#literally destroyed the paper drawing this

[arttsuka]

"Who pissed them off?" The monkey probably.

We found the culprit

[bandsandwristbands]

AU where everything is exactly the same but the sand sibs have a punk band together. Now accepting band name suggestions. My partner said Tanuki! (TNK!)

[vaaaaaiolet]

It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you. 

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple. 

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm. 

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?” 

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift. 

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six? 

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman. 

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms. 

“Hold it plea- Leon!”  

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut. 

“Thanks,” you gasp. 

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t. 

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!” 

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t. 

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds. 

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds. 

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity. 

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now. 

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside. 

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head. 

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting. 

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests. 

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.” 

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.” 

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe. 

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body. 

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.  

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears. 

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder. 

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything? 

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[valtsv]

was thinking about this earlier but the dynamic of cannibalism being associated with high society and the culinary elite (hannibal comes to mind specifically) while also simultaneously being associated with the socially isolated and economically impoverished (as in texas chainsaw massacre) is so interesting to me i want to read 10 million books on why it happens so much in media....

i can only speak from a place of personal opinion and general knowledge, because i haven't read that many papers or in-depth studies on cannibalism, but i think it often comes down to an interesection between the themes of the story you're telling and class structures and divisions. cannibalism is a compelling form of narrative symbolism because it's undeniably impactful and hard to ignore. when portrayed as a practice associated with the culinary and social upper class, it might be used as a critique of the rich and powerful and their lack of ethics and willingness to consume and destroy others for their own self-interest by showing them literally preying on and consuming their victims, or a horror story/cautionary tale about how having everything can lead you to never be satisfied and turn to increasingly extreme measures to feel like life is worth living, or a dark fantasy of indulgence and excess. when associated with the poor, marginalized and isolated, it's often based in bigotry and harmful stereotypes of the "primitive" "inhuman" "savage" "other", however it might also function as a revenge fantasy where the most oppressed and exploited members of society turn on their oppressors and take "eating the rich" to its most literal extreme, exposing the fragility of class divisions and pointing out that those in positions of social and economic power are hardly the mythic titans their propaganda tries to make them out to be, but ultimately just as mortal and made of flesh and blood as any other human being, and not immune to being dragged down from their position at the top of the food chain and torn to pieces by the crowd (as well as reminding the audience of their own fragile mortality and precarious position in the social order, and the humanity we all share in common - however cannibalism often divides the perpetrators from both their victims and the audience, so this is rarer than the other interpretations mentioned).

cannibalism and power often go hand in hand. cannibalism has historically been used as both a means of displaying your power over defeated opponents and delivering a final, humiliating blow to their image by consuming their flesh, and a means of othering and dehumanizing your opponent by portraying them as the cannibalistic monster.

both the very rich and very poor also tend to be perceived as more distant from the people who make and consume these stories, making them easier to project fiction onto and transform into symbols and narrative devices (or, in the worst cases, dehumanize) than those who occupy the same social spheres as the creator. they can be held at an arm's length without discomfort and, depending on the target audience, may be a source of fascination due to the differences in their lived experiences. it adds to the fantasy, and makes any inaccuracies, exaggerations and fabrications feel more plausible because the majority of the audience probably don't have any personal experiences of being in those positions to draw on.

[dradrianmilk]

I feel that theres a distinction between hob liking dream still despite him being Like That as being a moral highground where hes just like,, just an extremely empathetic Good Person Saint and hob liking dream bc hob is just fucking buckwild and hes just into whatever dream already has going on type of "i like watching him commit atrocities but if my consistent love (obsession) makes him more emotionally stable thats cool too i guess" like,, he wants dream to be happy but theres a "support womens WRONGS" trait in him where he would probably put up little to no fight if dream just wanted to be this just awful being.

Death or someone idk: dream has literally just become a swarm of locusts and is attacking london as we speak because someone gave your pub a bad review in the paper

Hob: but look at how good of a time hes having biting people and destroying things!!

Like this is nothing but shitposting and im not telling off anyone elses interpretation but theres something so great to me about hob having a bright curious personality but also he genuinely pats himself on the back for his restraint of only breaking the kneecaps of the dude who stole his parking spot and not full on draw and quartering the bastard

[mikodrawnnarratives]

Post fire au y/n meets Cryptid Hunter y/n because it would literally be the most perfect crossover ever. I can't get enough of y/nverse

Copper is a caretaker with kids. Struggling. Protective energy rn. Mechanic. Traumatized. They are practically already besties with cryptid eclipse and hunter. Eclipse is a cryptid caretaker who adores children to the point he'll kill rulebreakers who hurt them. Hunter is traumatized and has lots of hero complex stuff going on which honestly I think Copper would relate to the hero complex stuff a lot.

TLDR: They'd get along.

Or at least have fun interactions along the way.

Post fire au characters are from @paper-lilypie (hopefully tumblr actually notifies you of this @ this time)

and cryptid sightings characters from @naffeclipse

Some spoilers for Cryptid Sightings but I think it's just really minor stuff

Much more under the cut :)

If they met after Hunter knew that Cryptid Eclipse was a cryptid all along, they wouldn't be worrying about how destroyed their sweetie's animatronic vessel are when they visit.

So. Cryptid Sun and Moon go after rulebreakers who harm children n stuff. Post fire sun and moon. Have blood covered hands.

The moment they realize. They better book it before Copper's boo is torn to shreds

Meanwhile Cryptid Moon is just having fun with the kids because you know they'd get along

Explosion noises in their minds rn this is so cool they are literally meeting a cryptid woah

Maes is a little more nervous but since Cryptid Moon isn't acting scary right now it's okay

oop

Since post fire au Sun and Moon still got some virus issues in the beginning, their status was debatable. The more time Cryptid Eclipse spends around them, the more they recognize they're gulity lol

Cryptid Eclipse may be the kids new uncle but he's not allowed to beat up their favorite dads.

And lastly some interactions I think would definitely happen:

And lastly some interactions I think would definitely happen

Also, Hunter would think Post Fire Sun and Moon are so cool since they are actual animatronics with advanced ai like WOAH

ALSO I didn't get around to drawing it since my eyes hurt like heck rn BUT with the amount of love both y/ns get from their boys, they'd relate to each other in that way as well

[msbutterfly5294]

< I Don’t Think It’s Talked About Enough. . . - Creative Edition >

I don’t think it’s talked about enough when a Creative has the itch to create but cannot put anything down . For example , writing . The Creative may know the exact sequence of events to occur in a scene but once the document or paper is ready , nothing comes out .

I don’t think it’s talked about enough that a Creative listening to music is important when creating art or a story . The beat , the lyrics , the vocals , it all connects with the stories . We are most likely daydreaming which characters are doing what based on a song and it guides us to exactly where we need to go .

I don’t think it’s talked about enough that when a Creative presents you their art or story , they trust you with a piece of themself . Some Creatives ( like myself ) have been working on one or more stories for over ten years . We have continued to develop , create , and destroy our stories over and over and over and over and over and over and over again because they aren’t exactly our children. . .

But a part of us . We change thus our stories did .

I don’t think it’s talked about enough when a Creative shows you their work and once a slight uninterested appearance or words are exchanged , we either close the story(ies) , put our sketch books away , and try to conceal it . I think of it as the same feelings of being rejected or even abandoned by those you present it to . These creative endeavors are a literal part of our dedication , our spirit , and when we are told “ we’re being too much ” , “ It’s weird / We’re weird . ” , “ It’s dumb . It’s too complicated . It’s too. . . ”

I think in some cases , it’s suppose to be that way . Humans are complicated , and it’s represented in our creativity .

