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ryin-silverfish · 7 months ago

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A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

#chinese mythology #chinese folklore #chinese underworld #diyu #chinese religion #cw: death #hell #underworld #journey to the west #I'm lazy so if you want a “work cited” list #just dm me

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horse-girl-anthy · 4 months ago

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Revolutionary Girl Utena: Gender in Context

beneath the cut, I discuss the RGU's portrayal of gender in the context of 1990s Japan.

in Ikuhara's interview with Mari Kotani, he stated that in traditional Japanese society, "prince" meant "patriarch." the same is true in Western societies--there was a time when a prince would be an heir to a royal line. by 1997, this meaning had died out of large parts of the world. even the association between princes and traditional masculinity was fading. Saionji, the weakest, most pathetic man in the show, is a parody of historical Japanese masculinity, with his kendo and his blatantly regressive beliefs about women.

in RGU, prince may still mean patriarch, but in a far more subtle fashion. Ikuhara and Kotani discussed the changing expectations for men in the latter half of the 20th century--it became gauche to fight over a woman with one's brawn, so instead, power struggles were played out in the arena of looks and sex appeal. one can see this reflected in the character Akio, whose power as a prince arises from his ability to turn "easy sensual pleasure based on dependency" "into a selling point with which to control people."

Akio has his moments of showboating masculinity, but when preying on Utena, he operates by making himself seem non-threatening and soft.

not only that, but he purports to want to allow students to express their individuality and thus approves of Utena's masculine form of dress. this is a front--by the end of the show, he's telling Utena that girls shouldn't wield swords. thus, through Akio's character, the show argues that traditionalist patriarchy in Japan isn't gone, but instead has only been papered over with false progressivism.

with all that said, there seems to be more to the character. he's taken the family name of his fiance, Kanae, and whatever material power he has in the school is dependent upon her family. in Japanese society, this is considered a humiliating position to be in, something that only a shameless man would do. the show never gives the audience any insight into how Akio feels about this--is he unbothered entirely, or are his actions against the Ohtori family an expression of his repressed anger? does he harm the children under his care to compensate for his humiliation?

this aspect of Akio's character may seem irrelevant in light of the larger, immaterial social forces at work in the show. however, I would argue that it was included for a reason. Akio, despite his status as ultimate patriarch of Ohtori, is in fact a highly emasculated character, to the point where lead writer Enokido even said that he is driven by an infantile mother complex.

to explain why Akio was portrayed this way, we have to discuss Japanese history. the nation suffered a major defeat in WWII and was forced to accept whatever terms the United States laid out for it. for an examination of how the Japanese have never truly processed those events and have plunged into modernity with reckless abandon, I recommend Satoshi Kon's Paranoia Agent. to sum it up briefly, in a very short period, the nation regained its economic footing, and by the 1980s had the largest gross national product in the world. this economic boom may have allowed Japan to maintain a sense of sovereignty, dignity, and power, but it was inherently fragile.

the infamous "bubble economy" lasted from 1986 to 1991. during this time, anything seemed possible; financial struggles appeared to be a thing of the past, and capitalist excess reached new heights. the ghosts of this period can be felt across Japanese media; for instance, think of the final shot of Grave of the Fireflies (1998), where the two dead children look down on Kobe, glowing an eerie green to imply its impermanence. the abandoned theme park from Spirited Away (2001) is explicitly referred to as a leftover from the previous century, when many attractions were built and then tossed aside in a few short years.

the bubble popped in 1992, leaving an entire generation feeling cheated. the bright futures they'd been promised, which had actually materialized for their parents and older siblings, had been lost to them overnight. economic crises are often accompanied by gender panics. to quote from Masculinities in Japan, "The recession brought with itself worsening employment conditions, undermining the system of lifelong employment and men’s status of breadwinners in general. The unemployment rate was rising, and although it never reached crisis levels, men could no longer feel safe in their salaryman status. Their situation was further complicated by the rising number of (married) women entering the workforce."

