#writing this took way longer than expected

[mononijikayu]

triassic love song — gojo satoru.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.” The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile.  “They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation au!;

WARNING/S: edo japan era, nsfw, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, engagement, hurt, physical touch, implied character death(s), natural disaster(s), mourning, pain, grief, happy ending, depiction of natural disaster(s), depiction of suffering, depiction of character death(s), depiction of violent destruction, depiction of grief, depiction of suffering, mention of implied character death(s), mention of death(s), mention of suffering, mention of destruction, mention of earthquake-related destruction, fiance! gojo, fiance! reader, reincarnated! gojo, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.6k words

NOTE: this song has ruined me beyond understanding. paris paloma, your album was just insane like im sorry. the fact that she wrote a song about the triassic cuddle inspired me to write something similar and i just??? i can't help myself. ive been so crazy about this song that i just decided, you know what. this is great. this is just something i would in fact like to bawl my eyes out writing. and i did. i did that. and i hope you cry with me and enjoy it. anyway, i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IT WAS ENJOYABLE TO BE TOGETHER. IIt was forbidden to be together at this time, with the curfew in place, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when it came to him. The world outside was still, bound by rules meant to keep order, but within the quiet sanctuary of your family estate, the constraints of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant. Inside, warmth and anticipation filled the air, thick as the lingering scent of incense that wafted through the halls. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the room in a warm light, casting shadows across the delicate shoji screens, and reflecting off the polished wooden beams and traditional tatami mats beneath you.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, his presence magnetic as always, but tonight, something was different. His signature smirk still played at the corners of his lips, and his bright, sparkling eyes glimmered with mischief. But beneath that playfulness was an undeniable depth, a new layer of emotion that wasn’t there before—an unspoken excitement, a shared understanding that you were no longer just childhood friends.

You were now betrothed.

Bound by the ties of engagement that your noble families had arranged, it felt as though a long-awaited dream had finally come true. And though you had known each other all your lives, this new bond between you carried a weight of its own, something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. The happiness you felt was undeniable, shared in the way Satoru’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, in the subtle glances that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re quieter than usual, don't you think?" Satoru remarked with a teasing lilt, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, as if daring you to speak first.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his intense scrutiny. “I could say the same about you, hm?” you replied, trying to match his teasing tone, though your voice betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling within you.

Satoru chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “Well, it’s not every day you get engaged to your best friend!” he said, his tone light, but his expression softened as his usual bravado gave way to sincerity.

That sincerity took your breath away, and for a moment, the reality of the moment hit you fully. You weren’t just sneaking out to spend time with him as you had countless times before. This was different. This was a promise, one sealed by the love you’d always shared but never fully acknowledged until now.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know?” you admitted quietly, your eyes meeting his. “For us to be more than just... childhood friends.”

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened even more, a rare seriousness taking over his expression as he reached out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, and the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Me too.” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For a long time.”

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still and silent, but inside this room, the air seemed alive with the energy between you. The gravity of the situation settled in—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something much bigger, something that both excited and terrified you.

“You always did like breaking the rules.” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Staying out past curfew, sneaking into my room like this...”

Satoru grinned, his usual confidence returning. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?” he quipped, though the softness in his gaze lingered. “Besides, how could I stay away from you tonight? Our first night as an engaged couple... I had to be here.”

You laughed, but it was a soft, breathless sound, the kind that came when words failed to fully capture the emotions coursing through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Satoru.” you whispered.

He smiled, that warm, heart-melting smile that was reserved just for you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations placed on you by your families, not even the looming responsibilities of your engagement. It was just you and him, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

“I brought something for you.” Satoru said after a brief pause, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a small bundle of paper. “I wrote these for you.”

You blinked in surprise, watching as he carefully unfolded the papers. “Poems?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, something you rarely saw from him. “Yeah, don’t laugh!” he added quickly, though the look in his eyes told you he trusted you completely. “I’ve been working on them for a while...”