I don’t think it’s talked about enough that sometimes Creatives grow apathetic of their own work(s) . We stay up late nights writing , drawing , crafting . Our brains don’t stop thinking about how the characters need this or that , how they get to it , why didn’t it work , what happens next , how does this character work or fight with this character ? The plot needs this for the theme , shoot what’s the theme mean in literature , this happens in the world and how does that affect the world , creatures , and characters ? Shoot what was that word again. . . ?

Stopped .

I’m staring at the screen .

Were these stories worth it ?

Was my years of dedication all for nothing ?

Am I even worth it ?

I mean , come on , msbutterfly5294 , you have drawn some awesome pieces for the these stories ! I mean , look at these papers filled with words that blend and make sense , the stories can capture mystery and emotion , descriptions are great ! Why don’t you continue ?

Because. . . It’s a beautiful disease much like love . It infects the entirety of us . I remember the many nights my big brother ( who is my cousin ) came over to show us Legend Of Zelda games and he would tell me all about his stories , lore , world building and characters . That was years ago as a very young teenager to late teens . I don’t fully know when he started his journey , but I know he loves those characters and stories with all his heart .

And by stars , it is beautiful to know someone with that much passion . He inspired me to follow my dreams along with my big sister ( also my cousin ) . She taught me art and resilience , he taught me storytelling and dedication .

I wouldn’t be here today without them .

. . . I don’t think it’s talked about enough. . . That a Creative wouldn’t be here today without those beautiful people who do care and encourage them to keep creating . Keep being passionate . Keep writing . Keep drawing .

Keep being you .

And be proud of it .

[youwouldntdownloadapizza]

The Gates of Jackson | Joel Miller x F!Reader | Chapter 1 - New Arrivals

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

You showed up at the gates of Jackson with hands covered in blood and no memory of how you got there. That was two years ago. Since then, you've become Maria's right-hand woman and the person in charge of Jackson's logistical backend. Patrol schedules, inventory—all your purview. When a patrol gone wrong forces you to get to know Joel, memories of your past begin resurfacing—along with their consequences.

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pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.6k

tags: no use of y/n, eventual smut, no beta we die like sarah, jackson era, other additional tags to be added, slow burn, ellie needs a hug, joel lives, good parent joel, reader-insert, reader insert, forced proximity, only one bed trope, nightmares, childbirth, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft joel, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, masturbation, pining, joel falls first, possibly demisexual reader (tbd), ptsd, ptsd flashbacks, panic attacks, amnesia, sexual braiding

chapter warnings: childbirth (mentioned)

Chapter 1 - New Arrivals

The first time you met Joel, he stank like shit. Literally, he smelled like he had rolled in it. You issued him soap, and sent him on his way. That was a loss to Jackson’s ledgers you were more than willing to take.

The second time, he smelled better. Unremarkable mostly, more of a neutral scent tinged with man smell around the edges. Nothing to write home about. Still, you issued him deodorant. Couldn’t take any chances.

He requested bullets, a basic first aid kit, and warm clothing. With Maria’s approval, you made the relevant deductions and issued the items at hand. You even sprung for wool socks. With a winter like this, he could use all the help he could get.

“You’re headed south, right?” you asked him as he packed a worn duffel bag.

“Colorado,” he replied. You waited, but that’s all he gave you. Guess he didn’t feel like elaborating.

“What about the girl, she need anything?”

He considered the offer, then asked, “You got any pens, pencils or anything? Notebooks? She likes to keep track of things, take notes. Draw, mostly,” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face, “And we’re almost out of paper.”

You smiled at that. A girl after your own heart . “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

* * *

You asked Tommy about him, once the two of them were gone. He didn’t have much to say.

“Barely talked to the girl. Probably know about as much about her as you do. Joel… Well, Joel’s an enigma.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “Come on, Tommy. I’m asking for the basics, not his social security number.”

Tommy sighed. “He’s brash, he’s protective, he’s opinionated… I don’t know what much else to tell you. He’s just Joel. One of those people you gotta get to know just by knowing ‘em, I guess.”

You blinked twice. “Supremely helpful, Tommy.”

* * *

The next time you met Joel, he smelled better but looked worse. You only half-remembered his eyes, but something in them last time had been warmer. The ones you saw now were… dead, almost. Like something within them had been destroyed. Whether he’d been the one to do the destroying or it had been done to him remained to be seen.

You’d seen him and the girl with Tommy and Maria in the dining hall that first time they’d come to town, wolfing down chili like they’d just discovered, well, chili. They ate slower now, both of them, not like they weren’t in a rush but like their heads were elsewhere. The girl seemed to stare into nowhere—not all the time, but it was distinct when she did it.

Joel didn’t zone out. No, if anything he was zoned in . On that poor girl who had been so full of life just months ago, now hollowed out like far too many others. You’d see about filling her back up later. But for now, he was the one that perplexed you. Why was he so focused on her? What had happened out there? Part of you never wanted to find out, but part of you really, really did.

Regardless, she needed new shoes. So you joined them. The man stopped mid-chew, looking up at you with trepidation.

“Hi,” you smiled, “glad you two made it back in one piece.”

“Me too,” he replied, turning his attention back to his cud. You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. You turned your attention to the girl.

“You’re Ellie, right? I’m Doe. Or that’s what most folks around here call me, anyway.”

“Doe?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Like a deer?”

“A female deer,” you winked back at her. She stared at you blankly. 

“It’s a song,” Joel muttered to her softly, “from before.”

“Oh,” Ellie nodded. The silence dragged, but thankfully you came prepared.

“Cobbler?” you offered bowls to each of them. It was fresh from the oven, still steaming and smelling of cinnamon.

“Yes, please!” Ellie yanked the bigger bowl towards herself, broccoli forgotten. She got a few bites in before Joel intervened, pulling the sugar aside and reinstating the vegetables. The girl frowned at that, but his pointed look said not to bother arguing. So she didn’t.

“Don’t worry, it’ll still be hot in a minute.” You tucked into your own cobbler, savoring the warm sweetness as it glided across your tongue. Even in Jackson, it was a delicacy. But it was spring, and the cherries were here. And you’d accounted for everything.

“Did you want something?” Joel asked, finishing his own plate and reaching for the cobbler.

“Ellie needs new shoes.”

“We’ve got it handled,” he said.

“Do you, though? You haven’t got much to trade with, and we’ve got plenty in inventory. That’s kind of what it’s there for. Why suffer blisters when communism’s got your back?”

“Can I?” Ellie’s face lit up. You liked seeing her eyes like that: brighter. They belonged that way.

Joel swallowed his cobbler, mulling over the idea. “After lunch,” he agreed, nodding to the eager teen. “Finish your cobbler first.”

* * *

Ellie’s new light-up sneakers lit the way as you exited the storeroom through your office. Joel had insisted on a sensible pair as well, but you couldn’t deny the kid a little whimsy.

“Maria give you your patrol schedule yet?” you asked him, nodding to the well-worn chalkboard in the corner. Routes on the left, days and times up top. Names filled in the boxes in between, a testament to your logistical wizardry.

“Not yet,” he said, crossing to examine it. “Guess she doesn’t need to, now.”

“I’ve got you paired up with Tommy. Seemed easiest, to get you started. You’ll be headed up to the lodge, it’s a pretty standard route. Get the occasional runner, but it’s wildlife more than anything.”

He nodded, heading toward where Ellie was already scampering out the door.

“See you Tuesday, I suppose. Guessing you’re the one to check-in with?” he asked.

You smiled at his correct assumption. 

“Sure am.”

* * *

You didn’t know Joel well enough to make assumptions about his punctuality, but Tommy was never late. Even you were late from time to time, often getting swept up in tasks and losing track of things. But the man was annoyingly punctual. According to Maria, that’s part of why she fell for him.