with this in mind, Akio's character can be taken as a representation of masculinity in crisis in 90s Japan. he's forced to rely on women for his position in life and has failed to save his only relative, Anthy. he tries to escape his misery through hedonism, perhaps an allegorical representation of how men tried to maintain their old standard of living after the economic bubble burst.

but of course, Akio is not the main character of RGU--the story is about girls. mangaka Yamada Reiji discussed the series in the context of the 90s, stating the following:

while I opened this essay by discussing the prince, the same points could be made about the princess. despite the increasing irrelevance of royalty, princess is still an important concept. how does it relate to the socioeconomic landscape of the 90s?

in Yamada's view, RGU is full of relics of the 80s; for instance, the figure of the ojou-sama, an entitled young woman who never lifts a finger for herself. during the economic bubble, it was increasingly common for women to be entirely taken care of by the men in their lives. Yamada names Nanami as a clear ojou-sama type character: she weaponizes her femininity, demanding to be rescued, doted on, and served.

however, by 1997, the ojou-sama could no longer expect to get what she wanted. from the 80s to the 90s, the percentage of women in the workforce increased around 15%; it was no longer viable for most women to be "kept" by their families. as the men experienced the humiliation of not being able to provide for their wives and children, women were undergoing a disillusionment of their own.

Yamada blames Disney for creating the ideological structure which led women astray. obviously, the company is known for its films about princes rescuing princesses. in Yamada's recounting, during the 80s, the company was infiltrating Japan through its theme parks as well; across the country, Disneylands were opening up, and people were buying into the escapism the corporation offered. Japan, as America, became a country of eternal children. its people were waiting for a prince to appear and save them.

but fairy tales can't stave off reality forever. Yamada claims that RGU embodies the rage of young women who woke up one day and realized that they had been raised on a lie. this anger pervades the work from beginning to end.

though RGU was created in a particular social context, its lessons can be extrapolated to any time and place. as the first ending tells us:

I hope this essay helped provide more context for the series. thanks for reading!

#rgu #commentary #revolutionary girl utena #this was originally a part of another essay but i revamped it and added a lot more detail

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feng-huli · 8 days ago

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I can't help but think the ghosts all have an elaborate morning routine now 😂 Happy fixes up his stitches like piercings. Changing and Tragicomic Ghost have makeup routines. Honestly I love this for them.

Awww, I love this! 😸 The ghosts all have such fun designs, and makeup is such an important aspect of so many of them. There’s so many subtle details, and it’s interesting noticing them and how they progress. Perhaps the most noteworthy appearance change—other than Tragicomic’s after remembering Zhao Jing, and Beauty Ghost’s transformations in general—is the way Lovelace loses aspects of his design as the story progresses. First the hat, then the eyebrow makeup. Considering that the eyebrow makeup makes a shape reminiscent of Happy Ghost’s in how his brows curl upwards, it can make one wonder if losing the hat and the brow makeup is symbolic of Lovelace gradually becoming less connected with Wuchang Gui and Happy Ghost respectively. Perhaps even foreshadowing how he won’t have either of them present to help keep him out of trouble when he dies.

Anyways, I love Wuchang Gui’s makeup (the green lipstick is so iconic, while the matching eyeshadow under his brows and his eyeliner is subtle but nice). Fun fact that the makeup and mannerisms were his actor’s idea. Which reminds me that I found this video on weibo with a picture of Xue Fei with purple lipstick:

Green is the perfect color for Wuchang Gui, but now I’m kinda wishing that Jin Yan had purple lipstick—but maybe that would make it harder for him to lick his lips 😹

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multitude-of-eels · 24 days ago

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I think hex maniacs in pokemon are so fucking funny because like.

Imagine you’re walking thru somewhere obviously haunted n u see some kid who looks like she hasn’t slept since the womb muttering under their breath. and you fight them ofc bcause you gotta socialize your mons. And they send out LITERAL GHOSTS half of which can place lethal curses on you and the other half still quite intimidating because of the marginally less lethal curses.

