r3loaded

[r3loaded]

@makeslegend said: do you have friends? i mean, real friends?

Sanzo draws in a slow, deep breath, half-hissed through gritted teeth. He fills his lungs with smoke and— hopefully— some small wisp of ever-illusive patience along with it. The unwelcome tag-along that is Mark Langhorne is clearly detemined to test it every chance he gets, and it only worsens the bloody monk’s already foul mood when he senses the other man’s delight at its inevitable snap.

It’s better for both of them for Sanzo to remain silent. Mark enjoys pushing his buttons, sure, but enjoying something doesn’t make it good for you— it can’t be, in this case. Right? As for Sanzo…well, according to Hakkai’s estiimation, it’s going to be a long few nights out on the road. Until they reach the next inn, there’s no way for Sanzo to square away any space for himself— no reprieve from the company of his companions or this…new addition. At least if he refuses to dignify Mark’s pestering with a response now, there’s a chance he’ll get bored enough to go bother someone else for the time being, and he’ll have saved himself a night’s headache.

Although they’re all generally more receptive to this man’s behavior— a fact which apparently doesn’t satisfy whatever inane itch that drives Mark to dig himself under Sanzo’s skin— there are three other bastards in this group for him to pull his amusement from.

But the spiteful creature in Sanzo’s blood would always rather choose the worse option, so long as it’s worse for them both.

".....Tch."

Taking the smoldering cigarette from between his lips, he exhales the breath he’s been holding into a cloud of resentful gray, floating up towards the sunset-bathed sky. Violet eyes fight to remain fixed straight ahead rather than casting even a single glance in Mark’s direction. To say he’d rather die would be an exaggeration, but it’s definitely not that far off. His brows twitch downward, falling easily into the deep furrow between them— a familiar path, growing all the more so the longer he’s stuck with this jackass and his prodding.

“…What kind of question is that ?” His tone comes out harsh but steady. It’s Mark’s presence that bothers him, after all, and not the question itself. “What does it matter? Friends or not, I have what I need. Only one of us was alone out here before you latched on— and it wasn’t me.”

[r3loaded]

Low Blood Pressure

[r3loaded]

my friends.

dialogue prompts from my friends: a novel by hisham matar.

no one is more capable of falsities than those who wish never to part ways.

you'll visit, won't you?

it takes a great deal of practice to learn how to live.

there are comforting illusions to being alone.

at times, a work of the imagination is more pertinent than facts.

it is almost always best to leave things be.

most problems have a habit of resolving themselves.

stop trying to sound poetic. put it plainly.

no one dies before their time.

don't be lured in.

my chief motive is to enjoy myself.

i can already tell what kind of a person you are.

are you sure no one else is here?

keep calm and don't get involved.

faces complicate things.

do i need anything? i would like my life back.

receiving charity is like having the air sucked out of you.

the genius of rumors is that they can coexist with the truth.

it is a mercy that we are made to tire at the end of each day.

do you know what you need right now?

make sure you memorize my number.

don't you think you should call your parents?

what does it matter what people think?

nothing is changed by slogans. the truest opinions are never uttered.

what better political commitment is there than remaining?

i hope you know how grateful i am.

do you still believe i have a bright future?

i refuse to regret my actions.

do you have friends? i mean, real friends?

it is dependence that a sane mind should seek: to depend on others, and to be dependable.

all kids make mistakes.

everything in this world leaves a trace.

i only pretended to be brave.

where is your favorite place?

fuck them. i'm not afraid.

be careful. they suspect you.

i don't get what you want. what drives you.

it's good to finally talk about it.

i'm so sorry. i'm sorry for all that has happened to you.

why go and ruin your future like that?

i'd pack you, too, if i could.

you have no idea how much i love you.

isn't it terrible how life just keeps on?

to be incorruptible is to also be unchangeable.

don't worry, my love. time passes.

i can feel you thinking.

i want you to be with me, but i want you to really be with me.

love is a place of rest.

no one knows. i just couldn't bear it.

please. let's not play games.

it is much harder to destroy someone you know.

i have always tried to be honest. with myself, if not with others.

there is nothing more dangerous than a man who does not know what he is doing, a man who does not know his own mind.

you cannot be two people at once.

talent alone isn't enough: courage is also required.

i worried about coming back, but i'm really finding myself here again.

outrage is a great camouflage.

i have felt, for a long time, that something terrible is going to happen.

life is for the living.

it is a myth, that you can return.

i don't understand you. you just carry on as though nothing has happened.

what will happen will happen, with me or without me.

i didn't think you would actually do it.

sometimes to move forward, you have to move back.

love is as much a miracle as it is an education.

the point of this life is not to be good or wise, but to be human.

there's no salvation in war: if anything, it's the opposite.

a revolution requires a great deal of imagination.