Tommy was late today.

You crossed to the large observation window lining one wall of your office. It gave you a clear view of the front gates and surrounding guard stations, but there was no sign of Tommy anywhere. Or Joel, for that matter.

A knock on your door interrupted your analysis. It was Eugene. The grizzled old man acted anything but, a smile breaking out across his face at the sight of you.

“Hey, Doe! How’s things?” He asked.

“Fine. I’m looking for Tommy, actually–”

“Didn’t you hear?” He interrupted, “Maria’s gone into labor. He’s with her at the clinic.”

Your stomach dropped. Here you were preparing to chew Tommy out for his tardiness when the whole time he’d been busy becoming a father. A very valid excuse.

“And Joel?” you asked. “They were supposed to patrol together this afternoon, lodge route.”

“Not sure. He wasn’t with them. Listen, I gotta go grab the baby blanket I made and drop it off, but you and I need to have a drink one of these days. I worry your hair’s gonna start falling out in clumps if you don’t take a break eventually.”

“Yeah, but then what would you do, patrol out to the dam with Jesse? There’s a reason I don’t pair you two up anymore.”

“Because you don’t like blackberries?” he chided.

You frowned, “No, because you spent so long harvesting them your 8 hour patrol took 12. I was this close to sending out a search party. A little planning prevents a lot of headaches, Eugene.”

He turned to leave, looking back over his shoulder to get the last word. “You know what else is good for headaches? Whiskey.”

You sent Eugene on his way with instructions to give Maria your best. You’d visit her when the baby was here. For now, you had a community to protect. 

With Tommy out of commission and Joel MIA, you’d have to find someone else to help you cover this patrol route. Dina was always a solid partner, if she was around. Devon the bartender could generally be counted on to have your back. Eugene would be ideal, but you didn’t want to make him work a double.

You headed to the stables to see who you could find. Upon entering, the warmth of the building and company of the animals soothed your unease, if only slightly. 

You found your horse’s stall, the gray spotted mare whinnying at your arrival.

“Hey, Bailey,” you smiled, offering her a slightly bruised apple. She took it gratefully, big brown eyes closing in enjoyment.

“She’s beautiful,” a voice said from behind you, making you jump.

“Sorry,” the voice stepped into the light, “It’s just me.”

“Joel,��� you took a deep breath in an attempt to slow your racing heartbeat.

“Sorry I’m late–” 

You cut him off with a raised hand, looking him in the eye. 

“You’re not with your brother,” you finally said, more of a statement than a question.

“You’re not with your best friend,” he replied, offering no further details.

You sighed, debating arguing with him about it before deciding the subject was better left untouched. You had your reasons for staying away from childbirth. If Joel had his own, he was entitled to that. You weren’t going to press him on it, so long as he didn’t press you.

“Come on,” you said, swinging your leg over Bailey’s back and settling into the saddle, “We’re making up for lost time.”

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[taigarrryen]

-> The Paper Art Post <-

Let's make some Wild Life ep.3 snails together!

First of all, I make a sketch (usually it's already the size I want the final thing to be, because I'm a very lazy person).

At the point where everything is apparent enough to have a clear vision in mind, I go to my paper scrap drawer and think of what colors and textures I want to use (although sometimes I initially start from the color palette).

Here they are! But don't get too attached, we're gonna destroy them later >:)

And while we're on it, let's talk a bit about textures!

Textures are like candy for our eyes. They are an easy way to trick your brain into thinking that something is more detailed than it actually is, hence it adds interest and makes the whole piece fun to look at.

However, this is also why it's important not to overuse them — it's easy to get lost in the details and accidentally make your piece difficult to perceive as a whole.

You can make textured paper yourself using literally anything you can come up with: paint a sheet of paper with gouache or tempera, make swirls and gradients with watercolor or inc, scribble with colored pencils, make prints with various objects (I enjoy making prints of crumpled paper tissues soaked in ink), etc etc. Packaging film or candy wrapping also can be cool.

My only advice is be careful if you use gouache: some colors can make your fingers messy even after completely drying, so that has to be kept in mind to avoid accidentally leaving a dirty fingerprint somewhere you didn't plan for it to be.

For the tools I recommend using not only scissors, but a modeling knife/scalpel and an awl as well. Modeling knife makes cutting small things much easier, and awl comes in handy when you want to transfer a detail on paper but don't want to use pencil.

For gluing stuff I use gluestick, rubber glue and double-sided tape.

Now the fun part!

You can add details with colored pencils and markers ↑

As you can see, the process is pretty simple: I cut the piece I need from the sketch and transfer it to colored paper.

When it comes to assembling pieces, you can carefully cut them so that everything fits together like a puzzle, or simply glue them on top of eachother.

Keep the scraps (unless they're objectively tiny, of course)! You never know when you'll want just that amount of just that color or texture. It's also much more practical to cut new details from the side of the sheet from which you have already cut, rather than start from different edge every time you need a piece of that color.

Don't rush to glue things down! Along the way you might want to move something a bit or put one piece under another, and with quickly gluing everything it won't be possible. I like to work in big parts, making every object or character in the picture first and then, after putting them on their places and fumbling around, gradually assemble everything like lego.

Here are two parts of the picture (Bdubs' snail + Tango&Etho's snails) and a piece of red film I want to put on the background in some places. All that's left is to assemble everything by carefully gluing it on to my sketchbook page :)

You also can elevate certain parts of your artwork to create depth and areas of interest, using puffy tape or п-shaped / [-shaped piece of paper and glue. It looks really cool, but I usually don't do that because it's inconvenient for me to store & I like to keep everything in the sketchbooks.

TA-DAAA, we're done! The best thing about this technique is that you don't have to be good at actually drawing to make something that looks interesting!

Hope this post was useful and you've got inspired to try paper art for yourself! (And if you did — send me your art in ask box or replies, I'll be very glad to see it :] )

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

"i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." for Victor

Destroy this boy with a flirty letter ;)

Picking up postman and squeezing him like a squeaky toy lol

Rated: Mature | Warning: none

Rarely does anyone send letters between each other, a few times a letter is sent from a hunter to a survivor but none send a letter among the same faction. Postman, Victor, apprentices you using the pen and paper to communicate with him. When you first met him, he would shy away from you, energetic as Luca, he barely could keep up. Then one day you started using your hands to make strange gestures.

“Helena taught me sign language so I can talk to you!” The joy on your face as you thought you created a bridge between him and yourself. You did but not the way you thought. Victor is mute, selectively mute, and he prefers the words on paper rather than verbal words.

The first letter you sent was mostly rambling about the day as you did not see that whole day due to matches and the occasional break to recuperate before once again going to a match.

The second letter asks him questions. Colors, food, a season, anything you could think of that is not invasive. Victor answers them while slipping in a few details you did not ask about him in order to seem more open. You matched it as you spoke about things before you came to the manor.

Then the letters between you both became a common way for you two to communicate until Victor, in his room with you, spoke softly. A small ‘thank you’ had you in tears of joy as he trusted you. Few can claim that— Literally three people outside of yourself.

And as the bond between you both grew so did feelings that started being expressed in the letters. His words are gentle, dancing around cautiously; while yours are to the point and announce your interest.

As someone from a time ahead of his, Victor felt it made things easier.

What is not easy is how you flirt so casually without shame or fear, people of your time move fast compared to his time.

The letter in his hand is held in a furious grip before closing it and facing it down; his face is red as he cannot move his eyes up to look at you across the dining table. Your foot rubs his calf, nearly making him jump.

A simple few words have his mind scrambling: I'm not wearing any underwear. Thought you should know. Love, (Name).

