about as you tried to find something tangible for this feeling. You drew in a breath. Held it. Then let it out.

!VAWHOMP!

You screamed when it came crashing through. It flung up wet earth and rock. Broke trees and it screamed. Yelled. A large blue box crashing and spinning into the Earth.

It landed some feet away and all you could do was close to hyperventilate. You body shook and your heart threatened to break your ribs with its rapid pounding.

The air was thick with the smell of freshly turned earth and wood. Normally it was comforting but.

The box made a noise.

"I... What?" You bag fell to the ground as you began to move. You almost fell into the trench it had made twice before you reached it.

The box made a wheeze.

You hand was on its side before you could think. Fingers running along the rough wood.

Curiosity got the better of you.

With some difficulty you clambered up on it. Skinning your knee in the process. After about a minute and some cursing and grumbling your were on it.

Police Call Box.

What was that?

Was that a door handle? It felt warm when you wrapped your hand around it. Pushing in did nothing. Pulling up on the other hand.

Smoke bellowed out when you opened it. It was thick and reeked of burnt motor oil. The door squealed on its hinges as it flopped to the other side. A bright light filtered through that smoke and for a moment you hoped that whatever you just breathed in wasn't toxic or radioactive.

Instead your lungs burned and you coughed. Hacking like that one time you had stupidly tried a cigarette when you were young. You waved a hand in front of your face trying to clear away some of the smoke. When it finally stopped bellowing out in thick clouds you stuck your head over the opening.

"How on gods green earth." You mumbled and leaned forward some more. Up an on your knees with your hands on the other side of the door way to brace you.

At a sideways view was the stranges thing you had ever seen. Some type of console you assumed a was in the center. Leading up to it was a walkway. At the end of the walkway was a man in a white shirt and suspenders. His face must have matched your own.

"How do you fit all of that in here?" The man shook his head. He was leaning on the consol thing. Rope in hand. He was coughing heavily every so often.

"How did you get up there?" He questioned back. You shrugged your shoulders.

"If you throw the rope I can catch it? There's a log out here I can tie it to." You offered. Questions can come later. And did you have a lot of them now.

#doctor who fanfiction #eleventh doctor #tenth doctor #ninth doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #ninth doctor x reader

136 notes · View notes

bonnieisaway · 8 months

Text

WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT THAT - I KNOW IT WAS ONE OF MY MUTUALS - WE HAD A REALLY LONG CONVERSATION ABOUT HOW SEVEN ALWAYS WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE KILL IN THE PAST, AND WE GOT ON THE TOPIC OF THE GIRL IN WHITE AND YOU SAID THAT YOU THOUGHT SHE DIDN'T MEAN FOR SEVEN TO DIE BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T GO THROUGH THE HEART NOTICBLY MORE THROUGH HIS CHEST/STOMACH AND I SAID I WASN'T SURE IF WE COULD REALLY GO OFF OF THAT BECAUSE WE HADN'T KNOWN MUCH OF HER CHARACTER NOR WHY SHE DID IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE WE NEED TO SIT DOWN AND REDISCUSS THIS BECAUSE SEASON FOUR SPOILER THING UNDER CUT

I WENT FUCKING FERAL WHEN THIS WAS SAID because like obviously the question is when the hell did that poison get put in him because I feel like , Seven wouldn't have taken it himself? Like he wanted to move on and he was willing to fight all of Xuanwu for the girl in white but I think he would've known he had to do that face on and that poison would only, inevitably, put them in more danger?

And I can't think of another shadow killer or the leader that would want this- EVERYONE wanted him dead, Green Phoenix presumably didn't care because evidently the shadow killers DIDN'T go after him last time or were afraid to, otherwise he would've used his plan earlier, the leader NEVER gets off his ass, and there would've been no point erasing his memories if he was wanted dead.

I feel like the logical conclusion here - at least I'm assuming between the moment he was stabbed and washed up nobody else saw him, and prior to the fight he hadn't seen anybody else who'd have done this nor discussed it - is that the girl in white had it on her blade, right? Like wasn't she also wanted dead? Seven was protecting her and that's the whole reason he was wanted dead, so killing him would've gotten her killed too and I feel like this shit is waaay too much to pull a sort of long-con to get him killed, but even if she WAS supposed to kill him as some sort of long hidden plan, maybe she might've loved him anyway and CHOSE this form of mercy? Because erasing his memories would effectively 'kill' him? Or was it that they both wanted this to end so badly but she chose the impulsive way out, getting herself killed and a merciful, forgetful end for Seven that had a fighting chance of letting him live on without her?

But also the symbolism when they show it confuses me.