[r3loaded]

COME TO THINK OF IT , WE'RE ALWAYS ...

@r3loaded ⇀ genjo sanzo of saiyuki. shot by falka. cho hakkai of saiyuki. driven by albatross. ↽ @recre8ed

... CHASING THE SETTING SUN .

[r3loaded]

Ocean Vuong, “A Letter to my Mother that She Will Never Read” The New Yorker, May 2017 

[r3loaded]

what are you to your friends ?

— you're a well of secrets.

your friends value you deeply. they know that you need your own time often, that sometimes the last thing you want is a endless flutter of voices around you. but they know that when they need to, they can reach out to you and you'll always welcome them with wisdom and deep care. they might wonder about you sometimes, about what it is that's hidden deep in you, but they mostly respect it, though curiosity is a hard thing to handle sometimes. you are the well. your friends are the bucket, the rope, the coins at the bottom beholding wishes.

[r3loaded]

It isn't until Hakkai responds that Sanzo raises his eyes from the most recent of the books he's taken from the temple's archive. He marks his page with a fold to the corner and a wordless hum of acknowledgement, carried by an ease that surprises even himself.

Sanzo sets aside his reading and adjusts to Hakkai's presence in the room without complaint. Reticent as he usually is to accept company of any kind, there's a strange allowance he grants the other man-- a space he permits him to take up each and every time he returns to Keiun Temple and crosses that threshold into Sanzo's life. Why Hakkai keeps coming back and why Sanzo lets him; two questions that stand unanswered, and yet even so, Sanzo greets him by asking after his well-being, however roughly, as opposed to demanding he get out.

It's almost funny. Anyone even passingly familiar with Genjo Sanzo's demeanor would find it hard to believe, even if they saw it with their own eyes. Come to think of it, when had he learned to tell Hakkai apart from any other intruder without so much as a glance, anyway?

Sanzo turns his head towards him, the early evening light catching in his hair and on the rim of his reading glasses as it streams in from the open window at his back. Thick clouds of grey pass through parted lips to swirl around his face, drifting through into the open air beyond. In the garden, he can hear Goku running as wild as he pleases, laughing along with the barking of that stray dog he brought around a while back-- right before they first left to track down Cho Gonou, actually.

Sanzo hadn't the chance to tell him he couldn't keep the damn thing at the time. At least the little monkey seems to have built up enough sense not to bring it into the interior temple, somehow. Sanzo doesn't doubt that the monks probably have something to do with that; They won't treat the dog any better than they treat Goku.

"Good." Replies China's 31st High Priest as he crushes the burnt-down end of his cigarette into the half-full ashtray on his desk. He's not one for sentiment, and doesn't care much for saying anything more than he deems necessary. Thus, he doesn't mention how much it might mean that his decision to stand for something-- someone-- hadn't gone to waste. 'Good.' will suffice just fine. 

"With the way that moron chased after you in the first place, I'd call bullshit if you told me he was complaining now." 

The smile Hakkai gives him has become a familiar sight now; one that Sanzo doesn't return, but also doesn't reject-- even when razor-sharp intuition tells him there's something missing from it. Something behind it that Hakkai would prefer he didn't see.

Lucky for him, what Sanzo doesn't see is a need to pry into his-- and presumably Gojyo's-- business. At least, not at the moment. Whatever odd something they are to each other now, they aren't so familiar that Sanzo has the room to wade deeper into Hakkai's personal life than he chooses to bring him.

Instead, he turns his attention towards the bag that Hakkai has brought. Leaning an elbow against the surface of his desk and his cheek against his knuckles in turn, Sanzo watches the other man as he retrieves whatever offering he's brought to punctuate his gratitude.

Violet eyes widen by an almost imperceptible fraction, brows lifting just enough that the ever-present furrow between them smooths for a single beat of silence. Hakkai's explanation snaps him out of his initial surprise at the home-cooked meal-- There's no way Hakkai knows that it's his favorite, is there? Did he really pay that much attention?