You smile at him, your fork playing with your food. Luca is beside you talking to Andrew and Aesop, all of them distracted while you are playing footsies under the table with Victor.

“Are you okay, V?” The nickname you gave him, “You feeling sick?” How can you see that while your foot is rubbing his crotch through his pants!? He should close his legs but… That look in your eyes is drawing him in.

“Your face looks flush,” Comments Andrew, “Maybe you should rest.” It makes sense given Victor has been in back-to-back duo matches recently. Those are a headache.

“Good idea!” Luca chimes in, “(Name), can you take him?”

“Of course.” Smiling as you get up from your seat, “You guys take care.” You place a small kiss on Lucas's cheek and Victor is standing up grateful for his uniform covering his lower half. The Postman waves goodbye before you tug him away out of the dining room.

Aesop watches the two leave before looking at Luca who is smiling too much, “You know something.”

“Maybe.” He does and completely changes the subject.

Victor pins you against his door with his hands on your shoulders, his eyes on you as his brows are knit together, “Are you really?” Low but you hear it.

“Yes, I'm not lying.”

The Postman should have known since you are wearing a skirt, yes, a skirt. You hate skirts! You complain about them especially when in a match. Yet, here you are in a long skirt in his room… Without underwear.

“Show me.” An edge to his sweet voice, his eyes and head tilting down.

You grin, “Okay.” Grabbing the middle of the skirt and lifting until you hear that gasp of surprise and cool air on your exposed lower regions. “Victor?”

He swallows loudly, “Can I?” His one hand off your shoulder, “May I?”

“Of course, this is for you.”

You might have underestimated Victor. You expected to be the one guiding and in control, dominant but gentle. No, Victor took over with his mouth on yours, a leg between your legs, and his hand that has your hands gripping the back of his uniform. His mouth never leaves yours, the sharp intake of air only when you both are dizzy, and you are the one making the most noise.

There are sweet whispers between kisses, those three words that have you begging him to touch you more.

Both of you barely get to the bed, fumbling a bit to strip, tripping and falling on one another but luckily on the bed.

[maousanofficiel]

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

"I'll love you until the end, even if I have to follow you in hell." - Tsuno to Muichiro

┊┊┊┊⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧　✵

┊┊┊☆ *　　 * ⋆

┊┊★ *

┊┊* . *　✦

┊☆ ° ✧　 　 ·

★*

OMFGGGGF

IT TOOK ME SO MANY HOURS BUT I'M SO HAPPY TO LOOK AT IT •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

I absolutely loved the training episode with Muichiro and finally have anime scenes with him to animate / draw on :D

Since Tsuno isn't a Hashira, she's not "actually" participating to the Hashira training. BUUUT she's authorized (and wouldn't let the choice anyway) to help Muichiro doing his knowing they're the same strength in fight. But Tsuno doesn't have social skills since her education stopped at 7 yo (Muzan's attack and her village destroyed) so she mainly helps in pure fight training and Muichiro's personal one since Hashiras can only improve by fighting each other.

Also, if you read my "Muichiro's promise" manga with them both, you can see Tsuno trying to make play and smile with Muichiro saying they shouldn't fight as children, and the scene with the paper planes make me think of that, the exact same point, I'm glad the canon made this too... Muichiro's smile is literally therapy (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

Anyway, I hope you like seen her in the anime ! I've put my heart in it :3

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

[anamelessfool]

How do you do that? LOL I have no idea what I’m doing (maybe) An Art Tutorial

Folks have commented on my more rendered art recently and I’m flattered. I literally have no idea what I’m doing. Well, I sorta do. I am mostly using masks in Procreate. I’m technically using the Debaser Pack by True Grit Texture Supply, but you don’t really need it. All you need is some texture layers. You could even do this just by making halftones of solid color layers. I used to do a lot of digital photo collage back in the day and at one point had a huge library of scans of paper and fabrics and also random textures I saw on the street. Wood, stone, sidewalk, metal, foliage, water. Took out my digital camera (yes, it was that long ago) and snapped a photo to use. There’s also a lot of free halftone textures online.

I have a few “overlay texture” layers. I “Create Mask” and then invert the mask so I can “paint” the color on. For my more simple stuff I do just that. I add a “Deep Shadow” layer in Overlay mode of a dark brown (or teal if it’s white) to make sure the darkest shadows are truly dark. The white areas are just the mask erased. It helps that fallout ghouls are skrungly and textured to be begin with. Sometimes I select areas and add little bits of black spray paint in lots of very transparent layers.

Everything is rendered under a multiply layer of a hi-res scan of vintage newsprint.

So how about the more detailed things that came about from an embarrassing amount of shirtless photo references??? In a lust-fueled haze I realized I can have a dark layer (in my case, a “black ink texture scan” with an inverted mask underneath a color layer. The color texture layer is around 70% opacity, give or take. On that black ink layer mask I add the white highlights to the tops of forms and use the smudge tool to distribute it across the specific form. Once in a while I shut off the color layer so I can see the bare rendering layer on its own and fix things.

So I just sort of pet him. For hours.

Focusing on the LIGHT areas instead of the shadow really is a game-changer! Before, my digital art looked super muddy because I was invested in adding dark. If areas are very very dark I add that dark brown overlay layer. For tattoos it’s a dark blue overlay mode layer, but with a mask on it so I can softly erase areas to make it look more set in to the skin (without destroying the original art). Very bright areas and the tops of forms I add a “highlight layer” of pure white gestural lines.

Moral of the story is just play around and do whatever. The old times of having a beautifully perfect anime-style drawing with very formal layers of shadow, highlight, color has been dead for ages. It’s what kept me away from pursuing digital art for literal years.

[meloarto-me]

Hii! Saw you're post about requests and thought I'd make my way over.

I was wondering if you could do a comfort scenario with the Straw hats? Individually or as a group doesn't matter! I've had a bad reoccurring thing happen and what better way to feel better than with fictional characters, right?

Ofc you don't have to accept this! Thank you for your time and have a good day ❤️(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Oh my god yes write that! With pleasure!❣️❣️❣️

(I hope you feel better and your mood improves. )

How Straw Hats would comfort you when you are sad.❣️

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Luffy

❤️ It would take a while before Luffy realised you were sad.

❤️ But when he notices it he immediately comes over and sits down next to you.

❤️ He will try in her own way to find out the reason for your feeling worse.

❤️ He even promises to destroy/hit the person/thing that hurt you.

❤️ As an improvement in your mood, she will offer food and fun.

❤️ If she trusts you enough she will put her straw hat on your head.

❤️ He would definitely give you a hug. Lots of hugs!

❤️ He would really try to make you feel better but his busy self also wants to do a lot at one time. (There's a possibility that he'll take and significantly run with you. Literally.)

❤️ However, if that doesn't work then he'll try to be quiet and take you somewhere where the rest of the crew aren't and try to talk quietly to you, maybe even fall asleep.

❤️ But surely he will help as much as he can!

Zoro

💚 Well, between workouts, sleep and naps, he's bound to notice your worse mood.

💚 He will speed up his workout and approach you.

💚 He will look and wait a while for you to say what is bothering you.

💚 However, if you don't then I will try to start a conversation.

💚 Maybe with alcohol to lighten the situation, I think he's not that emotional.

💚 After some alcohol it will certainly be more emotional.

💚 He'll draw you to him and he'll talk and frown at fucking Cook (Sanji referring to you).

💚 He'll talk to you until you fall asleep and even then maybe when he's sure you're asleep he'll soothingly rub your shoulder.

💚 In the morning when you get up he will be kind to you until you finally feel better.

💚 He may even bring you a flower he finds. (If he gets lost and thinks it might help you.)

Sanji💛

💛 Sanji will notice right away that something is wrong.

