#CW: Suicide

[exhelluvafan]

I really wish that Helluva gets cancelled when 2025 arrives.

The amount of damage this show has singlehandedly done is just too much, including but not limited to: 3 confirmed deaths because of suicide derived from bullying over shipping discourse.

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[hamrikaa]

I know a few of my bg3 artworks are already on here, but I thought I'd still share them again ✨️

[derangedrhythms]

I tried to murder myself: to keep from being an embarrassment to the ones I loved and from living myself in a mindless hell. 

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath — 12th December 1958

[adurna0-art]

"With deference to the hands that move creation—" Garathran for @artists-guild-of-exandria's End of an AGE: Calamity project!

[phyrestartr]

Heyyy I'm not sure if you take requests but I have an idea-

Reincarnated! Husband sukuna x Dead spouse (husband) Male Reader: this one is kind of like sukuna fucks up a lot, I think this can work out as an omegaverse? He cheats, fucks around, or doesn't even give af about m reader who is his fated pair, but then m! reader died and since they were mated he's like “shit I can't live without him” so he tries to be good to him the next life and they have happy family the end.

Replay (This Time I'll Get It Right) | Sukuna x Male!Reader (Part 1 of 2)

W/C: 1.6k #alpha!sukuna, omega!reader, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, ABO dynamics, mentions of stalking, mentions of toxic exes, sukuna sucks, sukuna sucks less eventually, reincarnation, next lives, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, infidelity/cheating

NOTE: Thank you for your patience!! It's still not quite done, but I wanted to post the first part up while i think of the rest of the story (got a vague idea of how it'll go, so should come out soon). Ty for the req!

tags: @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @memedealer-exe @tr4nniez @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @memedealer-exe @silvern1006

♪ Here With Me - d4vd

♪ Watch the sunrise along the coast

As we’re both getting old ♪

Sukuna puffed on a cigarette, staring out at the city lights. You always liked coming here, to this little cliff hanging above the city–especially when you were stuck on lyrics or tabs of whatever song you were working on. This hillside spot was cheesy and stupid, but you loved the way it felt like an old-school chick flick when you drove up here in your beater.

In this spot, Sukuna realized you had an old soul, one that basked in the simple, mundane things like stargazing and city-watching. It was a step away from feeding pigeons in the park, your producer decided. The way that made you laugh still sent his heart on a wild chase. That, too, was the first moment he realized he wanted you more than just a collaborator. 

And, maybe, if he had pushed aside the partying, the drugs, the women, he might’ve bothered checking his phone. He might’ve been able to apologize for wrongs done and words said, to get back on the right track. He might've not found out about you on the news. Maybe he could have given you everything you wanted–

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. 

♪ I can’t describe what I’m feeling

And all I know is we’re going home ♪

Even after locking you down and starting on that stupid journey to start a family, his spirit still yearned to wander free. 

So it did. 

Primal wants controlled him. He allowed them to steer him away from the safety of your touch and into the gnashing jaws of excitement, of danger. All because the two of you were starting to make it–you were starting to leave your mark on this world, and Sukuna let the fame and greed get to him. 

But how could he not jump at the chance to fuck the famous and infamous? How could he stay faithful to just you, a smalltown boy, when big city celebrities reached out to him, pulling him into big deals and bigger beds? How could he–

His phone blitzed to life again, ringing in the hollow quiet of a too-expensive car. The call went to voicemail, leaving him in the pits of Tartarus again, drowning in the frigid rain beating against his car windows like a million bullets trying to seek the death penalty.

Did angels do that? Take revenge for their own kind? He’d understand it. Jin, an angel in his own right, exiled his Luciferian twin from the celestial plane, barring him from what was left of that tiny spark of love and hope he called “family.” 

♪ So please don’t let me go, oh

Don’t let me go ♪

His phone rang again. He remembered picking it up once upon a time, listening to your shaky voice as you told him the worst and best news he’d ever heard in his entire existence: “I’m pregnant.” 

Sukuna didn’t know what true fear and excitement were until that moment. You laughed through waterworks, lifted by Sukuna’s uncontrolled motor-mouthing and celebrating as he hooted and hollered on the other line. The women your husband was with gave him weird looks, but he didn’t care–you were pregnant. You were going to–

You were going to have his kid. His pup. A shared little joy, a spark of hope for the future. And then–then someone took that away. 

The sorry waste of life, the obsessive ex you vehemently feared, left behind a note for whomever found the tragedy: “I'll take care of them from now on.”

Sukuna knew there had to be more to it, there had to be more of an explanation, but the media wasn't interested; they only wanted to use and abuse your name and face for articles and news reports, not to reminisce on you nor the woe of a murder-suicide.

How come no one cared? Why did no one fucking care?

♪ Save your tears, it’ll be okay

All I know is you’re here with me ♪

He snapped. Sukuna kicked the dashboard. His boot cracked against the console again and again and again until your siren song died in a quick fit of static. He crashed his heel into the broken screen a dozen more times, each impact punching shout after shout out of his tight throat as the weight of the fucking sky collapsed on him. He wasn’t Atlas. He couldn’t hold it up. He never could, not by himself.

Sukuna heaved in breaths. His stomach swirled and churned with nausea. He held his head and leaned back, screaming into the thunder that shook the world with a vital roar, hiding heartbroken howls.

Why? Why? Why? 

“Deep breaths, Sukuna,” your voice cooed. It came from the darkness, from the forgotten corners of his mind. Why were–ah, right. He’d been here before, overcome with agony and grief. Unable to breathe, unable to cope, unable to exist.  

He followed your instructions. 

“In. Out. In. Out.”

In. Out. In. Out.

The phone rang again. Sukuna answered. He hoped whoever it was would tell him this was all just a bad joke. A bad dream. It wasn’t real. 