Sanzo exhales a short breath through his nose, accompanied by a clipped, wordless hum, eyes shifting up from the containers to the smiling man across from him. He lifts his head from his hand and rises to his feet, making his way to the window and leaning through it-- one foot braced against the sill, corresponding hand upon the frame to keep his balance.

"Oi, Goku!" He shouts unceremoniously to his ward-- who is, of course, covered in dirt. What a surprise. "Hakkai brought dinner-- Go wash up before I dunk you in the river myself! And don't let me catch you bringing that dog inside, you hear me!"

As with all things, he leaves no opportunity for argument. As if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all, Sanzo extracts himself from the window and slides it shut after his piece has been said. He looks back to Hakkai, gaze as sharp and appraising as ever as he removes his glasses, placing them folded atop the cover of his book.

"I'm not about to turn it down; you make good chazuke-- and that brat would never let me have a single damn moment of peace if I cost him a meal from you. But I don't need you to thank me-- not like I was taking some kind of risk, letting you go and live your life." No matter how Hakkai feels about it, Sanzo is convinced of the accuracy of his own assessment. Just as certain now as he was then, he knows Hakkai won't forsake his choice to take responsibility for him-- especially not by turning around and making him regret it. "That was the whole point."

He cuts through the room, undaunted in spite of the hidden weight in their exchange. Instead of dwelling on gratitude, misplaced or not, Sanzo focuses instead on gathering bowls and chopsticks. He wouldn't be caught dead eating among the rest of Keiun's residents-- it was easier for everyone for the temple staff to drop off his and Goku's meals here and for him to keep spare dishware on hand to wash and reuse when necessary.  "Since you just said you aren't keeping that busy, I assume you're staying for dinner."

@r3loaded asked → " how's the whole 'dead' thing working out for you? " ( src. / accepting. )

That brusque and uncompromising manner of speaking is, Hakkai has come to learn, quite usual for Genjo Sanzo. It's a little nicer than he would have expected to have someone around who treats his current existence so matter-of-factly. Sanzo does not step delicately around the rotten wood in the floor of Hakkai's newly forged heart—he punches through it, unforgiving and half-uncaring, so those weak spots might be replaced.

Hakkai is more than a little infatuated with the way Sanzo lives, though he's not ignorant to the fact that there's clearly something heart-rending behind Sanzo's rotting interior, too.

"It's working out well, as a matter of fact," Hakkai reports. He is both polite and deeply grateful, and the two sentiments seem to battle for presence in his tone of voice. Sanzo probably isn't the sort of person who'd appreciate his sentimentality, and anyway, they hardly know eachother. "Gojyo hasn't complained to me about my continued stay in his house, and I've finally been able to make myself known to the locals."

He doesn't mention the tension that's seeped its way between himself and Gojyo, thick but permeable. Hakkai feels like his every step is under some strange kind of scrutiny—Gojyo never complains, but he rarely engages with Hakkai's gratitude or his care, which in many ways is worse than just complaining. Hakkai sometimes feels invisible there, though the two of them speak to eachother.

He wonders if the only thing keeping him there is the thought that he doesn't want to leave behind the man who had picked him up, half-dead and spilling his intestines on the road, and nursed him back to health. If Gojyo really doesn't need him as much as he'd thought, what else is there that stays his leave?

The close-lipped smile he gives Sanzo is, of course, made to hide those complicated feelings. Above everything else, he's grateful for the life that he's been allowed to live, and no matter how things go with Gojyo, he's determined to spend as long as he needs repaying the debt he owes to Sanzo in the little ways he's capable of; tutoring Goku and spending time at Keiun Temple. 

"Actually, I wanted to thank you for trusting me enough to allow me to go back there." Expertly changing the subject, Hakkai reaches down to the bag he'd packed in preparation for his trip back to the temple. "If you'll excuse the poor presentation—I brought something for you."

Steadily and easily, he removes the bulk of the bag's weight and sets it on the desk that separates him and Sanzo; two medium-sized containers, washed and reused from some cheap restaurant or another that Hakkai doesn't yet know the name of, filled with his own cooking. He pushes the slightly smaller one on his right towards Sanzo; despite the distance he'd travelled, the materials of the container are still warm.

"I don't have much else to busy myself with, as I'm sure you could have guessed. You seemed to enjoy the chazuke I made during my stay here, so I figured it would be a suitable thing to bring over. Although," Hakkai glances at the other, larger container, an amused smile creeping onto his face, "I did realize Goku wouldn't be satisfied with just that, so I brought him some stir fry."