💛 But he will start by making your favourite food for you.

💛 He will arrive and serve you a dish with a gentle smile, sit next to you and ask you what's bothering you.

💛 The conversation will be calm and pleasant.

💛 During it, Sanji will light a cigarette for himself.

💛 He will joke and comfort you.

💛 I think he would even take you into the kitchen and you would cook something together.

💛 Of course, there could be a small flour war (because the rest is not worth wasting).

💛 Together you would eat the dish, drink good wine. (Luffy in the background shouts that he wants meat and Sanji ignores him, his eyebrows twitching because the captain has ruined his romance with you).

💛 He would give you dessert, take you in his arms and go watch the stars. (He would take the guarding of the ship upon himself as if it were someone else's turn. I want to be alone with you.)

💛 Our dear chef would really make an effort.

Nami

🧡 Nami would have seen straight away that there was something wrong with you.

🧡 She would take you (drag you) to her room to talk to you calmly.

🧡 She will take your hands in hers and talk calmly.

🧡 If it helps you I will offer you oranges to eat. (Sad but I don't like oranges.)

🧡 She will take and start to paint more maps, and give you a sheet of paper so that you can draw/write anything.

🧡 She will bring you something good, Sanji will do anything for her, so don't worry, she will think of you then. (Sanji simp.)

🧡 She will show you his maps, tell you about his sister, his house and his mother. (Come on, not about the fact that she died and the Arlonga crew tries to ignore that part of her story.)

🧡 Finally, he'll do a ladies' night out taking care of his and your appearance.

Chopper

💗 Choper would be worried that you were sick or something.

💗 Our dear reindeer would be so smug, loving and wonderful.

💗 He would be your private cuddly friend.

💗 Lots of cuddles and love.

💗 He doesn't quite know how to help you but he would try!

💗 He would make you a cup of tea! He would bring you a blanket and cuddle you until you feel better.

Ussop🤎

🤎 Ussop our sniper is very perceptive.

🤎 Come on his fearful side is afraid to ask why you look sad.

🤎 Eventually he will force himself to ask what is wrong.

🤎 After listening to you. He will take you by the hand and drag you to his workshop.

🤎 He will sit down and considerably tell you his true (made up) story of how he is not brave.

🤎 He will even offer to create a new device together.

🤎 Or he will teach you how to shoot!

🤎 I will certainly try to help you in some way!

Robin🖤

🖤 Robin would be quiet.

🖤 But her presence is comforting.

🖤 She would give you tea, books and her presence.

🖤 If you don't feel like reading then she will read to you.

🖤 She will take you in a blanket (a blanket tortilla.).

🖤 Snuggled into her body and will read you whatever you want.

🖤 I think her way of comforting you is to be calm and quiet.

🖤 Something that is not violent and loud.

Franky

💙 This is where it gets complicated to leave the workshop.

💙 But if he does come out and sees that you are worse off he will pick you up and take you with him.

💙 It may be a bit strange but I want to help you.

💙 He'll sit you on the desk and talk to you while he makes a new device.

💙 He'll even make something for you!

💙 I will comfortingly show you my smaller hands. (Hihhihi)

💙 Maybe you'll create something together, some kind of shared device that she'll use later.

Brook

🤍 Brook He will come up to you and sing asking you what's wrong.

🤍 When he finds out his jaw will drop. (Literally.)

🤍 But he'll quickly pull himself together and start singing/playing you a comfortingly cheerful tune.

🤍 He'll even motivate you to sing with him.

🤍 Even if you falsify. He'd be really happy that you're a bit better already.

🤍 He might even joke (I think) that he wants to see your knickers.

🤍 He'll even hair in your body pillow to make you more comfortable cuddling with him.

🤍 He will even write a song for you which is very silly.

🤍 He'll definitely offer you tea, or piano lessons.

Jinbe

💙🐟 Jinbe is like an uncle.

💙🐟 He'll come over and sit down and talk.

💙🐟 Whatever you say he will support you and be kind.

💙🐟 As a consolation, he will offer to go swimming.

💙🐟 Maybe some deeper conversation with sake?

💙🐟 It's a bit difficult for him because he's older and it's a bit harder for him to open up.

💙🐟 And he is too shy to hug you but he will find something else, another way he could help you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

English is not my mother tongue.❣️💗❣️

Some are shorter because I have no idea.

I still have a box open.📭📝

And I hope you are better sunshine.

[kedicatt-cotl]

Books of the different cults were very different.

In Darkwood, most of the books were quite simple, written on birch bark with sharp objects like stones. Leshy was never a big fan of writing, and most of his cult was illiterate. He just didn’t see a point in trading materials with his siblings Life in the Green Crown cult was quite chill. Darkwood is rich with resources required for surviving, so the followers always had plenty of free time which they spent to create folklore tales that was passed down generations. They worked on all different kinds of creative crafts including pottery and creating music instruments. Leshy wasn’t a big part of it himself, but he loved the stories and still rememers some of them.

Warlike Heket made sure Anura had enough paper and ink, imported from Shamura’s and Kallamar’s cults. The books were all about the technical stuff, like drawings of weapons and houses and things like most effective hunting tactics. The Yellow Crown cult was all about optimization and perfection. It had lots of great blacksmiths, including Heket herself.

Despite Anchordeep trading ink to the other cults, their land had humidity too high to use real books. They had to scribble things on large flat stones. The Blue Crown cult books had a lot of informations on the useless, shiny and pretty things. They designed decoration and found dozens of uses to the crystal shards, from putting them on rings to using them to make kaleidoscopes. The followers often worked with the other cults and combined the skills in order to make better things. Some of them even left to the Silk Cradle, wrote books and left them there for Shamura to store. Kallamar was never too good at inventing new things, but he always had a good taste in decorating.

Silk Cradle used to trade paper to the other cults. They got ink from Anchordeep and wrote books and scrolls on scientific and philosophical topics. The Purple Crown cult researched anything that could be researched, from dyes to plant types. Shamura was actively participating in the life of his cult. They taught all of his followers himself, leading learning sessions for them every once in a while.

Narinder’s cult and Narinder himself were busy writing about completely different things. Legends have it that the old Red Crown followers were writing made up stories. Most of them are likely destroyed by now, with no one to look after them for ages. Narinder himself was too busy with his experiments to see what exactly his cult was writing. He did all kinds of things, trying to find a way to use the Crown’s power to stop death. Restoring and reattaching bodyparts and bringing bodies back from death after different amounts of time has passed, this was the work of his life quite literally. He wrote multiple books, listing the results of his experiments and how he got to them.

The main issue is - they can’t do it again now. Narinder doesn’t remember what he wrote in enough detail, and Lamb’s skill of using the Crown is not yet good enough to just try and find the new ways anytime soon. Sure, Lamb may be able to resurrect people, but he doesn’t actually know how he does that - the ability was passed to him by Narinder while he controlled the Crown, and Lamb doesn’t have any clear understanding of it.

Narinder and Lamb are searching for those books now, hoping that the information in them would help to heal Narinder’s siblings.

[ryin-silverfish]

Fanfic: Bodhicitta

AO3 Mirror

Possibly the start of a short series. About the pilgrims, post-journey, and what led to their reincarnation in LMK.

CW for a bit of body horror at the end.

Tripitaka completes a pilgrimage, ponders his faith, and makes a vow.

bodhicitta: literally "Heart of Bodhi", the motivation and defining quality that makes a Bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism.

---

Thus the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara, Deep in meditation, Saw the emptiness of all five skandas, And sundered all bonds of suffering.

…

An old master living in a crow's nest taught him those lines. It shall protect you from harm, he said, sticking his neck out like an actual bird. Perhaps he used to be one. Perhaps he still was. Or maybe there was no difference.