“Finally,” Wasuke sighed on the other end of the line. “Kid, where the fuck are you?”

Sukuna stared up at the roof of the car. Words smeared and oozed like molasses in his mind. He couldn’t understand the words he knew he could understand. 

“Sukuna.” 

“What the fuck do I do?” Sukuna asked. His voice quivered. Chipped and cracked.

His father fell quiet. But he was wise. So fucking wise and so good at everything that came with life and death, morality and love. 

“Become a better man,” he said, like it was so simple. 

Sukuna scoffed. “H-How the fuck–”

“Quiet, kid.” Wasuke sighed. “That boy loved you. He had faith in you as a partner and a father. Remember that. Honour that, and become the man he knew you could be.”

Sukuna didn’t know his heart could break more, but it did. 

He sobbed. To his father, to himself, to you, to that unborn joy, to whatever fuckhead created life and love in the first place. He cried for forgiveness, for a second shot. 

“I’ll try,” Sukuna bit out. “I’ll try.” 

–

♪ I wish I could live through every memory again

Just one more time before we float off in the wind ♪

Sukuna woke up to that song. It was the same one that played in his nightmares, the same one that robbed him of sleep until he lost his mind and–and–

“What the fuck happened?” Sukuna croaked to whatever singing nymph fluttered around him. 

The damn song stopped, leaving Sukuna in just a second of tumultuous silence. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

The rhythmic chirping of some machine–a heart monitor, maybe? A metronome?--kicked up into double time, jamming an ice pick into his skull further and further with every hellish second that passed by. He could almost hear the radio static, the warp of a ballad calling to him. And it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop? Why? Why? Why?

“Hey,” your voice cooed. Your hand rested atop of Sukuna's and squeezed. “Can you hear me?” 

Sukuna cracked a tired eye open to look up at you; you were perfect. God-given. A blessing he needed to see right now with your gentle eyes and kind smile, the gentle scent of lavender and vanilla cutting through the disgusting sterility of the room. 

“Can hear you,” Sukuna rasped. His hand tried to turn to hold yours, and you helped by slipping your palm into his. His heart rate slowed with the rhythm of the machine. 

You nodded and covered your clasped hands with your other one. “Good. You probably don't remember, but you were in an accident. A car side-swiped you when you were on your motorcycle.”

“No shit.” 

“Yes shit. But you're alright. Would recommend wearing a helmet from now on.” You pat his hand before slipping both of yours free. “I'll call the doctor and your family. They'll be glad to know you're awake, Itadori-san.” 

He wanted to ask you to stay. He didn't want you to go, not right then, maybe not at all. 

But you flashed him another comforting smile and slipped out of the room before he could object.

–

His father came by. Jin and his son, too. Uraume and Yorozu scolded him for not wearing a helmet. The ragtag group of hooligans he unfortunately associated with (just for the sake of going to their fancy-ass parties, he reasoned) came and went, too; Gojo gave him headaches, Getou made it worse, Ieiri wasn’t so bad.

Then there was you. You were always humming some sort of tune, whether it be the song from his nightmares or something he'd never heard before. Sukuna liked it, the sound of your voice, but you'd always clam up the second you realized someone might hear. 

It led him to pretend to be asleep far too many times during his recovery. Your songs eased his wildfire spirit, let it simmer down and curl up comfortably in a ring of stones to keep those near safe and warm without the fear of being burned alive. Hell, they could probably even make some s’mores if they wanted. 

Eventually, though, Sukuna wanted to know more. And what better person to ask than the burgeoning med student herself?

“Oh, [Name]?” Ieiri asked, sitting beside Sukuna’s bed and looking over the machines connected to Sukuna with rapt attention. “He’s a new-ish nurse from what I get. Pretty cute, huh? Apparently passed his exams no problem and–” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “If you don’t know relevant shit then just–”

“He’s single. Omega. Likes men. Kinda older than us. Gojo and Getou got rejected already.” 

That shut Sukuna up. 

[heartandsoulcomic]

Too late.

(This was not a good plan, Chara.)

Previous

Beginning of Part Five

First Page

Next

[moeggoi]

You don't have to do anything any more. Ever.

[kanohirren]

like clockwork

[historicity-was-already-taken]

Just some random thoughts. All under a cut for obvious reasons.

How many people who survived the Holocaust truly survived? How many people walked out alive, but empty? How many ended their own lives? How many did so, but had it covered up by their families because mid century attitudes about suicide? Like my grandmother’s cousin: his mother took cyanide while they were in the same slave labor camp (one of Schindler’s, I think) and he had to bury her in secret by night. He came to the US after the war, but died in the 1950s from a “car accident.” Collision with a tree.

And how many died not from direct suicide, but by neglecting their health, and developing depended on substances which eventually killed them? Yitzhak Zuckerman himself said, that if it hadn’t been for Zivia, he probably would have drank himself to death.

I’m sure there are studies on this, but I haven’t really crossed into work on survivors beyond the Survivors—>Their Boomer Kids—>Millennial Grandkids cycle of trauma and remembering.

Anyway, just some stray thoughts.

[queenoftheimps]

Lestat's little, broken-sounding "Did you hurt yourself?" hits so, so much more now that the show's confirmed that Nicki did, in fact, die by suicide, the same as he did in the books.

There's been commentary for literal decades about how Lestat has a type, but I do think there are heart-breaking implications to a lot of his actions in Season One when you know he's lived through the suicide of one companion and is with a second one with suicidal ideations.

His treatment of Claudia was never okay, and Claudia was absolutely correct to be furious with him. But I do think everything from her being turned (because Louis is desperate and begging) to him dragging her off of the train (because Louis is actively considering the sun) is colored by him trying to avoid repeating history.