[r3loaded]

- Apparently that means “all of you get the hell off here…” - What the heck? Hakuryu is the only level-headed one here.

[r3loaded]

what chess piece are you?

— WHITE QUEEN ;

You are the White Queen. The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board, meaning you are strong in some aspect of your life. Physically, emotionally, mentally, one of these is your strong suit. The queen can move anywhere she wishes upon the board, meaning you have your hands full with all the different tasks and choices in your life. Just be careful not to overwhelm yourself. For all your poise and status, your position will surely crumble under the weight of your pride.

tagged by: @dreadedwxlf

tagging: @starwonderz , @heartsbloomed (for any of your muses!)

[r3loaded]

Sanzo lets his words hang in the silence, continuing his steady pace through the grounds of Keiun temple. He's perfectly aware of what it reveals in himself to say such a thing, and he isn't ignorant to the fact that the man beside him is likely to take a jab at it.

The consolation of still having a life on the other side of loss is shit, at first-- he knows that well. By what happens to him when it rains, he knows it. By the subtle scar still etched into the skin of his temple, scorched in deep by the hot barrel of his own freshly fired revolver and hidden behind the fall of overgrown golden hair-- he knows it.

Which is why Sanzo doesn't mean for it to console.

The other man could turn and scream at him-- strike him, even-- and Sanzo would be ready. He would've done the same-- would have needed to. When your world falls apart, you need something to bare your teeth at-- and Sanzo suspects that his decision to vouch for him has rent this person's peace asunder all over again. Whatever peace he had made with the idea of punishment, anyway.

He remembers how he once reacted to similar words-- and he remembers their eventual vitality in sparking himself back to life.

When Cho Hakkai finally breaks his silence to respond, Sanzo has already built walls far higher than his new acquaintance ends up shooting.

"You call that 'very rude'?" Sanzo doesn't mean to find amusement in it, really, but that doesn't stop him. To apologize like that, as if that question of his was some kind of vicious lashing-- it leaves Sanzo nothing short of incredulous. They only met after this man had spilled as much blood singlehandedly as an army and he thinks this is worth apologizing for? "No shit I'm speaking from experience. It takes a different kind of bastard than I am to run his mouth about something he doesn't know anything about."

Sanzo pauses in his tracks, turning his face towards the setting sun. His eyes close in a slow, lazy blink-- like an overgrown cat, bathing himself in the molten gold light streaming through the blossoming branches of sacred peach trees. With a practiced hand, he taps a cigarette free from his half-smoked pack and brings it to rest between his lips. His lighter follows, as always, and only after his first inhale and exhale does he move again.

Not to continue upon their path, but to turn back and face the man whose life he had taken into his own hands.

"I'm aware of your impression." He replies matter-of-factly, recalling the look the Sanbutsushin had fixed him with at the time. Cho Gonou hadn't been the only one to hold that expectation, but, as always, the only standards Sanzo cared to adhere to were his own. "But since that isn't how things played out-- yeah, you're gonna have to adjust to it. Gonna have to spend the rest of your life getting used to it, actually."

But that's just life, isn't it? That constant change, the process of moving forward. That's truly what separates the living and the dead.

"The only way to learn how to live is by doing it, and it's not like that's easy-- if it's time you need, take it. Figure out your way of living and stand by it. That's good enough for me."

@r3loaded said → " when you can't make sense of someone leaving, you try to make sense of what they left behind. " ( src. / accepting. )

Gonou doesn't dignify that with a response right away.

No, that isn't right—he's Hakkai now, newly forged with a name that feels like it mocks him as much as it promises to cleanse. Most people would say something like that as a consolation, a sentiment shared for relatability, but Hakkai can't make sense of the Sanzo priest that has put himself through so much to absolve him of crimes that should have never been met with absolution. Even his marriage had been sick and perverted through the lens of common moral standard. The bloodshed should have been the final straw holding his life afloat, and then some.

Truthfully, he hadn't thought much about what would become of him after the temple, because the idea of going back to existing without Kanan had seemed like a more cruel fate than death.

"Are you speaking from experience?" Hakkai asks, because he doesn't want to confront the question when it's faced towards himself. "You don't really seem the type to offer empty consolation—that's all."

It's a dirty trick. Hakkai has been able to see it in Sanzo's eyes ever since his own had cleared up enough to see much of anything; he's most likely too guarded to say anything substantial about himself, and there's a good chance he rebukes the subject of grief and loss entirely rather than try and push it on Hakkai again. The wound there is still too raw, no matter how much the sutra he recited echoes in Hakkai's mind.