("A single thought can make a Bodhisattva, or a demon," Guan Yin once told his disciple.)

It was hard not to feel a little cheated, though, when he tearfully muttered the sutra under his breath, and still fell off his horse, got dragged into a river, tied up next to a steaming pot after the monster broke his barrier with a single flick of its tail.

Oh, how he had recited the sutra faster and faster, squeezing his eyes shut, and still the demoness's nails pinched at his cheeks, drawing blood, cooing Aren't you a delicious little snack, in both senses of the word?

Why did it never work like those miraculous tales in the scriptures? Was he really that bad a Buddhist? Did such thoughts make him a bad Buddhist? Or were the tales just another product of the rampant mistranslation he was so tired of?

It won't matter, he told himself, trying to steady his resolve. Once they reach the Western Lands and receive the True Scriptures, he would finally be free of all doubts.

…

Here then, Form is no other than emptiness, Emptiness no other than form. Form is only emptiness, Emptiness only form.

…

"Master, if all things are emptiness, why do you care if I kill them or not?"

Patience, how to be gentle yet firm, a willingness to see beyond the words on paper and into ultimate reality. These are things he would come to learn. But he hadn't yet.

So instead, he began a lengthy lecture on just how much a grave misunderstanding of——no, insult to Buddhist doctrines that was.

Form is emptiness, because it never stops changing, like clouds in the sky. There is no permanence when nothing stays constant, going up and down in the wheel of samsara, lifted up or weighed down by their karma.

It is empty because it is a wheel, and doesn't go anywhere. Not because the chain of causes and consequences don't exist.

"But they had it coming!" The monkey pouted, like one of those spoiled aristocratic nuns he had encountered in the Golden Mountain Temple, who hated monastic life with a passion and only came here to escape a worse marriage. "Are their deaths not a natural consequence of, you know, robbing people?"

"Not by Great Tang laws, and certainly not by Buddhist laws." He rubbed his temple, feeling a familiar headache coming. "But that is not the point. What about your consequences, Wukong? How much negative karma are you accumulating by taking their lives? And how much will I receive by association, for failing to stop you?"

"Oh, so it's all about you?" Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes. They were glowing red, like embers in a hearth, which never failed to send a chill down his back.

"Well, even if I somehow end up in Hell again, it's not like the Ten Kings can do anything to me. And since you'd rather die than letting me stain your flawless karma, I'll leave you to it, then." With a single flip, he was standing on his somersault cloud. "Bye, baldy."

"Wait!" He shouted, but the monkey had already disappeared over the horizon.

…

All things are by nature void. They are not born or destroyed, Nor are they stained or pure, Nor do they wax or wane.

…

But if nothing was stained or pure, why, then, would he be horrified at the deaths of six humans, but not an entire cave of demons?

They were but creatures of the Path of the Beast. Yet he was steadfast in his adherence to the monastic codes, which forbade him from consuming meat, for each meal costed the life of an animal. Was the life of a demon even less than that of livestocks, livestocks devoid of the spark of intellect?

Did their blood not stain his hands too?

Indeed, they were man-eating monsters. And so were regular wild beasts. So were two of his disciples, before they joined him on the pilgrimage.

If mercy could be extended to a monkey, a pig, a dragon, and a river monster that ate his nine past lives, why was it denied from the others?

Sometimes, on long, cold nights where nothing happened, and all they could see were the desert sands below and stars above, he wondered if Sun Wukong was right. If the fact that nothing could be truly created or destroyed, merely changed into another form, meant that death did not matter.

If compassion was but another form of attachment that led to suffering, and he would be better off severing it like the rest of his worldly bonds.

After all, he voiced no objections when the bandits who killed his father and destroyed his mother received their just deserts, nor did he do anything that might have stopped her from hanging herself in shame. Unseen laws were just as true as written laws and monastic laws, and beneath it all lay the karmic laws.

An eye for an eye. A good deed begets a good birth. Violence begets violence.

Were his convictions to do no harm just another lie, then? A delusion that he knew better, for he was the acolyte that actually bothered to learn Sanskrit, the good Buddhist, the master? Nothing but him putting his own discomfort and unseen scars above what was truly just and right and wise, and making his disciples suffer in his stead?

People clung to suffering not because they enjoyed pain, but because of the memory of happiness, and the promise of momentary release. It always felt good, until it didn't.

Like love and its inevitable loss.

He knew. Yet he could not stop hurting, could not let go of his doubts.

Maybe that made him an unworthy monk. Maybe the perils kept coming because he had not learned the lesson yet, and there would be a time when he finally stopped caring.

But whatever that time was, it wasn't now.

…

So, in emptiness, exists no form, No feeling, thought, or choice, Nor is there consciousness. No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind; No colour, sound, smell, taste, touch, Or what the mind takes hold of, Nor even act of sensing.

…

Your senses fool you. Much like how the ghostly immortal, hijacking long-dead bodies, fooled him, and Yellow Robed Demon's illusion fooled the king of Baoxiang.

What makes one innocent? He thought, as he sat inside the cage, all four limbs chained to the floor. Or guilty, for that matter? What makes a man into a beast, a beast into human, a mortal into god, a god into monster?

What makes one deserving of forgiveness? He thought, as he looked into the dead woman's eyes, drowning out her shrieks with his chanting of Ksitigarbha's Sutra, suppressing her blue ghostfire with chains of golden light that wrapped tighter and tighter around the coffin. Or a chance, for that matter? Had she ever had a chance when it mattered?

When is an apology accepted, and not merely heard? He wondered, as he made his own to Sun Wukong, and the monkey didn't even spare a single glance at him. Just kept gazing eastward, a haunted look on his face.

…

No ignorance or end of it, Nor all that comes of ignorance; No withering, no death, No end of them.

…

"Is that how I was like?" Sun Wukong mumbled, as he scrubbed at the end of his staff with a rag. If there was still blood left on the metal, it had already been cleaned off ages ago, yet he kept wiping and wiping, like he was trying to yank someone's vengeful spirit out of it. "Is that what I am?"

"No," he said, then immediately winced. Even with a barrier in between, getting hit in the back with a heavy iron stick was no joke.

"How would you know——" he turned back, and almost instantly squeezed out a smile. "Oh, greetings, master! Didn't see you there. Are you hungry again? Thirsty? Need your bandages changed? Sorry about that whole evil doppelganger business, by the way."

"There is no need to apologize. It is not your doing."

"But…" He looked away, then sighed, tossed the rag into the creek, and shrank his staff back to needle size, putting it into his ear once more. "Well, if you say so, then I ain't complaining, master."

"And you are not your Second Mind."

The monkey froze in place, and didn't speak for a long time. When he did, it was in a barely audible whisper. "Does it even matter, if I wanted to do the exact same thing?"

"You still didn't."

"I tried, though, master." He exposed his teeth in what looked like a grin, but, according to Bajie, was monkey language for I'm scared shitless or Bugger off before I eat your stupid face. "Don't you remember? Right after the fillet. And I was so close to trying again, every time you listened to Piggy and recited that spell for a reason that wasn't exposing shapeshifting demons."

It was strange, how reassuring it was to have your biggest fears confirmed. At the same time, it was also deeply upsetting, knowing that the fears weren't just about someone else, but also you yourself.

"Look, I…I know Macaque. Whatever he is, he sure ain't a literal piece of my mind. But that just makes it worse when he wanted to become me." Sun Wukong clenched his fists together. "He would've dragged me back by my tail, once upon a time, kept the worst of me in check. But I chased him away, and now he didn't know how to be anything else, so he just doubled down and became the worst bits of me anyways."

His eyes started glowing bright red again, as he bared his canines and let out a low growl.