You took the papers from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. The sheets were neatly folded, each one carefully written in his distinct handwriting. It touched you deeply to know that he had taken the time to craft these for you, that he had poured his heart into something so personal. Something for you, with all his love.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I could never laugh, my dearest.” you said softly, your voice sincere. “Thank you, Satoru.”

"I made these for you, my beloved." he whispered, pulling out one of the carefully folded parchment from your grasp and unfolded it. "Listen to me, alright?"

His slender fingers traced the delicate paper before he began to read softly, his voice like a gentle breeze:

"Beneath the cherry bloom, I wait  

for you, a light that never fades.  

In silence, your name takes root in my soul—  

a promise written long before time."

His tender words wove into your heart, each syllable filled with the love he had always held for you, now finally given shape. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat that matched your own excitement. The future felt certain, and the night was perfect. You kept listening to his voice, letting it guide you into the tender slumber of the night.

Satoru leaned closer to you, watching your expression, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and affection. Your orbs gazed at the tender strokes of his writing.

His calligraphy had always been so beautiful, but to form such words in order to capture not just the feelings he had for you, it was even more beautiful. And to have him read it with such affection, such love — for you and only you…..what could be more beautiful? What could be more perfect, more delightful?

But then, the ground beneath you shifted, a low rumble reverberating through the tatami mats. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, the shaking intensified. It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the lanterns flicker.

Satoru paused, his brow furrowing. Before you could ask, the ground shook violently, and the delicate house groaned under the pressure. Screams erupted from other rooms, echoing through the halls as the tremor grew stronger.

"Satoru?" you whispered, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, not from love, but from fear.

He was already moving, his hand gripping yours tightly. “Stay with me, my beloved.” he commanded, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with a seriousness you had never seen before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room shuddered violently as the earthquake hit full force, and you could hear the distant crashing of objects falling in other parts of the house. Screams erupted outside even louder—voices of your family, the servants, all caught in the chaos of the sudden disaster. And then all the sudden, it was eerily quiet. And that made your heart drop to your stomach 

For a moment, you thought that it would finally be over. But then, the earth beneath you trembled once more. You squealed as Satoru let his body encompass your own with the enveloping of his whole body on yours as the world crashed against you both. The walls were swaying left and right, the roof tiles were shattering one after another. It was chaos.

"Hold on to me. Don’t lift your eyes." he said, his voice calm but firm, even as the world quaked around you. “I’ll protect you.”

You clung to him, your heart pounding in fear as the floor shifted beneath your feet. His grip was unyielding, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, shielding you from falling debris as the shaking intensified.

“I’ve got you, my beloved.” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “D–don’t worry.”

You feared when he stuttered, that he had gotten hurt. But he did not falter. His fingers gently stroked your back, trying to calm your trembling as the earthquake raged on. You could hear the distant crashing of porcelain and wood, your ears ringing from the harsh sounds of the destruction. But in his arms, you felt an odd sense of safety amidst the destruction. Because it was your Satoru holding you, protecting you. Because you’re together. 

As the tremors finally subsided, Satoru’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. His breath was shaky, and when you looked up at him, you saw a rare flicker of fear in his usually carefree eyes. He swallowed hard before giving you a small, reassuring smile. You were still stunned, your head shaking as you tried to make sense of the world.

"Seems like the earth itself wanted to remind us of its power." he joked softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He was just as afraid, perhaps even pained by some injury he would never show you. “We’re….we’re alright, my beloved. Don’t worry.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still clutching his robes as you pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was no longer perfect, but in that moment, with Satoru holding you close, it felt like nothing could tear the two of you apart—not even the earth itself.

The earth, which had momentarily stilled, seemed to shift again beneath you, this time more violently.More catastrophic, more angry and volatile. You screamed as you held tightly to him, his body wrapping itself against you once more. The walls of your room groaned, beams creaking as the tremors returned with a vengeance, fiercer than before. The floor shook so hard you could barely keep your balance, even in Satoru's arms.

He pulled you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t let go.”