Who was Cho Gonou, anyway?

The question posits itself, against Hakkai's wishes, though he knows the answer to that one. Cho Gonou was an obsessive murderer who didn't care much for the world until he was given a reason to care about someone else. Cho Gonou was problematic to a fault and sought to disprove the teachings of the nuns who had kindly raised him, because they had the capacity for faith where he didn't. He was envious of everyone who seemed happy, and so clung to love and happiness like a lifeline as it related to the only person in his life who had made him feel that.

Cho Gonou had not returned to apathy after Kanan had died. He'd allowed Gojyo to take care of him—had spoken to Gojyo about things he'd never told anyone else outside of Kanan—and though he had always intended to leave, he had thought about Gojyo even as he made his way back towards where Kanan's remains would have been.

So then, who is Cho Hakkai? 

"... I'm sorry. That was very rude of me." Turning back on his rather mild form of lashing out, Hakkai smiles apologetically. "To be honest, I'm still adjusting to the idea of continuing to live at all, let alone how I plan to do so or through what lens I should view my own life. I'm sure you're aware, but I really was under the impression that I at least had lifelong imprisonment in my cards. Haha."

He allows his eyes to slip closed as he draws in a deep, contemplative breath. Then he tries to imagine what this person named Cho Hakkai, whose shape has been so irreversibly molded around his own love, might want for himself. 

"I think," he says, "I need some time to figure out what exactly there is to make sense of."

[r3loaded]

How would you want to live?

It's not a bad question, even though Sanzo could easily gripe about it using his own words against him. He would've, too, if anyone else asked it-- whether he was the one who opened the damn door for it or not. But coming from Hakkai, it's not a question that demands a response; it's meant to fill silence, to make him think. Hakkai knows he doesn't have an answer for him, and doesn't expect him to give one.

Hakkai asks because he wants Sanzo to form an answer for himself.

Putting my situation aside, huh?

Is something like that even possible? Is there anything beyond his situation? He's made the path he's walking his own by now, and bolstered it with an iron-clad refusal to be knocked from it. A river wearing its way through rock, shaping the land around itself rather than allowing the land to divert its course.

But for all that said, that course of his seems inextricably tied from his so-called situation. From the scripture usually cresting his shoulders. From the name they all call him by.

He's clutched onto his life with a grip not even death could pry away-- but that life has always been the one he has to live; he's never paid any thought to a life he might want.

But one day, what he must do will be done-- and something has to come after. As long as he's alive--

There are things you can do-- right?

"That's just like you." He echoes Hakkai's words back at him in return, casting him a sidelong glance only to find his companion's eyes settled on him already. Not for the first time, Sanzo wonders what Hakkai sees in him to make him gaze so attentively-- to know in the first place what is so 'very like him'.

Probably plenty that Sanzo wouldn't care to see, himself.

The hell are you looking at? he nearly asks, lacking the bite suited for delivering such a demand. As always, though, he stops himself just short of asking something he's sure he'd rather not hear.

"The 'where' doesn't matter, compared to the 'what'." Sanzo concurs, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette into the night air. "It's not gonna shock me when you end up settling down to be a damn busybody to your heart's content at the end of all this, location aside."

What Hakkai describes wanting is only a couple steps off from what he's already got-- life isn't as sedentary as a decently sized house and a school nearby, but he's got no shortage of mouths to feed or messes to clean up.

Maybe that's the point; the things Hakkai isn't saying always lie hidden just underneath what he does say.

Sanzo follows the curve of Hakkai's smile with his eyes, watching the way it shapes the words that pass his lips, noting the hint of something else at it's edges.

With the playful notes of his companion's final jest hanging in the air between them, Sanzo thinks he catches a glimpse of what Hakkai's holding back.

"Only one of you bastards can pass for a duckling in that respect." Sanzo quips back, returning his cigarette to his lips to inhale the last breath of smoke it has to offer. Damn it. Did he really burn through that one so quickly? "Following me, huh? ... Does that factor into how you 'want to live', too?"

@r3loaded : continued from discord. ( moonlit conversations )

Somehow, the honesty is surprising. Sanzo is usually more candid during times like these, but Hakkai knows he's the sort of person who doesn't like to show this kind of vulnerability and uncertainty to others. It feels like being handed someone else's precious glassware—statements like this never mean nothing, but they mean more when it's Sanzo who's saying them.