"He killed my monkeys. Okay, Wujing did, but it wouldn't have happened if he didn't make them impersonate you guys. And he dared, DARED call me weak when I lunged at him screaming, after I saw what he did to their bodies! The coward who couldn't even be a villain on his own, without hiding behind someone else's shadow!"

The monkey breathed in deeply. "For that alone, I don't regret killing him. But when Di Ting——okay master, I guess you wouldn't know who that is, it happened after we punched each other into the ground, all the way to——"

"I do, in fact," he said. "Ksitigarbha's steed, the All-hearing Beast."

"Pretty much. But it's less hearing, and more…knowing." Sun Wukong paused. "The very earth speaks into its ears, and when Di Ting rises up from the ground, its eyes just see through you, all of you, and knows whether you are good or evil."

"I imagine that must be quite disconcerting."

"You know what's even more disconcerting? When the only answer it gave was 'Go speak to the Buddha.' I mean, it all worked out in the end, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was simply too polite to tell the truth. That we are but two different flavors of evil, capable of wreaking the same havoc, and," Sun Wukong shuddered, his fur standing on ends, "under a different circumstance, I, too, wouldn't see a problem with throwing my monkeys' lives away."

He knew what he should tell his disciple. No, you are not evil. You are not entirely good, but neither am I. Few people are made of one or the other, and it takes a special level of ignorance to claim so.

He also knew Sun Wukong would not believe it, not after hearing the furious speech he made a few days ago. Is your heart made of stone too, just like the rest of you? Are you capable of finding delight in anything, other than death and wanton destruction?

So instead, he lowered his head, knelt down in front of the monkey, and said, "You can do whatever you want to me."

"M-Master? What are you…" Immediately, the monkey moved forward, trying to lift him up. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"You heard me." He smiled. "I swear to the World-honored One, I will not recite the spell, or use my barrier. If you want to beat me up, or bash my head in, you are free to do so."

"No, no, hell no!" Sun Wukong took a step back. "Why do you think I would? No, why do you suddenly have a death wish?"

"I do not," he said. "I merely put my life into your hands, and choose to accept whatever consequences that ensue. Death is but one possible outcome." A pause. "Is it the outcome you want for me, though?"

"Again, hell no!" He shook his head. "I mean, I'm still mad at you, but this…wouldn't solve anything! And I'm not gonna protect you for so long, only to throw it all away for nothing. What are you getting at here, master?"

"Nothing. I'm just wondering, if you would not kill someone you have good reasons to hate," he looked into his disciple's eyes, "What makes you think you will ever knowingly send your subjects, your family, to their death?"

Sun Wukong's lips moved, but no sounds came out. Then tears started coming out those eyes——no longer glowing, but still red. Seconds later, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven was on the ground, clutching his robes, bawling like a little child.

"But I already did, master…not knowingly. But I still did, way back when."

…

Nor is there pain, or cause of pain, Or cease in pain, or noble path To lead from pain; Not even wisdom to attain! Attainment too is emptiness.

…

Reaching their destination did not free him from doubts, though it did lift a weight off his shoulders, knowing that he could begin the real work undisturbed.

Neither did staying in the presence of Buddhas and Arhats for the next few years, as he slowly but steadily gathered the reference materials he needed for a proper translation. Flipping through ancient, ink-covered leaves and scrolls alike, honing his Sanskrit while learning more local dialects than he ever needed to know.

He knew his disciples would fully redeem themselves upon their return to Chang'an, capital city of the Great Tang. That he would attain Buddhahood for bringing the scriptures back to China alone, and could have left the translation to other capable monks.

Alas, much like doubts, he wasn't ridded of his perfectionism either. So he politely asked to earn his Buddhahood instead, by finishing his translation and making sure people could actually understand the scriptures' wisdom, and was granted his wish.

Perhaps this decision was also born out of doubt. How ironic was it, that he wasn't sure if he wanted Buddhahood anymore, only after it was all but guaranteed?

How ironic was it, that he once was so foolish as to wish he could be rid of pain by severing every bond, by throwing his compassion away?

Enlightenment is not isolation. It is not a single snowflake, frozen in time, but a raindrop falling back into the ocean. You would never find true strength, if you dared not even let yourself be human and feel the slighest bit of weakness.

But what happened when the raindrop, so close to the ocean waves, gazed upon its fellow raindrops in the clouds and thought, For their sake, I want to stay? What would happen to it if it stayed?

Then it shall walk on the Path of the Bodhisattva, that was the obvious answer. However, despite his encounters with multiple Bodhisattvas during the journey, he had never really gotten a chance to know them personally, not to mention making inquiries about their nature.

Well, now would be his chance to find out.

…

"It begins with a Vow," the wily old scholar said, twisting a five-petaled azure flower between his fingers. "And the Vow stems from awareness. Comprehension. A glimpse into the void, a spark of Wisdom."

"Then, dedication, in both mind and body," the three-headed woman laughed, gripping a vajra club with one of her six arms and pointing it at the ground. "It takes great Will to descend into the land of the unliving, be a jewel of light amidst unfathomable darkness. Me? I prefer to Act in this world, help the needy before they reach that stage."

"At the root of it all is Mercy," the familiar woman in white dipped her willow branch into the vase, "the desire to see less suffering in the world, big or small. For you, too, have suffered, and learned that pain is no mark of weakness, nor is it unavoidable."

"I would not say there is anything at the root." The scholar corrected. "For that would suggest the superiority of one Vow over the other, one Path over another, when they are but streams flowing into a single river."

"Ever so precise with your words and diction, I see." his three-headed companion teased gently. "But indeed. To put it in the simplest term: practice what you preach."

"True. Compassion without wisdom is dangerous naivete, and sympathy without action is just empty words." The woman nodded. "But wisdom without compassion can quickly turn cold and detached, and actions and worship, done only for the benefits of oneself, is but another form of bribery."

"Mercy is not turning a blind eye to harm, but choosing the path of least harm——sometimes by offering a chance, other times, by recognizing they would not take it."

"But you already know that, do you not? Tripitaka, River-Float-Boy, Golden Cicada."

"Monk, orphan, prideful student."

"Sinner, redeemer, venerable master."

"So go," the three spoke together as one, "and walk upon your own path."

…

So know that the Bodhisattva Holding to nothing whatever, But dwelling in Prajna wisdom, Is freed of delusive hindrance, Rid of the fear bred by it, And reaches clearest Nirvana!

…

Eighteen years.

Eighteen years had passed since his return. An entire tower was built in the west wing of his temple of residence, to store the sutras and holy artifacts he brought back.

He performed countless masses, to free the dead from their torments, one of which was on Flower Fruit Mountain. He sealed away a fire, destined to burn away worlds at the end of each kalpa, yet ignited too soon inside a child's body. He dealt with visits from nobles and high-ranking officials and rich laypeople all over Chang'an, until Wujing had to carry him back to his bedroom while Bajie shooed them out of the temple gate.

He took in more assistants and scribes. Taizong passed away and his third son inherited the throne. The officials made disdainful sneers at the mention of his new favorite concubine ("A nun! And one of the late emperor's consorts, too!"), then talked among themselves in a hushed and fearful voice, as she stepped over her rivals' bodies and became his empress.

His eyesight grew faint, his back ached on rainy nights, and sometimes he dropped a brush right after picking it up, because of the shakes in his hands.

Yet, after translating over six hundred scriptures, his work remained unfinished, and would likely never be finished.

A pity, but the completed translations would at least be in good hands.

He had recited his last prayers in front of the temple's monks——five days ago? Ten days ago? He could not remember. Everything blurred together, as if in a dream, and the only constant was the presence of his disciples.