Of course you’d call them a maniac.

But imagine being that sleep-deprived ghosty shitheel for a sec.

You grow up somewhere where ghosts are a pretty common pest. So, y’know, from a pretty young age you learn to call death’s bluff on account of its impermanence. Who cares if this mortal body fails, you’ll probably just collapse and turn into a litwick or yamask or something. Some of these pests, like shuppet, have metaphysical diets, feasting on emotions or some such. Your parents are arguing? Go entreat a shuppet and they mellow out immediately. So not only do you not care about dying all that much, you can probably also feed all your problems to one ghost or another.

Like, I’d be a sleep deprived mess who doesn’t care how hard my dog play-bites either if I grew up like that.

#eelsgospel #pokemon #ghost pokemon #shuppet #yamask #litwick

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vaguely-concerned · 1 month ago

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To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit:

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

#I told you all I was going to be extremely myself about this. I suppose we all hoped I was joking. even while knowing I was not #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age meta #solas #varric tethras #anyway. at the end of the day and despite everything varric won the 'I told you so chuckles' rights over solas in this philosophical debate #and isn't that enough in a way. I think so. the world and the story of the world is his legacy. people get to keep telling it #I want to say so much about how each of the companions play into the different aspects of this theme but I should uh #probably finish the game properly first haha #guys I literally opened my eyes this morning and wrote out most of this before even getting up. the pressure cooker brain is back #the lone brain cell in here boileth over with dragon age feels & thoughts #very little sends me deranged quite like this series I'm afraid. I'm just still so relieved that even if this story isn't for everyone.#it is for me. thank god. I needed it

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shit-people-probably-didnt-say · 1 month ago

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Klaus: Ghosting doesnt work on me I have object impermanence, I legit forget you exist the moment you leave the room

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua shitpost #tua incorrect quotes #klaus hargreeves

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recareels · 2 years ago

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✩°｡⋆ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞! ⋆｡°✩

anonymous wrote: how would the boys react with a reader that likes to nibble them?

characters: ajax/tartaglia, kamisato ayato, thoma, alhaitham

notes: aaah this was really fun anon thank you for your question! happy valentine’s day everyone!!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, biting, bruising, blood, minimal prep, daddy kink, sadism, dom/sub power/relationship dynamics, a mention of dacryphilia in ajax’s, reader is female

words: 1.5k

✧˖°. 𝐚𝐣𝐚𝐱 | 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚 .°˖✧

ajax has a huge biting kink and absolutely will bite you back at least twice as hard. he likes to make it a game of sorts; who can bite the hardest? who can stand it the longest? who will give in/give up first? who will finally cry out in pain? who can conjure pretty little crystalline drops of hedonistic agony in the other’s eyes, adorning thick eyelashes and soft cheeks? who can break skin and draw blood first? who can leave the biggest, deepest, harshest bruised bite? and when it’s finally over, when he inevitably comes out on top, emerges as the winner, he likes to compare battle wounds, making little comments in that soft, sweet, awe-stricken voice before taking polaroids of the prettiest marks—immortalizing them for safekeeping, kept between the pages of an old, worn journal—and dating them with little notes in that signature spiky slanted handwriting, thoughts scrawled in black sharpie across the bottom border.

it’s routine, ritual, at this point, for him to take his time appreciating each and every wound he’s carved into your flesh, tracing the indents of his teeth, all thirty-two of them, with his index finger in the most loving, gentlest caresses. lips journey across the map of his creations with docile little kisses—ghosts of adoration that skim and stroke your marred skin, flesh still oozing crimson and flowering a scattered collection of oceanic bruises, all violet and charcoal and deep azure—before he dips into them with his tongue, laving over them and filling the tiny craters with viscous saliva, sticky and thick.

but despite his inherent sadism, he is an absolute king at aftercare, tending to both your wounds and his own with the utmost devotion as murmured praises pour in endless streams from his lips. the sentiments wash over your body in seamless conjunction with his hands, purifying you in every sense, his words like a soothing salve as his fingers work diligently, cleaning and bandaging, patching up and healing your wounds.