[ozziescribbler]

TW: suicide

Statements "James Somerton doesn't deserve to die and I hope he's okay.", "Harry, Kat, Todd or Jessie (?!) bear no blame for James' self-harm and calling them murderers is abhorrent." and "Threatening or committing suicide is often a DARVO manipulation/revenge tactic." are allowed to all be true at the same time and not mutually exclusive.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Doctor

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide, death and drug abuse.

You have a weak immune system, or perhaps you are simply very clumsy, either way you and your family are very accustomed to going to the hospital and having to pay a lot of bills. Thankfully your parents can afford it, but it used to be necessary for your small family to move around a lot due to your guardian’s professions, however as of lately your family has finally found their ideal home and settled down in a nice suburban area with great clinics all around. It’s now time to find you a new permanent doctor!

- Yandere Doctor who has studied in the best schools in the country and has worked in huge hospitals in all the major cities but who, after so many years of never ending grind, decided to open their very own clinic in one of the wealthiest areas of the state. Some might say to give back to society in a smaller manner, others would argue is a retirement of sorts after so much time spent stressing in high end medical cases. But nobody knows they have grown tired of it all.

- Yandere Doctor was born in poverty and desperately wished for the wealth and respect they lacked in their formative years. They saw how the elite would rule the world and the way they lived, so they made it their life goal to become part of them, to become someone worthy of everyone’s admiration and adoration. They studied hard for many years, investing grueling hours during their intern years and spent every waking moment they ever had to develop themselves as the best doctor that they could ever be. And yet, it left them with nothing. They memorized every book, every illness and know to heart their exact requirements to be cured, and it still left them empty.

- Yandere Doctor who thought that perhaps it was the stress of the hospital. Yes, it must be that! It isn’t allowing them to reach their full potential! And how could a small clinical in a suburban area help with that? They don’t know for sure. Maybe they are lying to themselves, to have some sort of hope that this will be different, so they won’t have to jump off the highest floor of their hospital. A small clinic wouldn’t be as tall, so they would only break their legs at most.

- Yandere Doctor who opened their small clinic to great fanfare. Newspaper and media outlets gave them a lot of free publicity and many famous personalities started to moved to the neighborhood so they could be treat by the smartest doctor of their era! (The words of the newspapers, not theirs).

- Yandere Doctor who couldn’t describe the feeling that swept through them like a tsunami to a small beach when they met their very first patient, you. Little, innocent and sickly you who came to their clinic in hopes that they could cure the cold that has been bugging you for weeks already.

- Yandere Doctor who prescribes the best medicines and even offers that you stay in the clinic for a couple nights in order to monitor your progress. Who cares about the other patients? They don’t want your symptoms to get worse sweetheart, your doctor will personally make sure your stay it’s as pleasant as possible. Only the best bedding, and the best food. Oh, and your parents can only visit for 20 minutes. For their health, of course. Nothing else.

- Yandere Doctor who looks forward to your weekly visits and checkups! They know they shouldn’t wish for their gavorite patient to get sick so often that they have to come by every day, but they can’t help themselves! Oh, and you definitely get special treatment as well. Being placed first in any waiting list, given priority at all times, and your doctor will gladly make your visits as accommodating as they possibly can!

- Yandere Doctor who has never felt like this before! They suddenly have a desperate need to protect and care for the weak you. They have finally realized what their colleagues meant when they would talk about that… gratifying feeling whenever they would save a patient’s life or cure their illness! They just weren’t supposed to be this obsessed, though…

- Yandere Doctor who becomes your permanent doctor for… everything! Whether it’s surgery or a broken bone, they will make sure to erase your pain as swiftly as possible! Your parents might whine about the costs or whatever, but your doctor knows exactly how to deal with them! They have worked for some dangerous people, so it’s simply a matter of cashing in some favors, making a few phone calls, and boom! Your parents are off the picture! Now, now, there’s no need to cry. Your doctor can become your legal guardian for the time being until they are found! (If they can even find them)

- Yandere Doctor who thrives as your main caretaker! They have finally found their purpose in life! No more will they stay awake in the night for hours questioning their existence. No longer will they have mental breakdowns in their house or in a utility closet after a shift. And no longer will they be tempted to mix those pills with their vast collection of alcohol. They don’t have time for that, they must take care of you now!

- Yandere Doctor who keeps you locked up in their abode and who will only let you leave for the necessary amount of sunlight and exercise required so your health won’t plummet. They will get the best nutritionists and medicines so your state will continue to be stable. And, they will let you attend school as well. But the moment they see that your mental health is getting worse (I mean, of course, it would be bad, your parents are dead) they are taking you off there and straight up to online schooling!

“Don’t you worry darling. I’ll take of everything. Just eat your greens and drink your water, ok? I only want you to be happy :)”

[ryin-silverfish]

Ghost Month Special: Heibai Wuchang

Today is the middle of Lunar Seventh Month, a.k.a. Zhongyuan Festival, and I feel like there can't be a more appropriate day to do a deep dive on my favorite ghost cops, a.k.a. the Black and White Impermanences, a.k.a. Seventh and Eighth Master, a.k.a. Tua Di Ya Pek, a.k.a. Xie Bi'an & Fan Wujiu.

Now, I've talked briefly about them in my Chinese Underworld post, and if you watch C-dramas or play certain Chinese games, you might have seen these two + learned a few things about them already. But for those who haven't, here's the five-minute summary:

-they are (one variant of ) Chinese psychopomps, who show up to take the souls of the deceased to the Underworld.

-they are also ghost cops, who go after troublesome ghosts that are disturbing the living.

-both wear tall hats with four characters on it (which also varied), as well as nearly identical black and white robes.

-for their Hokkien, Taiwanese and SEA versions, there's a significant height difference between the two; the white-robed one is tall and skinny, while the black-robed one is short and stout.