His first, dearest disciples.

Wukong had stopped pacing, but was no less restless, if Bajie's muffled "Stop hitting me with your tail!" was any indication. Wujing's expression was one of grim acceptance, ever since he stopped eating and drinking and entered a deep mediation on his sickbed.

Ao Lie…they never told him what happened, but he had a feeling that the dragon prince wouldn't be coming back.

"Then stop standing next to my tail, Idiot."

"Excuse ya', there's only so much space in here!" A squeal. Sounded like the pig got pinched in the ear again. "Why are you so damn jittery today?"

"No idea. I just feel like…something's gonna happen."

And it did, the moment Sun Wukong finished speaking. The air grew cold and still. Before Bajie could yell "Don't jinx it, ape!" all the lamps went out in a gust of wind.

At first, there was only darkness. Then came a spark, a cicada's call, and with light, shadowy shapes.

Tendrils solidified into limbs and tails, bent at unnatural angles. Some silhouettes were fuzzy, clad in fur, some had horns and antlers, while the others were covered in bone spikes and scales. Many were missing chunks of their skulls or entire heads. Even more were charred to the bone, bits of cooked flesh sloughing off them as they lumbered forward.

Eyes with slit pupils, eyes that glowed, bug eyes, fish eyes, a pair of giant, lantern-like eyes, eyeballs hanging out of empty sockets——they all gazed into his, with unconcealed hatred and naked hunger. A few lunged at him, but soon staggered back with a pained screech, burnt by the golden light radiating from above.

Once, the mere sight would have sent him tumbling off his horse, trembling in fear, tears streaming down his face. He would not be standing tall, unfazed, listening to the vengeful ghosts of his would-be killers.

The Great Tang Monk, they cried out. Our doom. Our salvation.

A fellow poet, who became our guest. A group of four whispered from afar, branches and leaves shaking in their hair. The rudest of guests, and a deadly one too!

Did our mother wish for our deaths, Venerable Master? Two tiny shadows jumped up and down, behind a towering tiger demon. Was that what she wrote, in the letter she handed you?

Cheater! Devious bald donkey! A headless tiger, a disemboweled deer, and an oil-soaked goat skeleton tutted. Without your disciples, you'd never have won the contest.

Why is it a crime to eat the flesh of men, when they are never punished for consuming the flesh of our kind? A wrinkly fish demoness sighed. Such unfairness. Such hypocrisy.

Says you! I haven't eaten a single human, I'm just a palanquin carrier!

Do you remember us?

We, who are not worthy enough to count among your perils?

Do you even want to remember us?

Give it back, Great Tang Monk! The chorus of wails suddenly rose to a shrill crescendo. We want our lives back! Give our lives back, or grant us peace with yours!

He looked away from the consequences of his causes, and up into the light.

Six magnificent wings, six limbs, eyes like diamonds, a dot in the middle of the forehead. Cloaked in purple-gold kasaya, sitting in the lotus position. A most divine smile on an inhuman face.

A fleshless, miraculous body, a container of all the good deeds performed over his life and prior lives. A gateway to his Pure Land, an ocean of liquid gold.

One step, and he would be freed of birth and death, pain and doubt.

One step, and the spectres of murdered demons would never be able to reach him again, left behind to stew in their misery until they were dragged back to the Underworld in chains; the majority of them were far from innocent, after all.

One step between him and eternity.

And he needed only to reach out his hand and take it.

Idly, he wondered about what the others must've seen. What made them take that vital step, or stop at the last moment.

Then he shook his head and laughed. Those were their paths, were they not? Not his. Walk upon your own path.

He doubted even the three great Bodhisattvas could have predicted what he had in mind, though. 

"I hereby forsake my Body of Benefit, to give all my accumulated virtues to the restless dead, so that they may be released from suffering, once and for all."

A crack formed in the golden figure's forehead, growing wider and wider, until it stretched from head to toe. Out crawled little cicadas, wings buzzing, making a beeline for the howling herd of shadows.

They flinched back at first, then, upon realizing what was happening, eagerly grabbed each and every insect and devoured them whole, dissolving into golden light with a joyous expression on their faces.

"I vow to descend into samsara, shedding my selves like a cicada's skin, my inherent Buddha-nature obscured, yet remain unfaltering in my pursuit. For there is no courage without vulnerability, no awareness without experience, no immortality without mortality, no transcendance without having been bound to the world."

As the shadows thinned, he could see his disciples again, their motion slowed to a crawl, the panic in their eyes slowly transforming into dreadful awareness at the words echoing through their mind. But there was no turning back. He had already committed to his Vow.

He only hoped that they could see the look on his face, or hear the warmth and wistfulness in his speech, as he continued speaking. This is not the end. I will be nowhere and everywhere. I will always be by your side, in one form or the other.

"For every life of mine, rich or poor, ignorant or wise, man or beast, ghost or god, I vow to undertake a journey, learn the meaning of compassion anew, and teach it to those denied of such chances: whether by birth, by luck, or by their own stubborn will."

"Only after I have walked all the paths that can be walked, learned compassion against all possible odds, taught all who were forsaken, shall I attain Nirvana."

The last cicada had been caught and swallowed. Fully split in the middle, the remnant of his miraculous body was little more than a shell now——a shell that was starting to shrivel up and burn away in bright golden flames.

"Thus saith Golden Cicada, known in this life as Chen Xuanzang. May the World-honored One be my witness, and grant me strength and wisdom on my journey."

The Vow was almost complete. Its binding words tugged at his soul, drawing him closer and closer, into the flames above. His form was fading, yet it did not hurt.

It felt like peace. Like a pair of glowing palms lifting up an insect, sending it back into the blue summer sky.

"Namo," he said, and let the light take him away.

[autistichalsin]

Okay I shouldn't have to defend myself for doing something that makes me happy but I am going to anyway because the comments making fun of me for analyzing things about Halsin are starting to hurt my feelings

I am autistic. Analyzing things is how I relate to the world. Sometimes I read what others have to say on the subject; I will read everything written about it that I can get my hands on. When my hyperfixation was the Space Shuttles Columbia and Challenger, I was literally reading official government documents archived online because I was not going to be satisfied until I understood everything about how those shuttles got destroyed. I once read every single page for a game fandom's Wiki (100+ pages) solely to be sure I understood all of the lore info I had gathered.

When it comes to fiction, analyzing it is how I understand not only the media, but the characters. I do it for all media I enjoy, not just for BG3/Halsin; I once wrote a 2000 word essay analyzing a certain character arc from one of my favorite Broadway musicals, and before I found BG3/Halsin and started making these posts, there were many, many other characters I did it with in other fandoms, ranging from characters from games I was so terrible at that I downloaded them on an emulator to use cheat codes, to characters in animated series that had no more than 20 spoken lines in the series who I would hunt down in the background of EVERY frame they were in. I don't do the "make an essay" stuff to be pretentious or because I "have no life" or whatever. It's because working through these thoughts are genuinely my framework for relating to what I enjoy.

Some people draw. Some people write stories (And I do do this, sometimes). Some people write poetry or songs. I analyze things. Sometimes in my head. Sometimes on paper (/a computer screen).

You don't have to like it, or understand it, but it would be really nice if people (you know who you are) would stop making fun of me for how I as an autistic person choose to understand the world around me. I have mentioned that I am autistic and this is my special interest more than enough times- this is starting to feel less like you just not getting it and more like you're deliberately doing that thing where you bully an autistic person for autistic behaviors, and then deny you are bullying people for being autistic because "we're actually doing it because you're a weirdo" when the traits you're labeling as weirdo traits ARE TRAITS AUTISTIC PEOPLE HAVE.

Please just let me enjoy my special interests in peace. Thank you.