✧˖°. 𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨 .°˖✧

he laughs, low and smooth and drenched with condescension, as if your sharp teeth sinking into his flesh are nothing more than the tickle of a feather, as if it’s so cute that you think you can hurt him, that you think you can have any affect on him at all. you should know better, really; ayato is masterful at controlling his emotions and reactions, and the chances of conjuring a genuine response that isn’t carefully curated and constructed is slim. you know better than to break the skin, though, know better than to ever leave a mark darker than something that won’t fade within fifteen minutes, that if you do it’s an instant spanking for you—or worse, depending on the severity of the wound.

it’s cute, he tells you, that you want to mark up Daddy so much, claiming your territory and stamping him as yours. but he promises you can do that in other ways that don’t induce public speculation on what he does in his personal life, he’s sure.

you agree, for the most part, hating the impermanence of bruises and bite marks irregardless and preferring something that is much more concrete, something that makes a statement, bold and firm and uneraseable. but this doesn’t stop the edges of your teeth scraping along his skin—his jaw and his neck and the exposed notches of his collarbone—because it was never really about that, was it?

no, of course not. because you only get this way, suddenly voracious and starved for his flesh, suddenly compulsive and desperate to gnaw on his bones, when he’s busy, when you’re sat on his lap and snuggling into his chest after begging and crying and swearing you’ll be good, when he’s entirely disregarding your presence in favour of the thick manila folders on his desk and the weathered documents between his fingers.

you both know he could ignore it if he wanted to, could resist giving into your pathetic little demands for attention with the utmost ease, unbothered and unfazed by the little pricks of pain your nips and nibbles conjure, but that isn’t very fun.

a hum of mock contemplation vibrates against his ribs, his voice deep and decadent, dark and dangerous as he murmurs out a warning. “do you think it’s wise to bite Daddy while he’s trying to do work, baby? you promised you’d behave if he let you stay with him, but you’re not behaving in the slightest, are you?”

no, you’re not, and he’s going to fucking do something about it. because that’s what good Daddy’s are supposed to do, isn’t it?

✧˖°. 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚 .°˖✧

moans, loudly. he tries to resist how fucking good it feels, the way it makes his stomach swoop and flutter, the way it makes his cock twitch almost violently, and in a sweet, shaky voice he attempts to coax you out of it, each gentle request met with a sinful little giggle, bubbly and warm as sunshine as it seeps into his skin. each cute little bite is sealed with your tongue, wide and flat against his skin as it drags across the rapidly developing mark, painting each in a stroke of glistening saliva. chills skitter across his flesh with every precious laugh you huff out, your amusement cool against his wet neck.

thoma lets you have your fun for longer than any of the other men would, because he has such a difficult time firmly saying no to you and asserting his authority; because he only ever wants to give you the very best, make you the very happiest, almost desperate in the way he shreds himself into curls of tinder and sets himself alight in his haste to give into your every wish and whim.

that doesn’t mean he’s invincible, though. sure, he’ll allow such behaviour to continue for as long as he can possibly stand it, except you keep pushing and pushing—ruthlessly, ceaselessly, keen to see just how far you can prod before those flames of desire licking at his tummy and up his throat finally erupt into an untameable blaze—and eventually, Daddy has to do something about it.

because he’s only human, after all; there’s only so much teasing a man can take—only so many little nips of your canines, only so many kittenish laps over minuscule injuries, only so many bounces of your cotton-clad pussy on his clothed cock in time with each of your giggles—before he’s finally rucking up your skirt, hem bunching around your waist, eager fingers tugging your panties to the side and shoving his cock into your ill-prepared but slick cunt. a heavy sigh of bliss wafts across your face as he bottoms out, bones melting beneath the heat of his scorching lust, body relaxed, relieved, as the fire is fed.