-the White Impermanence is often depicted with his tongue hanging out of his mouth (reminiscent of those who died by hanging) and a more cheerful expression, while the Black Impermanence is dark/blue-faced (reminiscent of death by drowning) and relatively more grim and fierce.

-the White Impermanence is also worshipped as a god of wealth by some.

However, outside of these bullet points, their tales and trajectory of development are a fascinating rabbit hole. I'd call them thorough folk gods, who evolved out of the greater existing character archetype of "ghost bureaucrats fetching people to the Underworld" and became their own unique characters almost entirely through folklore and oral legends.

So, without further ado, let's dive in.

Impermanence

The Great Spectre of Impermanence could arrive unexpectedly. (无常大鬼，不期而到) ——Sutra of Ksitigarbha's Fundamental Vows

To start talking about these two, we need to go into the general category of beings they separated out of later: Underworld officials.

Some conceptions of those petty ghost bureaucrats that mirrored living ones already existed in the Han dynasty; in burial goods and "grave scripts", there were paperwork dedicated to those officials, who were supposed to keep track of the Dead People Belongings List and maintain the segregation between the dead and the living.

Their characterization would get expanded a lot as time went on, in Northern-Southern dynasty and Tang legends, but this isn't an article about the ghost officials as a whole.

We are still tracing the origins of two specific ones, and to do that, we have to start with etymology——the "Wuchang" in their names.

It is the translation of the Buddhist concept of "Anitya", referring to the impermanence of everything, which is always changing and dying and being reborn, with no constant to be found.

Yeah, you can see why a word describing the fleeting nature of life might eventually become associated with death and native psychopomps at some point in the Northern-Southern dynasty.

In the 39 chapter translation of the Dhammapada (interlaced with additional parables) by Fa Ju and Fa Li, the "Killing Spectre of Impermanence" (无常杀鬼) was first mentioned in the "On Impermanence" (无常品) chapter.

Another name for this grim-reaper-esque figure was "The Great Spectre of Impermanence", which appears in the quote at the beginning.

It appeared earlier than Ksitigarbha's Sutra, though: in another Northern-Southern dynasty translation of the Sutra of Golden Light, a Great Spectre of Impermanence was mentioned as this scary being that swallowed a king's younger son up whole.

By the Tang dynasty, the Spectre of Impermanence had appeared in both poetry and Buddhist text collections, as a generic name for the ghost that came to get you when you die.

However, the name wasn't exactly common or widespread, as made evident by all the N & S. dynasty and Tang legends about ghost bureaucrats where they were just referred to as, well, ghost bureaucrats.

Similarly, the Scripture on the Ten Kings doesn't mention anything about a Spectre of Impermanence. Instead, the second variant of the sutra says there are 3 ghosts working under King Yama——the "Soul-seizing Ghost" (夺魂鬼), "Essence-seizing Ghost" (夺精鬼), and "Spirit-binding Ghost" (缚魄鬼), responsible for dragging souls away in chains to the tree near the Underworld entrance pass.

(Their names might have corresponded to the idea of the Three Souls, each grabbing one of them, or the alternate division of Hun-Po plus the "vital force/essence".)

Right after that, however, they mentioned two demonic-looking birds sitting on the tree, one of which was named the "Bird of Impermanence", who would angrily scold and torment the dead for their misdeeds.

In this text, whatever the birds were, they were seen as a separate thing from the 3 ghosts that brought the souls of the dead to the Underworld entrance.

(A brief tangent about the 2 variants of the Ten Kings Scripture: the first could be found in the Dunhuang manuscripts, its name was 佛说预修十王生七经, and, as Teiser's translation of the scripture at the end of his academic book has showned, didn't have the 3 ghosts or the birds.)

(The variant mentioned above is 地藏菩萨发心因缘十王经, which is likely a Song dynasty Japanese apocrypha based on the first variant.)

Buddy Ghost Cops

When the ghostly officials of the Tang legends showed up, they could be alone, in pairs or in groups.

It was only in the Song-Yuan era that the idea of ghost cops showing up in pairs began to populate, and the first mention of the "Two Spectres of Impermanence" appeared in Vol. 3 of the Song dynasty 随隐漫录.

However, even without the word "Impermanence" attached, in various Song texts, the idea of there being 2 ghosts coming to get you instead of a single one or a group had already showed up with more frequency than before.

Come Ming dynasty, the Two Spectres of Impermanence got even more notable mentions in vernacular novels: a descriptive poem in Chapter 115 of Water Margins brings them up alongside the "Generals of the Five Paths" (五道将军), another native Underworld deity that showed up in Tang novels.

Plum in the Golden Vase, a.k.a. "that one Ming classic novel that often got censored and un-classic-ed because of its graphic sexual content", also has a folk Precious Scroll singing session (a story within a story, basically) that mentioned them.

In this story, King Yama sent a pair of "Impermanence Spectres" after Lady Huang, the protagonist of the scroll, who were also referred to as "Divine Boys/Acolytes of Good and Evil".

Now, the Boy-Acolytes of Good and Evil (善恶童子) were a pair of existing Underworld deities that had appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts and Ksitigarbha-themed artworks, responsible for recording the good and bad deeds of people respectively.

Their first mention was in the Tang translation of Surangama Sutra, and according to the second variant of the Ten Kings Scripture, the one recording bad deeds was said to look like a Raksha, while the one responsible for good deeds just looked like a regular divine acolyte.

Plum in the Golden Vase might have briefly aluded to that quirk too, in the story-within-a-story, where it was said that "Good people are welcomed by the acolyte(s), while bad people get the Yaksha(s)".

In the earlier Song dynasty compendium, Yijian Zhi, there are also mentions of two kids leading a fortunate guy's soul out of the Underworld, as well as showing up to inform some guy's wife that her days were numbered.