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath his robes, his usually easy going demeanor replaced by something more protective, almost desperate as his entire body forced itself to become a shield against anything against you. What remained standing of your ancestral home rattled more easily around you, dust falling from the ceiling in thick clouds. Outside, the screams grew louder, more frantic as the destruction worsened. Perhaps, it wasn’t even your family any longer. Perhaps it was the town, perhaps it was a neighboring village. You do not know anymore. And that’s what frightened you even more.

You could hear the unmistakable crash of something heavy—perhaps a roof beam—collapsing nearby. Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The wide, elaborate shoji doors rattled on their frames before they were blown open by the force of the quake. Your own room felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece. One of the wooden beams above groaned under the strain and, without warning, splintered and fell, hurtling toward the two of you.

Your beloved Gojo Satoru reacted in an instant, pushing you down and covering you with his body just as the beam crashed into the floor where you’d been trying to stand. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of earth and shattered wood filled your lungs, choking you. You shook as your eyes slowly opened to see your fiance pinning you down with his body shielding you.

“Satoru!” you gasped, your hands gripping the front of his robe, desperate to make sure he was unharmed.

“I’m fine, my beloved.” he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice. His arm was still braced above you, shielding you from any further debris. His other hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into the crook of his neck. “We need to move. The house isn’t going to hold.”

You nodded against him, heart pounding in terror. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. The childhood home that had always felt so safe, so untouchable, was crumbling around you, and the only solid thing left was Satoru. He was all you had, you think. Everything…Everything was gone. Your body was shaking. 

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you toward the door, but just as you reached it, another powerful tremor sent the ground pitching beneath you. You fell forward, and Satoru caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as the floor buckled and cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the splintering wood beneath your sandals, the whole structure of the house breaking apart beneath the relentless force of the earthquake.

“Satoru, we need to get out—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by the sound of another beam collapsing behind you, followed by a sickening crash from outside the room.

“I know, I know.” he said, his voice tight with focus as he scanned the surroundings. "We’ll find a way out. I promise."

He led you toward the door again, but just as you stepped forward, the entire room seemed to tilt. The floor caved in with a horrific crack, and suddenly, you were falling. Satoru’s grip tightened as you both plummeted into darkness, the floorboards and debris collapsing into the space below.

“Are you hurt?” Satoru’s voice cut through the chaos, his hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you close, checking for injuries in the dim light. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear he usually kept hidden so well.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, though your body felt battered and sore.

He exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment, his breath shaky. “We need to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Even now, with the world collapsing around you, his determination didn’t waver. He pulled you to your feet once more, and together, you began to make your way through the rubble. The house was a maze of fallen beams, shattered walls, and debris, the once-beautiful estate reduced to ruins in a matter of minutes.

The aftershocks still rumbled beneath your feet, making every step treacherous, but Satoru kept you steady, his arm around your waist, guiding you through the wreckage. The air was thick with dust, and the distant screams of those outside continued, filling you with dread for what might await you once you escaped.

As you neared what used to be the outer courtyard, the quake hit again, this time more violent than any before. The very ground seemed to split open beneath you, and with a loud, earth-shattering roar, the outer wall of the estate gave way. You barely had time to scream before the floor cracked beneath your feet, and you fell into darkness once more.

This time, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, and you felt his body pull you against him, sheltering you as the ground gave way entirely. You hit the ground hard, the pain radiating through your body, but before you could react, you felt the warmth of Satoru’s arms around you, shielding you from the worst of it.

“Don’t leave me.” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tighter than ever. “I won’t let anything take you from me—not this, not anything.”

In that moment, as the world continued to crumble around you, his words were the only thing that kept you grounded. No matter what happened next, as long as you were with him, there was still hope. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes, as the tremors finally began to subside, leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage, but together.

You landed hard, the wind knocked out of you as your back hit the ground. The tatami beneath you was torn, and debris scattered everywhere, yet Satoru still held onto you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, as though his grip alone could shield you from the crumbling world. The force of his embrace had absorbed much of the fall, but the impact still left you breathless. For a moment, everything was a blur—dust and darkness clouded your vision, and the deafening roar of collapsing beams filled the air.

Your body throbbed with pain, and panic surged in your chest, but even through the chaos, the warmth of Satoru’s body against yours anchored you. His presence, solid and unyielding, kept you grounded in the midst of the chaos.