✧˖°. 𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 .°˖✧

he’ll let you have your fun for a little bit, gnawing away on his neck and shoulder and collarbone, head tilting slightly to allow you more room to work as incisors nibble along his jaw—gentle little nips that are nothing more than teasing, lacquered in shimmering spit only a moment later. however, as time goes on, the force and strength and pressure of your bites increases, becomes harder, heavier, hellacious—he knows this, of course, expects it every time, because he knows you inside out, back to front, his favourite storybook to study, a living, breathing, constantly evolving tale edited by him, and there’s only so far he’ll allow you to go before he decides it’s time to put you back in your rightful place, restore you back to your rightful state.

you know when he’s getting close to snapping, too; can feel it in the way smooth, sculpted muscle begins to tense and coil beneath you, can tell by the way his cock begins to swell, slow and steady, hard and hot and heavy as it presses into your core, rough denim gyrating in micro-circles against soft, lace trimmed cotton. but it’s when his breath stutters, fragmented to sharp little shards that catch in his throat after a particularly vicious bite, that you know he’s finally cracked.

then he’s flipping you over, body trapped between his and the couch, so quick it knocks the breath from your chest, so quick your mind can’t even comprehend it before you’re ensnared beneath him, sharp hipbones snuggling between plush thighs as a growl ripples his ribs. sharp ivory slices into your flesh, strong jaw flexing as the hinges clamp shut, locked in place until his teeth thoroughly etch his name across your body in deep, dark indents that’ll take over a day to puff up, blooming a tiny grotesque garden of molds of each tooth; rigid little graves and groves in shades of violet and navy. his cock throbs against you the entire time, rutting into your core in barely controlled movements, resistance and restraint stretched into thin taut vines. but it isn’t until you’re whining out his name, high and pitchy and broken, stuffed full of spit and straining with sobs, that he finally unlatches his mouth from your neck and gives you what you really want, thick cock tearing you open as he buries himself in your cute little hole and fills you to the hilt, head pressed firm and tight against your cervix.

#tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #kamisato ayato smut #kamisato ayato x reader #thoma x reader #thoma smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #eeee enjoy friends

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milliesfishes · 2 months ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎBodies Are Not the Only Things Buried౨ৎ꣑ৎ

꣑ৎ"Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt."꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of death/dying, angst pairing: ghost!billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: tagging @kellielovesmovies <3 and @these-travels <3 because we talked about doing more ghost billy!! Enjoy! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

"Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Billy turned his head to look at you, and his breath would have hitched if he had any left. The sunlight reflecting off your skin gave you a glow that was nearly angelic, and for a moment he was sure the higher powers had come for him after all. You blinked, nuzzling your head into the crook of your elbow where it lay, and he wished it was his arm there instead. Holding his girl. The way it should be.

He shook his head, shifting on his side. "When my family crossed to get here I did. But I don't remember much. Was a long time ago."

Your lips puckered just slightly, and he longed to touch his own to them. "I've always wanted to see it but I've never been."

Imagining you in the backdrop of ocean spray, sand sticking to your soaked feet, Billy smiled. "You'd fit right in."

With a giggle like bells, you looked back at the sky, your ever-present smile soft as spring's first rain. The grass framed you perfectly, making a soft bed that Billy didn't deem near good enough. Once again he tried to will his body solid. There was no need for a beating heart or blood siphoning through his veins. He only wanted to hold you.

Death made life feel like a distant memory. The more time Billy spent with you, the more painfully clear the difference between existing and living became. Consciousness was a curse, carried out by the remnants of him left like a half-eaten dinner. Maybe somebody had forgotten to take the final step and bring him wherever those he had known in life were. Or maybe they were lingering too, in different pockets of time's fabric. He had certainly never come across anyone like this.