The second story is kinda funny, because after she had pretty much rolled over and accepted her fate, the two kids suddenly returned and were like "Excuse me, was Zhao your maiden name, or your husband's?"

Upon being informed that it was the latter case, they were like "Dangit, almost got the wrong person." Immediately after they left, another woman in the neighborhood whose surname was actually Zhao died.

Both stories do not use the specific name of "Acolytes of Good & Evil" for them, though, nor are they described as recorders of good and evil deeds.

For all I know, these two kids could be just like the pair of "young boys in blue robes" (青衣童子) who led Taizong into the Ghost Gate and the Underworld proper in JTTW Chapter 11: generic ghost workers.

But in Plum in the Golden Vase at least, they seemed to have been absorbed into the larger category of the Impermanence Ghosts, even though the Impermanence Ghosts still weren't their own characters yet, or gained any iconic uniforms.

Rather, it's more that 1) the catch-all name of "Impermanence" has become somewhat widespread for the generic ghost cops, though not yet universal, and 2) the Underworld apparently has a buddy-cop system in place now, where there had to be two ghostly officials for every newly dead person.

Psychopomp Outsourcing

In the late Ming and Qing dynasty, we got another twist on the Wuchang thing: Zou Wuchang, literally "Walk as Impermanences".

I've talked before about the early version of Taizong's trip to the Underworld, where Cui Jue/Ziyu, instead of being posthumously made a ghost judge, was a living official working part-time for the Underworld.

Well, Zou Wuchang is similar, but less prestigious, and you don't get paid either. The Underworld is short of hands (somehow), so they just grab a random living person and be like "Go fetch dead people for us."

The earliest mention of such a tradition in the Ming dynasty 语怪 placed the custom in Fengdu, the famous "ghost city" of Sichuan.

According to the text, when someone's soul was yanked off its streets to work as part-time psychopomps, they just fainted on the spot, and would revive after a few hours or overnight. The phenomenon was so common, the locals weren't even shocked, nor bothered getting them any medical attention.

Yuewei Caotang Biji goes further into the rationales of why Underworld needed those living conscripts. Apparently, all the living people clustered around a sickbed created a blazing aura of Yang, which certain venerable/fierce/brutish individuals also possessed in abundance, and was anathema to the ghost cops.

They were beings of pure Yin, after all, while the conscripts, whose bodies were Yin but still had plenty of Yang-aligned Qi, didn't have to worry about that.

Zou Wuchang was also not gender-exclusive, and there were mentions of multiple female conscripts in Qing legend compendiums.

Also, though the recruitment was forceful, you could actually retire after serving for a number of years——in one tale from 庸闲斋笔记, a woman fought the conscript for her mother-in-law's soul, who took pity on her and reported back to the City God.

In response, the City God said he'd send a report to Yama to see if she could be spared, and also released the conscript from her duty on account of her kind heart.

The popularity of this tradition across multiple sources and a long stretch of time signalled that, to an even greater extent than before, the ghost cops weren't generic ghost cops no longer: they are The Impermanences, which is only a few step away from developing into their own characters with unique iconography.

Black and White

First: where did their signature robe colors come from?

According to the first variant of the Ten Kings Scripture, officials under the Ten Kings were supposed to be dressed in black robes, riding a black horse, and carrying a black banner.

But in Tang folklore compendiums, that dress code wasn't a thing at all. A Taiwanese paper actually goes through tales of ghost officials inside Taiping Guangji where their appearances were described, and counted 22 cases of them wearing yellow robes, 7 cases of red robes, and only 8 stories involving ghost officials in either black or white robes.

Though ghost officials in black as well as white robes never appeared in the same story, they did have two things in common: 1) they tended to be quite tall, and 2) almost half of them were carrying weapons of some sorts.

The very late Ming/early Qing novel, Cu Hulu, also has a character ask Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha a bunch of questions in Chapter 12.

One of them was about the discrepancy between the depiction of Underworld officials in temples and the ones he personally saw, and he mentioned that the statues of "Impermanences" were 1) dressed in mourning robes and 2) about a Zhang and two Chi (3+ meter) in height.

Which suggests that, by the novel's time, the ghost cops had already gained a set of uniforms, one associated with funerary affairs.

(Also: I love Ksitigarbha's answer to that particular question——"Yeah we used to have a really tall ghost cop like that, people just call him 'Wuchang' because they don't know what the heck he is. Also, Impermanence isn't actually a real name, it's a concept.")

However, as far as I know, the earliest mention of a pair of ghost cops, one in white and one in black, was in Vol. 19 of Yuewei Caotang Biji. And the story is quite funny.

Basically, this Sun guy was temporarily residing in someone else's house, and the host's mother was severely ill. One day, the family servant boy carried in some dinner for him, and because Sun was busy with something else, he told the boy to put it on a nearby table in another room.

Suddenly, a white robed guy just appeared out of nowhere and entered the house, followed by a short black robed guy.

Sun hurried into the room, saw the two guys stealing his dinner, and angrily yelled at them. The white robed guy noped out of there, leaving the black robed guy behind and hiding in a corner, unable to exit the room because Sun was blocking the door.

He kinda just sat outside and kept an eye on them for a while, before the host of the family suddenly showed up, telling him that his mother had just spoken.

Basically, the ghost officials had come for her, and one of them happened to be cornered in the room by Sun, so would he please move? She didn't want to be punished for showing up late.

The host didn't know if it was true either, and was just going out there and checking. But the moment Sun went and sat somewhere else, the ghost in black scampered out of the room. Soon afterwards, wailing began to come out of the mother's room, suggesting she had been taken away.

As hilariously pathetic as these two unnamed ghost cops are, the only thing connecting them to the Heibai Wuchang of much later times is their robe colors, and the black-robed one being short.

There are no tales featuring both 1) a pair of ghost cops in black and white, and 2) the pair being referred to as "Impermanences", though.