How many times now has Sanzo offered his feelings on a platter, when it's just the two of them? Hakkai isn't sure he knows the exact answer, but the question alone makes him smile without much else in the way of reason.

"That's very like you," Hakkai says, training his eyes properly on Sanzo again. He looks almost frustrated, Hakkai thinks—it's the look he gets on his face every time they talk like this and Sanzo says something he wouldn't say if anyone else was awake. Like he's not sure how he feels about admitting to these things.

His gaze doesn't leave Sanzo this time. 

Each of the three of them know Sanzo in their own way; Goku follows, Gojyo fights, and Hakkai scrutinizes. He talks and he observes, subconsciously trying to put together the puzzle that is Genjo Sanzo whenever he's offered another piece. Hakkai would like to think he already has an understanding of what the broader picture he is, but he can't help looking for what he's missing anyway, filling the gaps with Sanzo's minute details.

Hakkai likes what he sees—Sanzo under the moonlight, and everything that lies beneath his skin.

"Maybe it's something you should consider, when you have the time," Hakkai suggests. "As long as you're alive, there are things you can do—right? Putting your situation aside, how would you want to live?"

The question is mostly rhetorical, since Hakkai doesn't actually expect Sanzo to respond to it with anything more complicated than an 'I don't know', if he responds at all. He'd only asked it to fill space, to make conversation. 

Sanzo has more thoughts and feelings that he keeps tucked away to himself, but Hakkai isn't devoid of things to confess.

"Even if I don't know where I'm going to end up, there are things that appeal to me. I'd like to live in a decently sized house with plenty of people to take care of, mouths to feed, and messes to clean up after. Somewhere close enough to a school that I could take Jeep there every day and make money teaching." 

There are plenty of Hakkai's ideals that he doesn't share; he doesn't tell Sanzo how he'd like it if they could all live closely together, if not in the same place outright. How nice it would be to clean up after Goku and Gojyo, and still be able to meet Sanzo on quiet, lonely nights. How he'd like to fall in love with someone again and feel with certainty that they'd live on through anything.

"I know that's a lot to ask of life," Hakkai admits, "but it's a good thing to work towards, and I could do it anywhere."

He'd only been joking about walking the whole way home, but the core motivator for joking about that and confessing his wants is the same—Hakkai is desperately afraid that things will go back to the way they were when all is said and done, and that distance will be dredged between the two halves of their party once again. If the journey doesn't end, they'll at least all be together. If it does, Hakkai strives for a life he can share with them all.

Not for the first time, Hakkai has the nonsensical desire to join Sanzo in smoking. He doesn't voice it.

"... If you ever do make a decision, I think everyone would continue to follow you," he continues instead. "Like a pack of ducklings who've imprinted on your unfortunate self."

[r3loaded]

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 : 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 !

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strikethrough what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

black and white.  powder puffs.  red lipstick.  winged eyeliner.  white kitten heels.  black lace lingerie.  icy blue eyes.  rain.  abandoned cars.  skeletons.  acid.  poison.  voyeurism.  switchblades.  strangling.  overcoats.  looking over your shoulder.  trans-atlantic accents.  private detectives.  dinner parties.  haunted mansions.  cobwebs.  perfect blonde curls.  kitchen knives.  shock.  cellars.  dust.  ghosts.  dark alleys.  empty streets.  horn-rimmed glasses.  radiation.  zombies.  serial murder.  suspicion.  the city.  witches.  the devil.  cannibalism.  conspiracies.  amulets.  abject terror.  the American South.  the American Northeast.  England.  analog cameras.

CRYPTID  &  URBAN LEGEND.

aliens.  blinding light.  dark woods.  driving at night.  claw marks.  bite marks.  men in black.  memory loss.  dismembered bodies.  sewers.  flashlights.  cell phones.  video cameras.  cars with tinted windows.  unlabeled cassette tapes.  bugs.  big cities.  urban crimes.  clowns.  something rustling outside your window.  glowing light.  unsolved mysteries.  suburbia.  mirrors.  the american pacific northwest.  the american midwest.  hiking.  backpacking.