Maybe you had been the only one who bothered to see. Or care. Either way, he had been revealed to you, the veil separating life and death lifting for a quick second so he could escape. And you were there to see it.

You spent a great deal of time at the cemetery, keeping him company. Often you would lie on the grass with a book and read to him, the passages you picked from between hundreds of pages only enhancing the complexity of your beauty.

It was natural he would fall in love with you. In the beginning he had felt it coming, a universal fact already set in motion. It was almost cruel, and he wondered if perhaps his forced haunting hadn't been a mistake at all. He could be atoning for every sin committed in life in some new method of torture where he was made to think himself joyful.

It was delicate, his dormant love a cobweb formed over decades of starvation. An emotional ache he had resigned to live with for the rest of time. If he had known death was this impermanent, he never would have wished for it.

You rotated on your side to face him, eyes reminding him of daisies. Young and fresh and lovely, innocence shining through your new bloom. Billy's attention was immediately piqued, ready to absorb whatever you had to say, even if it was a single word.

"Have you ever left this place?" He smiled when you asked, wholly enraptured.

Sitting up, Billy leaned against his headstone. Unmarked, unnamed, only the year he died carved crudely into the rounded shape. It made a good resting spot for you some days, though, and he was happy some facet of him was able to do so. "Not for a long time."

"Why not?" you asked, propping yourself up next to him, chin on the heels of your palms. The image of you was so painfully adorable that he had to pause before speaking.

"I dunno," he shrugged, looking at his boots. "It seems odd, but I've never thought of it."

"Never?" You tilted your head.

"I've never had a reason." He half-smiled. "You're the first person I've talked to in a century, sweetheart."

Something softened in your eyes at the term of endearment, and he was now making plans to call you it over and over just to see that look. "You never had wanderlust?"

Billy moved his hand so it was flat on the ground next to yours, pinkies nearly touching. "I wandered so much when I was alive, it must've just burnt out."

Somehow, he couldn't read the look on your face, as though your thoughts at the moment were in another language. He wished more than ever right now that he could draw you into his arms, maybe rest a hand at the crown of your head. There were so many things he desired, and you were at the center of each one as he orbited hopelessly.

He'd never had a sweetheart before. Through every misdeed and trial thrown under his feet and scratching his arms like thorns, he'd never found anybody. Further, he never expressed the desire, not out loud.

Love was always considered a luxury. He'd observed it plainly with his mother and father, witnessed the lengths it traveled and the way it grew to fit the space of new circumstances. But his parents had been good people, trying to make an honest living. He never thought love was meant for men like him.

But without survival on the line, what else was there to think of? There wasn't anything else to exist for, especially when the woman in question was you.

Without physical feelings, Billy ran on pure emotion. It was an energy of its own that replaced what his blood must have done. For so long it had been justified sorrow, but now it was something else. Something he didn't even want to think of because it was so out of the question.

He was a ghost. You were alive. Nothing more needed to be said.

Stretching your arms with a little hum, you shut your eyes and let your hair fall to the side, over your shoulder. He watched it cascade like a waterfall, wishing for the millionth time he could brush it from your eyes. "You know, you could travel if you wanted to. See everything you want to." Opening your eyes, you smiled at him with a little glimmer that lifted his spirits. "You could see the ocean and remember it better this time."

Billy wouldn't tell you what he was thinking. That the only way that desire would enter him is if he could do it with you. See that adorable look of astonishment when you tasted salt water for the first time.

He didn't let his thoughts go any further than that. Instead of saying it, he smiled. "You'll have to see it for me, darlin'."

You looked up at him, resting your cheek on the cool stone of his headstone. If he imagined it right, your ear was on his heart instead of a monument to his death. His girl. In his dreams you were his girl.

Months since you'd first seen him, when he'd expected you to be frightened but instead you were kind. Ghost or outlaw, it seemed any time he was given was to be spent unconventionally. Based on your reaction, it was easy to imagine you in the context of his time. Maybe you never would have judged him the way everyone else did.