"Satoru..." you gasped, your voice barely audible, but he heard you.

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely, his voice steady despite the tremors still shaking the earth beneath you. His breath was ragged, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His white hair, now disheveled and covered in dust, clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—remained focused on you. “Are you hurt?”

You tried to shake your head, but your mind was still reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The earthquake raged on, though the initial violence of it had passed. The ground trembled beneath you like a sleeping beast disturbed from its rest.

Satoru shifted, pulling you up as carefully as he could. The house around you was nearly unrecognizable—wooden beams had collapsed, shoji screens were shredded, and parts of the roof had caved in. The once peaceful and warm room where you had shared your engagement was now in ruins, littered with broken objects and torn memories.

The sound of screams echoed from outside, faint but piercing. Servants. Family. It was hard to tell who, but the urgency in their voices cut through the haze of shock that clouded your mind. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you once more.

“My family... my parents.” you muttered, scrambling to get up, but Satoru stopped you, his hand on your shoulder, firm yet gentle. “Satoru—”

"Wait," he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of authority. "We need to get out of here first. It’s not safe."

He tried to keep you calm, his steady hands guiding you through the debris, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was on high alert, his senses sharp as he glanced at every unstable beam, every shifting pile of rubble. He was scanning for danger, but more than that, he was trying to protect you from seeing the worst of it—the destruction, the death.

But as you stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been your home, you couldn’t avoid the horrors that surrounded you. Bodies. Littered through the halls, some crushed beneath fallen beams, others lying still in the open. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world spun around you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away from his protective hold. "Where are they? My parents... my siblings?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting around, trying to keep you moving forward, away from the bodies, away from the worst of it. But you knew. The silence was louder than any scream. You could feel tears fall from your face and that broke his heart to see.

"Satoru!" you cried, your voice breaking as your legs buckled beneath you. "Where are they?"

He knelt beside you, his hands cupping your face as he gently forced you to look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with an overwhelming sadness, but he tried to hide it, to be strong for you. He had to be strong. He had to. He can’t be weak, not right now.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to go. We need to find shelter. I’ll take you to my family home. They’ll know what to do.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t fully sink in. Your body was moving on autopilot now, your mind numb to the world as Satoru pulled you back to your feet. With every step, the destruction around you became more apparent, more real. The walls were crumbling, the air thick with dust and smoke, and the scent of burning wood filled your nostrils.

Together, you navigated the ruins of your estate, stepping over debris and through the remains of lives that had been lost in the quake. GojoSatoru kept a firm grip on your hand, leading you with a determination that seemed almost impossible given the circumstances.

But even he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched when another body appeared in your path, forcing him to shield you from the sight.

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IT WAS A CHALLENGE, TO GO AND LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION BEHIND. The sky deepened into a somber shade of dusk as you and Satoru finally reached the estate’s edge. The once proud gates, symbols of security and honor, now stood twisted and mangled, crumpled by the sheer force of nature’s wrath.

Beyond the gates, the town stretched out in a nightmare of ruin—buildings reduced to heaps of rubble, streets fractured and littered with debris, and the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke and dust. The cries of the wounded and the wails of those searching for lost loved ones echoed through the broken streets, a chorus of despair that filled the silence left in the wake of destruction.

“Keep your head high,” Satoru urged, his voice low but firm as he tightened his grip on your hand. “Don’t look. Just… don’t.”

But it was impossible not to look. How could you not see the devastation, shared by all? Every corner of the town had been touched by this catastrophe, and every person who remained alive carried the weight of loss. It was a destruction understood by all, but none more deeply than you at that moment.

The memory of your home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and the presence of family—now lay in ruins. Your parents, your siblings… their fates were unknown, swallowed by the chaos. You hadn’t seen them, and the hope of finding them alive was growing fainter with every passing moment. Satoru’s words rang hollow in your ears, even as you clung to his hand for strength.