GOTHIC.

gaslights.  corsets.  ballrooms.  candlelight.  mist.  starless nights.  full moons.  cobbled streets.  horse-drawn carriages.  mysterious strangers.  bogs.  moors.  forests.  mountains.  castles.  velvet.  silver.  brass.  gold.  jewels.  domino masks.  the opera.  dangerous romances.  tragic romances.  violins.  roses.  lilies.  empty graves.  crosses.  cemeteries.  snow.  ice.  the gallows.  crows.  milk-white skin.  ambiguous illness.  fangs.  pointed nails.  something howling in the night.  capes.  globes.  top hats.  straight razors.  lightning.  pipe organs.  underground caverns.  bats.  mice.  rats.  ravens.  cats.  pearls.  attics.  talismans.  axes.  wood.  isolation in a room full of people.  vampires.  werewolves.  ghosts.  coffins.  western europe.  eastern europe.  bones.  churches.  catacombs.  mausoleums.  books.  stitches.

PARANORMAL.

malevolent spirits.  seances.  spells.  missing bodies.  hidden graves.  white noise.  static.  flickering lights.  rings of salt.  demons.  poltergeists.  dark histories.  old buildings.  cold air.  wells.  urban exploration.  a dog barking at unseen things.  iconoclasm.  black ooze.  old photographs.  dark bodies of water.  crucifixes.  priests.  possession.  exorcisms.  dolls.

SLASHER.

bloodbaths.  massacres.  wanton nudity.  newspapers.  leather jackets.  letterman jackets.  converse sneakers.  obscured faces.  social unrest.  bonfires.  lakes.  babysitters.  high school.  lockers.  dead leaves in the fall.  jack-o’-lanterns.  passing shadows.  outdated television sets.  nightmares.  psychiatrists.  hospitals.  unstoppable forces.  gunfire.  police.  landline telephones.  improvised weapons.  halloween.  secrets.  revelations.  cut wires.  character masks.  scrunchies.  wild curls.  jeering children.  parties.  fire.  swearing.  revulsion.  california.  the american midwest.  ambulances.

THRILLER.

daylight.  fluorescent lighting.  morgues.  unwavering eye contact.  tension.  lit rooms.  empty rooms.  killer in plain sight.  a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed.  steely gazes.  paperwork.  anagrams.  codes.  convicted killers.  missing persons.  law enforcement.  federal agents.  small towns.  paranoia.  subdued terror.  dimly-lit parking lots.  a noise in the distance.

[r3loaded]

[r3loaded]

dead like me, season 1.

dialogue prompts from season one of bryan fuller's dead like me.

i excel at not giving a shit.

a sunny disposition goes a long way in any line of work.

if it's my lunch hour, why is it only 35 minutes?

i know what might cheer you up.

everyone always says the same shit at funerals.

why do you have to be such an asshole?

they're not invisible. you just can't see them.

leave the plastic. cash is king.

isn't stealing from dead people kind of tacky?

i'm sorry, i tuned you out. were you whining?

as childhood traumas go, nothing beats the realization that everything dies. including you.

unhappy people do unhappy things.

you need to leave now. you're making me tired.

souls go bad in all kinds of ways.

all you can ever hope to do is make it easier. that may not seem like a lot, but it is.

i think for me, death was just a wakeup call.

you know what your problem is? you wake up every morning wondering what the world's gonna do for you.

i'm going to say this as politely as possible: i will fuck you up.

i am really trying to respect you. i am. but it's really hard sometimes.

carving my own path seems like way too much work.

just so you know, i'm very prone to anxiety attacks.

most of the time i'm talking out of my ass. i don't know shit.

just smell some fucking roses already.

you know, you can talk to me about stuff. if you want to.

monotony is the mind killer.

what you do now matters. what you don't do matters.

what is an average heart, anyway?

the password's 'rimjob', if you want to get on.

i wish people were more complicated, but they're not.

i don't want my picture taken.

it's very tempting to think the little jewels from our lives will bring it all back. but they won't.

i was dreaming about frogs.

i'm pretty sure they put mind control drugs in the water cooler.

you can't come up with a more original way to act out?

intuitive thinkers are the worst.

people lie all the time. it's not a bad thing.

if a lie is big enough, there's an instinctive need to protect it. it's almost maternal.

i need somebody to give me lessons on how to communicate with you, because i'm at a loss.

i need to be unconscious.

have you ever kept a scrapbook?

the lengths i go to for free food.

you've got a worldly quality. a certain je nai se quoi.

falling's easy, you just fall. jumping requires strength of will.

my face gets sore if i smile too much.

do you have to be such an asshole?

there's a finite number of personalities in the world, and i have met them all.

no wonder your children don't come and visit you.