A shock of warmth coursed through his spectral being when you simply said, "Your time didn't end when you died."

It echoed, bouncing off the cemetery gates long after you left for the night.

Everything except Billy's existence was glaringly temporary.

He had long accepted the fact that his fate was to stand still, frozen as an unseen relic of time while the world hurtled forward into a future he couldn't have imagined. Regretting his legacy, coming to terms with the fact that he was existing in a space where he couldn't change anything.

Long had he wondered of this purpose. Whether it be by punishment or pity, he was immoveable. And now more than ever it was becoming glaringly obvious that you weren't.

"Long day," you sighed one evening, flopping down next to him. He reached for your hand, wincing as his hand passed through like you were water. But when he made a move to pull it back, you shook your head, half smiling briefly. "Keep it there. It feels nice."

Billy smiled, turning to the side to look at you as you began to chatter, playing with a rogue strand of hair. "I got some news today."

"Good news?" he asked, and you smiled tightly, still anxiously fidgeting.

"An opportunity to travel. And go to school," you went on softly. "In London."

London. There was a pang in his chest. "That's incredible, sweetheart." Billy lowered his head to meet your eyes, where you were staring at the ground. "You've worked hard."

There was that half-smile again. "Thank you." He could see something brewing in you like a storm on the horizon, but didn't press. If you wanted to tell him you would.

After a beat of silence, you whispered, "I was excited about it. It would get me away from home." Billy's thoughts conjured the one time you had told him about your parents. About your mother's passing, and how your father had married a woman who hardly regarded you. He couldn't help but sympathize, thinking of his own mother and the cruel man she'd been forced to wed. The idea of you in that kind of situation kicked his protective instincts in, and it hurt that there wasn't a thing for him to do about it.

Billy nodded, searching your gaze. "You should be."

"And they have an amazing arts program."

"Of course."

"And it's beautiful- I've always wanted to go there." You were staring at him now. "The ocean is close. Closer than it is here."

He smiled. "It is."

Your eyes stayed on him, and he looked right back. It felt like you were trying to tell him something, but he refused to pry at it. Slowly, the corners of your lips turned down as something was defeated within. Without another word you breathed out, leaning down and resting your head in his lap. To his dismay, your head went right through his thighs, landing on the soft earth below.

Neither of you commented. He hovered a hand over the outline of your head, pretending to stroke your hair.

In the next weeks, you didn't broach the topic of school again, instead returning to your regular graveyard activities. Talking to him and smiling as if he was something extraordinary. Picking flowers that grew nearby and braiding them together, leaving them in little bouquets sagging at the base of his tombstone. He memorized every bit of you and tried to piece it together in the hours you weren't there, an endless puzzle.

The beginning of the end was impending, kicking up dust. He could feel it in his being, filling the space where his bones used to be. It wove marrow and tendons out of feelings, creating a whole other entity for him to inhabit. There was no end to Billy's endings.

You were lying side by side with him now, hair spread out like a halo over your head. When you opened your mouth, he heard it before you spoke.

"I'm going to school in London."

Billy let it stretch and consume him, show him what would never be. This was a routine. This was not new. "I'm happy you are. You're gonna do great, sweetheart."

Somberly, you whispered, "I leave in two weeks. To get adjusted to the new country."

He was quiet, just watching your expression. You were holding yourself together and he didn't know why.

Then in a quiet burst, a tear slipped from your eye, leaving a path on your cheek as it trickled down like rain on a windowpane. "Billy I don't want to leave you."

It hit him like something earthshattering. The shot that had ended his life hadn't collided the same way this did, with a force that came from somewhere in the folds of existence, somewhere Billy didn't understand. He sat up, reaching a hand out. "Sweetheart-"

"Tell me not to leave," you whispered, and he froze, watching another tear cross your cheek. "I won't leave if you want me to stay."

"You have to go," he said, shaking his head and getting to his knees, searching your eyes. "This is your dream. You have to do it."