The middle-late Qing stories that do refer to the ghost cops as such tend to only feature a single Impermanence: unnaturally tall, dressed in white robes and hats, either holding a fan or carrying strings of paper money on his shoulders, sometimes bleeding from his eyes or nose/mouth.

(Yep, you know how the White Impermanence is often seen as the older of the two sworn brothers? As far as their historical existence goes, he really is the older guy.)

It was in the 19th century 醉茶志怪 that we saw the first signs of the two converging. In the three stories with "Impermanence" in their titles, two featured the "white-robed ghost cop in tall hat" alone, one of which described him as looking like a 10+ years old kid, standing at the side of the road like a temple clay statue.

The third story, however, featured a sighting of two giant ghosts, one in white and one in blue/green, near the City God's temple. Out of the four people involved in the encounter, three died after a few days, and the only survivor was the one who had his line of sight blocked by the palaquin.

How did 1 become 2?

How did the single unique Impermanence become the Black and White Impermanences?

Well…it's a complicated question with no definitive answers. We know that in the (probably Qing dynasty) Jade Records, there are already mentions of a pair of ghosts called Huo Wuchang ("Life-is-Impermanent" or "Living Impermanence") and Si Youfen ("Death-Has-a-Part").

The former wears a black official hat and formal robes, holds brushes and papers in his hands, with blades on his shoulders and torture tools on his belts. He has big bulging eyes and is often laughing.

The latter has dirty, bloodied face, wears a white robe, holds an abacus, carries a sack of rice on his shoulder and has paper money dangling in front of his chest like a necklace. He has a sad frown on his face and is always sighing.

As you can see, there are similarities, but also notable differences from the "iconic" Black & White Impermanences. Whereas the White Impermanence is usually depicted as the cheerful one in white robes, carrying an abacus and wearing strings of paper money, here, he is the sad and grim one.

Their jobs also differ: instead of fetching souls to the Underworld, in the Jade Records, these two are responsible for pushing the dead off the bridges after they have drunken Mengpo's amnesia soup, into the scarlet river so they can reincarnate.

Personally, I view them as a transistory stage between the "Generic Impermanence Ghosts" and "The Two Unique Psychopomps We Know and Love", one strand of the folk god evolutionary process that was captured in written sources.

A Japanese paper goes into another strand in the evolution: the addition of the Black Impermanence. Namely, he might have grown out of a ghost that commonly showed up in City God worship and parades, the so-called "Wall-touching Ghost" (摸壁鬼).

The claim was based on very late Qing newspaper illustrations, where the Black Impermanence was depicted as holding up his two arms like this:

Which was a gesture commonly used by the "Wall-touching Ghost" during parades in the Jiangsu area, who also wore black robes and tall hats.

The author of the paper then dug into sources about the Wall-touching Ghost, and not only found records of the parades, but also a Qianlong era Mulian opera script, 劝善金科, that paired him together with the Impermanence Ghost as fetchers of the dead.

(The two were also given names in this opera: the Impermanence Ghost is named Ba Yang, and the Wall-touching Ghost, Wu Qi.)

Earlier mentions of the Wall-touching Ghost in Qing folklore compendiums, however, didn't depict him as a ghost cop. The story in 夜航船 just described it as a ghost thing that hid between walls and used its chill breath to suck up people's souls.

Another story in the 1878 浇愁集, even though it described the ghost more——dark-faced, holding its arms up like in the drawing, could turn into a cloud of black smoke and disappear into walls——still had it as your typical "ghost shows up, people die" ill omen.

So the paper's proposition is that, after the White Impermanence has separated out of the "Generic Ghost Cop Impermanences" and become his own thing, people in southern Jiangsu built on their existing Wall-touching Ghost and made him into the former's partner, absorbing most of his iconography in the process.

Similarly, the "tall and short" pair-up that was popular in Fujian and spread across Taiwan and SEA might also be a result of parallel local evolution, together with the name Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu.

Xie and Fan

Yes! At last, at last, we are getting to the most well-known and popular origin story, a.k.a. the Nantai Bridge Tale.

A summary: Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were a pair of best friends/sworn brothers from Fujian, working as constables for the local magistrate. One day, while they were out on a mission, they saw a storm brewing. Xie went back to grab umbrellas while Fan waited for him under the bridge.

Unfortunately, the downpour soon began, causing the river to flood. Fan, unwilling to break his promise, continued waiting for Xie under the bridge and drowned. When Xie returned and saw his sworn brother's corpse, he hang himself out of guilt and grief too.

(…As a casual reader, I, always wondered why "waiting ON the bridge instead of under it" never crossed his mind as an option. Okay, sure, it was raining. But that's all the more reason to not stand under the darn bridge.)

Touched by their loyalty to each other, the City God/King Yama/Jade Emperor appoints them as ghostly constables, responsible for fetching the dead to the Underworld.

This story bears a lot of similarity to the fable of Wei Sheng in Zhuangzi. Basically, the guy made a promise to meet a girl under a bridge, the girl didn't show up, there was a flood, and, unwilling to leave, he drowned while still clinging to the bridge pillar.

Zhuangzi's opinion of the guy wasn't too high, because honestly, what a stupid way to die.

However, Sima Qian held him up as an exemplar of loyalty and keeping one's word, and the reading stuck. For later folktales about Wei Sheng as well as others that adopted the basic premise, like one tale in the 七世夫妻 story cycle, it also tended to get turned into a straight-up love story.

Though the Nantai Bridge Tale is the most popular version of their backstory, it's far from the only version. One version has them as Tang dynasty officials, working under the historical figure Zhang Xun, who died during the Anshi Rebellion.

While they were trying to get reinforcements, Xie was caught and hung on the city gate by the rebels, while Fan accidentally drowned.