So this eye was a new thing in season four and it ONLY ever really is shown around the leader of the shadow killers, when he's on his being-an-eldritch-horror shit, but my thing is WHAT purpose would he have to do that to Seven? Like yeah, he ordered him dead, but HOW would he even get that done and what reason would he have? Like, it was kind of presumed the leader had gone out on a limb and chosen SPECIFICALLY Seven for some unnamed reason, to a point that even Redtooth was fuckin annoyed about it (probably because to some degree Redtooth envied him but let's pack that away for another day) so I don't know WHY this eye is here

There's also a crow here which I would assume was ALSO for the leader's spybird if it wasn't for Blackbird's whip right next to it? But like, Blackbird doesn't seemingly have an unsettled score with Seven. He wanted him to die, yes, and he said "painfully at my hands," but that's like, how everyone dies to Blackbird. And their entire fight, there was nothing brought up about something in their past or between these two, everything was only about Blackbird's past and his tramua, which almost sounded like he felt like he needed to be this anti-hero killing Seven because of the order and would let Shimen take the reward.

There's also a really faint hand here? I don't know what else to attribute it to other than this hand:

back in season three, which this sequence was VERY much a long allegory about Seven's nature and that he's had a very, very short time to live the life he wanted and that he's basically being fucking dragged through life at this rate, though noticeably the hand here in season four has a red, glowy texture on it (aside from the rest of the texture near it) that's seeming to me either be blood or also another sort of imagery for the poison in him

but also there feels like there's a larger image here, too? It's really hard to make out because I can't really tell if it's just the shading , or a stylistic choice, but the bottom right is noticeably a different shade and has an outline and the inside has a wood-grain like texture? But I think also this might just be a sort of outline - given where it starts on Seven's shoulder - that's supposed to look like a gaseous, poison cloud coming from him. just AAAAAAAH oh my GOD there's so much to think about from this 20 seconds alone kill me

#scissor seven #killer seven #wu liuqi #seven #Also I'll probably repost about it later #but can we talk about how i was DEAD ON about dai bo being afraid of seven leaving and it showed the EXACT screenshot i posted here abt it #GOD that was fucking validating #I have never felt more based the show fr validated me im RIGHT im not just overthinking RAAAHHH A W FOR MEEEE #and also all of us but like i need this for my ego just fuckin give me a moment #season four #spoilers #i think i should tag spoilers? idk its been 9 months but just hit netflic #Back in full swing with the analysis #Analysis trio (that's what my brain has dubbed me james and immortal basically) restored

88 notes · View notes

viktheviking1 · 7 months

Text

The rain poured out of the sky as the windshield wipers beat against the tune coming from the radio. The announcer had called the song “Bye Bye Blackbird” and it sounded like it was coming right from a phonograph, rather than the state of the art audio system that was in the limo. Fizz sighed as he stared out the window at the bright lights and apartment buildings. “ . . . We’ve arrived at the penthouse. Aren’t you going in?” One of the hellhounds said from the front. They had been parked outside for a minute and Fizz had made no signs of leaving.

He sighed again, “Yeah . . . I am.”

The elevator rose higher and higher, and Fizz couldn’t help feeling nervous. More than anything, he wanted to see Ozzie; just cuddle him in their big bed together and forget this night ever happened, but he knew there were questions he’d need to answer first . . . and Oz might tell him to go sleep somewhere else, after. Maybe permanently . . .

Ozzie turned around to see the glass elevator arrive, Fizzarolli inside, looking down, “Fizzy! You’re back! What took you so long, babe? Why did you stop answering my texts? Are you hurt anywhere?” Fizz let him inspect his arms, legs and body. Ever since the incident, he’d gotten even more overprotective of him.

“Hi, Asmodeus . . . I’m fine.” Fizz said, looking away from him.

“Oh, sh*t. Something serious happen?” Oz turned his chin to look him in the eyes.

Fizz couldn’t help it, he started crying, “I-I f**ked up, Ozzy. . . I f**ked up bad. Please don’t hate me.”

Well, that was concerning, but he was home safe and whatever it was, he clearly already regretted it. Asmodeus sighed, and scooped him up into his arms, a relieved and empathetic look on his face, “I could never hate you, Fizzy frog, come here. It’s late and we should both get some sleep.”

Once in their room with the door closed, Ozzy set Fizz down on the bed. He grabbed some tissues, and knelt on the floor, and holding Fizz’s face, dabbed the tears and snot off. Fizz leaned into the giant blue hand, and kissed it, looking up at Oz shyly.

“I need to tell you what happened. And it’s okay if you want to kick me out after. I-I’d understand.” Fizz sniffled.

“D*mn girl, what has got you this upset?” Ozzy said, sitting on the bed next to him.

“You know h-how, when we started dating . . . we agreed this was an open relationship, mostly so you could keep up appearances of being the great ‘Lord of Lust’, big daddy to many, not just me, right?” Fizz started.