"But I don't wanna go," you sniffled, reaching for a strand of hair and twisting it between your fingers. "Billy..."

"Hey," he breathed, hands over your elbows. "Sweetie, I'm always gonna be right here. And the time we've spent together's enough for me. I want you to live."

"I love you," you managed through your tears, lower lip trembling.

Billy shut his eyes, chin dipping. The fingers of melancholy were seizing him in a way that kicked everything that had ever mattered to the side. Your tears were multiplying, and they were of such a quality that he swore they were what dotted the sky every night. Stardust...that was what you were. Unreal. For him, untouchable.

He risked a look back up at you. You, whom he'd imagined as his for so long. But you weren't because he couldn't have anything anymore. The only thing Billy possessed was a sliver of humanity enclosed as an idea. He didn't even have a heart to give to you.

But there was nothing in him for the truth to hide behind. It was transparent as he was. "I love you too."

You took in a shaky breath. Billy knew right then that for the rest of time he would be committed wholeheartedly to you. You were the only thing in this wretched world worth anything. Tension heightening like a string pulled taut, you surged forward in a single motion, arms encircling his shoulders, pressing your mouth to his.

Warm. It had been so long since he'd been warm. But you were. Between his arms, encasing whatever was left of him in the gift of your body. He hardly registered the sensation of being kissed until you pulled back, breaths leaving your prettily parted lips in quick bursts.

Kissed. He had been kissed. He had kissed you.

"I didn't think that would work," you confessed quietly, and in a natural move, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your eyes, something jolting in him when his fingers didn't pass through.

Billy shook his head, drawing you in by the waist and touching his lips to yours gently, relishing the sensation of you melting under his touch. He wouldn't dare try anything else, this new allowance precarious. Who knew if it would be taken away from him? Your hand found the collar of his shirt, just holding it as his nose bumped your soft cheek. Soft...he could feel that you were soft. Just as he'd imagined.

Conscious of your need to breathe, he separated himself from you, just a little. The last of your tears escaped, and he thumbed them away, not wanting to let go now that he had the option. You whispered, "I can't leave. I love you."

The chasm within him began to open again, and he could see the way it could have gone. Past and present and future. Every version of you and him spun until they disappeared into nothingness, leaving reality standing still, a tower of his own making. A structure he couldn't tear down if he tried.

He breathed, "I love you and that's why you have to leave."

The curtains of the summer were drawn shut, and sometimes Billy wondered if any of it had ever been real. He loved you too much to make you stay, to leave you hanging off the whim of a dead man with nothing to give forever.

He wished you hated him. It would be easier for you to leave.

Any writing on the wall was faint, and he'd been unsure if you'd go through with it. But after the day you were set to leave marched by without so much as a glimpse of you, he bowed his head and thanked whoever was above. Guilt would have tainted everything if you had stayed. He would rather love you miserably than be responsible for the end of another life, especially yours.

Time went back to how it was before. Boundless and brutal. Billy existed in the plane of memories, staring at the sky and letting it consume him.

He hoped for many things. That you would love it when you got there and forget all about him. That you would fall in love because everyone should fall in love with you.

Most of all, he hoped you would never return. He hoped whatever had tethered you to this place would unravel and blow away, off to some far away corner of the earth where you couldn't reach.

Regret tainted him oftentimes, and he wondered if he could leave like you had said. Go find you wherever you were and remind you that even the dead were enchanted by you.

Billy imagined sometimes what would have happened if you stayed. If maybe when you loved him so closely he would have eventually become whole again, not quite alive but not a ghost any longer. Physical. Worthy. Maybe it would have been proof to whoever had damned him this way. He was alive so long as he was loved. It could have been his second chance. The one leniency he'd snuck in the margins of his death's contract.

He let that dream rot with his body, buried in the earth below.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #william h bonney imagine #billy bonney x reader #billy bonney fluff #ghost billy #milliesfishes billy #Spotify

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