jesus christ, fella, cut the cord.

you always seem to go a different way than everyone else.

open door's an invitation. gotta jump while the door's open.

why do i keep losing all the things and people that i care about?

when you can't make sense of someone leaving, you try to make sense of what they left behind.

i just don't get our culture's obsession with moving on. what are we afraid of, remembering? being sad?

you want to steal something, don't you?

you want to be a bowling pin your whole life, or would you rather be the ball?

i'm sorry, i'm trying to flirt with you. it's not really my thing.

why are you stalking me?

i could burn you a really great cd, if you want.

your perversions are coming into disturbing focus.

not in that life, not in this one, not ever.

you get close enough to see the pain, and it's no longer funny.

i really liked kissing you.

we all create, in our heads, who we are. who we want others to be.

what fresh hell is this?

just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to give up.

i'm not good at the pet thing.

i don't exactly know where home is, these days.

if you don't know the difference between flipping and flopping, we're knee-deep in water without a paddle.

i'm concerned you don't know what you're asking for.

i think some people wander because that's who they are.

you are a very internal little creature.

is it wrong to decide someone's a great person because they're so much like you?

you want to get coffee? i think that's what you're supposed to say when somebody's having a fucked-up day.

you do know the story, right?

you didn't do anything wrong. i'm just screwed up.

i didn't know that was all the time we'd have.

a girl's got needs, you know. even a dead girl.

i'm sure there's going to be some karmic reward for you down the line.

how's the whole 'dead' thing working out for you?

everybody grieves in a different way.

i could've, should've. didn't.

when you're mourning yourself, closure is a little tricky.

the one death you never get over is your own.

you can go fuck a duck.

i think i'm going to miss you the most.

do you want to do some acid?

i feel that my current reality is altered enough.

traveling alone has a certain magic.

what, did you all get together to vote me off the island?

the world is a very big place, and you are not the center of it.

let's just pretend everything is back to normal.

if you stand too close to a painting, all you see are patches of color. stand too far back, and you're missing all the detail.

haunting is all about envy.

i've always wanted to knock over a liquor store.

people mostly just want to hear themselves talk.

i work better alone.

i love the books that people leave here.

if a tree falls in the forest, who gives a fuck?

you can't smoke in here.

you have no respect for authority, you know that?

this job is really getting in the way of the business of living.

you only have one shot at life. this isn't a dress rehearsal.

i'm sorry i wasn't sweeter.

i'm sorry i didn't show you as much affection as i felt for you. i did love you.

i keep forgetting how young you were.

i love cemeteries. the quiet. the stories on headstones.

[r3loaded]

⇀ THE NEXT SUN THAT RISES .

hello and welcome! this is an independent and selective portrayal of genjo sanzo from saiyuki! ( est. 11/12/2024. ) you can call me falka ( 21+, he/him ). this blog will not interact with writers under the age of 18 due to the nature of the series. i advise people to thoroughly read my rules for an accurate understanding of the themes that will be present on this blog.

r3loaded ; featuring themes of unshakable pride , the weight of legacy & forging one's own path in spite of it , standing back up stronger , and living life as it is.

⇀ heavily affiliated with recre8ed's portrayal of cho hakkai.

﴾ carrd. pinterest. graphics credit. ﴿

[r3loaded]

tags ( 3 )

﴾ oh look it's time to overanalyze every panel of saiyuki again! ﴿ ⇀ ooc.

﴾ i can't concentrate with those morons shouting in the back. ﴿ ⇀ interaction call.

﴾ if you have something to say then say it to my face. ﴿ ⇀ rp memes.

﴾ you would do well to watch. ﴿ ⇀ promo.

﴾ bound by nothing; i'll live my life as it is. ﴿ ⇀ self promo.

[r3loaded]

tags ( 2 )

verses.

﴾ the perilous road to the west. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; main.

﴾ the next turn on the wheel of life. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; modern.

﴾ the survival beyond the lament. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; wuwa.

﴾ the defiance that burns in mortal lives. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; d&d.

﴾ the lonely path at sundown. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; the witcher.

﴾ the star‑scatted legacy. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; star rail.

﴾ the earning of a name. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; witch's road.

﴾ the unyielding grey. ﴿ ⇀ verse ; dragon age.

relations.

﴾ i only sing sutras for survivors 『 smear your bloody hands on mine; i'll carry your life 』 ﴿ ⇀ recre8ed ; sanzo & hakkai.