When Zhang Xun was made a City God after the city fell and the rebels killed him, these two also became deified as his attendants.

In another version, Xie was a filial son with an aging mother, who had been wrongly imprisoned because of a friend's crime. During the Lunar New Year, Fan found him crying in the cell, and, upon learning about his sad backstory, released him secretly to visit his mother, on the condition that he returns after seven days.

However, his mother died soon after his return. Busy with her funeral, Xie did not return in time, and Fan, unable to answer to his superiors, committed suicide via drinking poison. When Xie returned and learned of the terrible news, he, too, hang himself.

And these three are far from the only known versions! Like, seriously, there are probably as many variations of the story as there are variations of the objects they held in their hands.

Though some elements stay more constant——using their deaths to explain their iconography, Xie being more commonly associated with the fan, umbrella, and abacus and Fan, chains, everything is subjected to changes and regional differences.

(For example, SEA oral legends tend to associate them with opium. Most of the time, they are constables or mercenaries employed to track down opium smugglers and other criminals, but some have them as Robin Hood-esque opium smugglers.)

Anyways, I hope this long post has offered some insight into the two iconic, yet also somewhat obscure ghost cops. I might add an "Appendix of Fun Facts and Tales" that doesn't fit into the main body of the post, but for now? That will be all.

May the readers who celebrate it have a nice Zhongyuan Festival.

Bibliography:

蔺坤:《无常鬼考源》

大谷亨：《黑无常的诞生与演变—— 以江苏南部的摸壁鬼传说为中心》

陈威伯、施静宜：《七爷八爷成神故事研究》

江義雄：《臺灣「黑白無常」與「范謝將軍」研究》

吳彥鋒：《臺灣七爺八爺傳說及其與信仰關係研究》

中国国家博物馆藏《十一面观音变相》的阐释

劉榕峻：狂放不羈、怪異獨特：談香港藝術館展出的「揚州八怪」

Stephen F. Teiser, The Scripture on the Ten Kings and the Making of Purgatory in Medieval Chinese Buddhism

Fabian Graham, Voices from the Underworld: Chinese Hell Deity Worship in Contemporary Singapore and Malaysia

CBETA: 《地藏王菩萨本愿经》

CBETA：《佛说地藏王菩萨发心因缘十王经》

夷坚志/支癸07，“赵彥珍妻”

《金瓶梅词话》，Chapter 74

《醋葫芦》，Chapter 12

《劝善金科》Vol.5, Part 2

The Jade Guidebook: Appendices, translated by David K. Jordan

Journey to the West Vol.1, Chapter 11, translated by Anthony C. Yu

[metamatar]

hope it's okay to ask, but do you have any advice for like. internalizing that self harm and suicide aren't really helpful

obvs this is all personal, so depending on your personal beliefs and the dimensions of depression it may not apply. im sure some of this can make it worse for you personally. reader beware etc. im sure this is terribly revealing of what my problems are. but i can't ignore you.

for self harm my advice here is more harm reduction bc i think the internalisation of that not being useful to you is way more specific to why you harm and needs like. work.

for suicide, because i think fighting both takes different tactics and some of these are things that work temporarily:

relief from anguish is a feeling. you have to be alive to experience a feeling. even if you don't remember that feeling and don't feel capable of it what if you stuck around to see it? it would be transcendent.

you want out from something. think about drastic decisions you can take before killing yourself that can change things that fuck you up. drop out of school? quit your job? start living on a friends couch? break up with your partner? trans your gender?

suicide closes off any other possibility. it is a very loud scream of autonomy but it will be the last time you get to make a decision. is that truly enough autonomy for you?

you have wanted to die before. you have not wanted to die before. your feelings are complicated and contradictory. you cannot entrust your whole life to them.

be curious about your future. im serious. i've changed so much by now from the limiting self i was when i was 15 and couldn't imagine being 18 and now im beyond 25 and im curious what i'd be like at 35. bargain. to see those years. i mean maybe you'll be cured which is a fun fantasy but i don't really believe that. maybe you'll be worse. but which? and how? the wikipedia summary of your life is not the life experience. the texture of your anguish changes too.

consider survival more valuable to your self worth. it matters. you had to do it anyway but you did it so it still matters. yeah you cracked a bit but you can be proud of being alive.

now, more controversially before you kill yourself, consider making it worse. indulge self destruction some other way. do something inadvisable that's less permanent.

and now, after endorsing self harm as a means of avoiding suicide and making everyone mad. stuff i've internalised to do less self harm:

i am the only person in the world responsible for me. choose less harm. the doctors won't choose less but i will.

same stuff about making one drastic change.

just one thing make it safer? then do it safer. you can look this stuff up on forums.

pick a replacement behaviour that you think is slightly better. do it. fail it. do it again. force yourself to over indulge in it while the haze passes.

you kind of have to sit with the things that hurt you that the self harm soothes and try to change them. sorry. do it slowly and do it excessively and keep trying.

i am not the only person in the world who does this. read about it talk about it and keep it held in your heart that this is something about yourself that you feel the need to change. i like art about it.

fighting it a little is giving you a fresher newer self back. do you like them? don't you want to meet them?

relief is not contentment. wouldn't contentment be even more transcendent?

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Prompt (it's okay if you ignore this one cos it's a bit dark/triggering): Lena, post S4 having just killed her brother & finding out about the SG secret, is suicidal, like seriously considering ending it once and for all. BUT she finds something that brings her back to wanting to live and be happy (a new goal or motivation?) Side reigncorp would be nice, having Sam there to support her etc and she's the only one she trusts right now plus she's the only one who never lied to/betrayed her. Thanks!

WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/INTENTIONS

----

Lena stares at the pill bottle in her hand. It would be so easy, she thinks. Just tip the bottle to her lips and swallow the lot with a chaser of bourbon. Let herself drift away into sleep. Maybe she'd get lucky and remain blissfully unaware of the vomit and foam that would likely follow. Perhaps her mind would block it out, allow her to sink peacefully into death while her body convulsed to reject the poison.

She considers who might find her. The cleaners perhaps, due to return in two days time. Or more likely Jess, when she fails to come to work or answer her phone. Certainly not Kara, who believes everything between them is fine-- that their friendship hasn't shattered into irrecoverable shards.

Kara. No, Supergirl. Fucking Supergirl.

Lena clenches her eyes shut, but the image of the hero simply projects against the backs of her eyelids. With her stupid hair and her stupid cape and her stupid, lying smile. But no. The truth is, Lena is the idiot. An idiot to think she'd made true friends, to think she could share the innermost parts of herself with someone who wouldn't turn around and use it against her.

They played you for a fool, Lex's voice echoes from beyond the grave.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Suddenly, an explosion of glass issues from her living room. Lena surges for her handgun, and carefully creeps from her bedroom. Her fingers clenches unnecessarily-- angrily-- against the trigger when she recognizes the caped figure that rises shakily from the floor. But she doesn't fire.

"Lena?" Kara croaks, cradling her middle as though her ribs are broken. Lena watches her scan the living room and kitchen before locating her outside the bedroom. "Lena..."

"What do you want?"

She means it to sound angry, or at the very least irritated. Instead, she just sounds tired, even to her own ears.

"Something's happened to Alex-- to everyone. The DEO is compromised. They--" The hero grimaces in pain. "They tried to kill me."

"So you came to me."

"I hoped you wouldn't be affected. Whatever it is... it's bad. It's really bad."

Lena tries to feel something. Concern, outrage, curiosity-- anything. But she can't. She feels flat, like the air has deflated from her, leaving her a sagging balloon, pressed down by the weight of the air around her.

"Kara..."

Lena sees the exact moment the name hits home, and its implication hits home. Her eyes close in resignation-- not apology, Lena notes distantly.

"You figured it out--?"

"No."

Kara nearly sighs. "Your mother?"

"Brother," Lena allows, "but interesting that you know Lillian knew."

Lex was right. Everyone in the world but her knew the truth. Even her mother. And Kara knows that Lillian knows. That she allowed Lena's family to know the truth, but not she herself.

Fuck her.

"And now you've come to the Luthor you've managed to keep in your pocket."

Like always, Lena notes. Every time she's been involved with Supergirl and her allies, it's been as a last resort. Not because they truly wanted her or her help. Because they had nowhere else to turn.

Her stomach turns, and again Lena's thoughts flicker back to the prescription bottle in her bedroom. She feels sick, and she doesn't want to. She'd rather feel nothing at all than feel this.

"Lena..." Kara straightens as best she can. "I'm not here because I have to be. I'm here because you're the only one I trust."

Their eyes lock for a long moment, and Lena hopes her gaze conveys her disbelief. The words mean nothing, and the fact Kara expects her to believe them is actually insulting.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"We need to know what's affected them and find a way to neutralize it."

"I'll need a current blood sample, and a sample from before the changes in behavior occurred for comparison."

Lena turns back towards her bedroom.

"Then I'll see what I can do."

---

What she can do, it would seem, is quite a lot. Per usual. She isolates a chemical signature in Agent Schott's blood that stands out as abnormal, and traces it back to readings taken from clothes that have arrived on several alien refugee ships. The chemical is alien in nature, but it's not long before Lena synthesizes a counteragent to render the chemical inert until it could be processed from the bloodstream on its own.

She does all this before it can spread further than the DEO. Kara looks at her with gratitude and relief and a little bit of patent awe, but Lena isn't impressed with herself or her results. Isn't this what she always does? Pulls a rabbit out of her ass and saves the day-- but never enough to breach that final circle of trust she never even knew existed.

Once she confirms all DEO employees are returned to their normal selves, Lena withdraws. She relinquishes her role at L-Corp to Sam with some easy bullshit about taking a sabbatical. She hoards her prescriptions, waiting for the moment to be right.

The night she chooses is dark and rainy. But she manages to prod herself to going to the boutique liquor store beforehand-- might as well go out sipping something luxurious and expensive.

On her way back, she pauses on the sidewalk when she hears something moving beneath the car parked next to her along the curb. When it doesn't come again, she moves to resume her march home, but is stopped again by a new sound.

A whine.

Lena hesitates. She can keep walking, pretend she never heard it. But her feet remain rooted against her intentions to leave, until she finally relents and climbs down to her hands and knees. Pressing her cheek almost to the cement, she peers under the sedan and sees the soggy silhouette of a small quadruped.

A puppy. Or some sort of small breed. When it shifts, she sees disproportionately gangly limbs and a long tail curled around its trunk. Puppy.

Lena sighs. "C'mere," she mutters, reaching her arm under the car. The dog is far enough under that her shoulder feels like it nearly dislocates before she finally catches the sorry creature by the scruff of the neck.

It yelps when she drags it out into the rain, but makes no move to escape when she stares down at it appraisingly. Short brown fur darkened by rain, small half-flopped ears, and big brown eyes. It's certainly the picture of a creature any decent human being would cleave to.

"All right," she says heavily. "Let's get you somewhere dry."

She picks the pup up and tucks it into her coat. It curls into the warmth of her chest, shivering all the way back to her apartment. She snags a towel from the linen closet before removing her coat, and transfers the animal directly into it.

Once it's mostly dry, Lena sits back and stares at the beast as it stares at her. She glances at the bottle of liquor she'd set on the coffee table next to the pup.

Lena sighs.

"You chose a hell of a night to turn up," she says drily. Lena gives the dog's head a rub before picking it up to set it gently on the floor.

"Let's get you some food."

----

(Prompts are closed)