“. . . Uh-huh.” Ozzy did not like where this was going.

“And I told you that I never expected you to have romantic feelings for me, like at all, let alone a monogamous relationship, so I was fine sharing you with however many people it took, as long as we were together.” He fidgeted with his hoodie.

“Uh-huh.” Oz tried his best to keep a neutral face.

“And I also said that while I appreciated the permission to go fooling around if I wanted, I didn’t really need it, because no one could satisfy me the way you could anyway, right. You remember that?” Fizz peaked up at Ozzy.

Asmodeus, trying to hold back tears, squeaked, “ . . . Uh-huh. . .”

“Ozzy . . . are you okay?” Fizz put a mechanical hand on his knee.

Oz burst into tears, “You’re leaving me aren’t you?!” He sobbed.

Fizz was taken aback, “What?! NO! F**k no! Never!”

“I sent you off on a date to get the press off our backs, and you met someone you can love publicly, and now you’re leaving me!!!” Oz put his face in his hands.

Fizz jumped up on his back, putting his arms around his shoulders, “Awe, Oz. You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve told you; I don’t mind keeping us a secret, really! It’s kind of hot, actually.” Fizz snickered.

Ozzy sniffled, and looked over at him, “Then . . . what happened? You saying you got dirty with someone?”

Fizz jumped off and landed in the middle of the bed, “No! Well, sort of. Just a makeout sesh! A really. . . really, erotic make out sesh. It was all so sudden! I didn’t know what to do!” He sighed, “Still, I should’ve talked to you about it first. You text me before getting frisky with other demons. At the very least, I should have done the same, if not more. . . I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, and then to his extreme surprise, Asmodeus giggled, “Are you . . . laughing?”

Ozzy laughed heartily, then took a breath to say, “This is the serious news you had to tell me?”

Fizz blushed a bit, confused, “Well, yeah, I mean- I kinda cheated on you. And even if the relationship is open, I didn’t communicate and-”

He was interrupted by Asmodeus laying down, and placing Fizz on his chest, “Well, yes. And maybe I should be mad, but honestly, I’m relieved that it wasn’t something worse. Plus, I thought you’d started seeing other people ages ago.”

Fizz sat up on his chest, “Wait, what?! What the f**k gave you that idea?”

Ozzy smiled, “When you said no one else could satisfy you, I just thought it was a line to get me into bed with you. Which did work, as I recall.”

“Yeah, I remember. That was the night we tried ********* ***** ***** **** for the first time.” Fizz smiled wistfully, “Those were good times . . .”

Ozzy chuckled, “Right, and I’ve seen you flirt with some of the succubi here, as well as the dancers and security at the club. . .”

“That was just for show! To throw people off our scent!” Fizz defended.

“Yes well, I figured you were getting nasty with them in your down time, both for press and for fun. We even winked at each other while you flirted around.” Ozzy shrugged.

Fizz groaned, “Because you and I were in on the secret! Not because I was about to f**k ‘em!”

“I never minded, Babe! I started doing the texting thing because it made me feel better to be totally open with you. I never wanted to make you feel like I was hiding things from you or that you were beneath me as an imp and a sin. I just did it to make sure that you knew we stood on equal ground. But I figured you not texting before you got down on someone else meant that you felt completely secure in my trust in you. It kind of made me happy actually.” Ozzy paused to giggle, “But now I know that you haven’t had s*x with anyone else? This whole time? And the first time you do anything dirty, you come home crying thinking I’ll dump you over it? It’s adorable!”

He squeezed Fizz in a hug as he started laughing again.

“Haha, right . . . So you aren’t mad? Even a little?” Fizz looked up at him.

Ozzy began taking off Fizz’s jester hat, and Fizz let him, “Not at all, babe. Though, I do feel kinda dumb for not confirming whether or not you were screwing anyone else. Could’ve saved us some trouble. I guess that’s why they say the thing about *sses and assuming.”

Fizz purred a little as Ozzy stroked his head, “It’s fine, and I’m sorry for not being more clear about my intentions from the start. I’m glad we could work this out.”

Ozzy grinned, taking Fizz off his chest so he could roll over on his stomach. He waved his legs in the air, and placed his chin in his hand, “Sooooo, who’s the lucky guy who you almost got lucky with~? Or lucky gal? Or otherwise lucky . . . hotshot?”

Fizz blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck, “Guy, and uh- Ahem. . . you remember that guy I used to hate for blowing me up? And then I told you about how he kind of saved my life, blew me up again, and saved my life again?”

“Blitzo?!” Ozzy was shook.

“Blitz, actually. And it's a long story." Fizz looked down, blushing.

"Oooo~ do tell." Asmodeus scooched a little closer.

Fizz snickered, "Okay, okay. So . . ."