He guided you through the crumbling streets with a fierce determination, always positioning himself between you and the worst of the wreckage. The buildings, once grand and vibrant, had become tombs of stone and wood, each step revealing more of the town’s shattered soul. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some half-buried in rubble, others left untouched by the debris but claimed by the quake nonetheless. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Every time you stumbled, your legs trembling with fatigue and grief, Satoru was there, catching you before you could fall. His presence was like an anchor, keeping you steady amid the storm of devastation that swirled around you. His hand never left yours, his touch a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to face it all by yourself.

The survivors—those who had managed to escape the collapse of buildings or who had emerged from the wreckage—followed behind you, a somber procession of hollow eyes and ashen faces. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of shock. No words passed between them, no cries for help—only silence and the occasional sob as they moved like ghosts through the streets, trying to find some semblance of safety, of life, in this broken world.

Your heart ached for them, for their pain, but your own grief consumed you. The memory of your family’s voices, the warmth of your home, felt so distant now, like a dream you had just woken from. And yet, with each step you took beside Satoru, you realized that this nightmare was real, and there was no waking from it.

The earth beneath your feet still trembled occasionally, aftershocks reminding you that the worst might not yet be over. Each tremor sent a fresh wave of fear through your body, your grip tightening around Satoru’s hand. He responded in kind, his hand strong and reassuring, though you could sense the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. His family, too, was somewhere in this mess. Their fate hung in the balance just as much as yours.

As you made your way through the gates, leaving behind the wreckage of your estate, you couldn’t help but glance back one final time. The place where you had grown up, where you had shared laughter, joy, and the news of your engagement just hours ago, was now unrecognizable. In the span of mere moments, everything you had known had been reduced to rubble, leaving behind only echoes of the life you had once cherished.

“Satoru…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name, the words barely audible over the distant cries. He stopped, turning to look at you, his eyes softening with concern.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall unnoticed. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll make it through this. We have to.”

His resolve was unshakable, but you could see the grief hidden behind his determination. He was trying to be strong, not just for himself, but for you. His family’s estate lay ahead, yet you both feared what you would find when you arrived.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, you continued onward, the fire of Satoru’s presence the only thing keeping you from sinking into despair. The path was treacherous, littered with fallen beams and shattered stone, but Satoru led the way with careful, deliberate steps. He kept you close, his arm around your waist now, guiding you over the broken streets as you navigated what felt like the remains of the world.

Every glance revealed more heartache—broken homes, toppled lanterns, and the pale, lifeless faces of those who hadn’t made it. But Satoru never let you linger, gently urging you forward each time your gaze began to drift toward the horror around you.

Finally, you reached his family’s estate. Or what remained of it. The grand structure that had once stood proud and formidable was now a heap of collapsed roofs and shattered walls. The once beautiful garden, where you had shared many moments of happiness, was now a twisted, chaotic mess of uprooted trees and scorched earth.

Satoru stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the destruction with a silent, composed fury. The pain was etched into his expression, though he quickly masked it as he turned to you, his voice low but firm.

"We’ll make it through tonight," he said. "We have to survive, no matter what."

In that moment, even as the world crumbled around you, there was no fear in his eyes—only determination. For now, all you could do was follow him. Follow him through the darkness, trusting that somewhere, beyond the destruction, hope still lingered. 

As you finally reached the outskirts of the Gojo estate, the enormity of the destruction hit you again. The town below had not been spared either. Smoke rose in the distance, and the ground was littered with rubble, buildings half-collapsed, and people wandering aimlessly, searching for loved ones.

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pulled you forward, his grip never loosening as he led you through the streets toward his family’s home. But when you arrived, the sight that greeted you was even more devastating.

His family estate, much like your own, had been reduced to little more than a broken shell. The grand gates had collapsed, and the once beautiful gardens were torn apart, now little more than mounds of earth and stone. The house itself had fared no better, with parts of the roof caved in and walls shattered.

Satoru’s face paled as he took it all in, his hand tightening around yours in a desperate attempt to remain calm. But you could see it in his eyes—the grief, the disbelief. This was his home. His family. And now, it is gone.

For a long moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on the destruction before him. His breathing was shallow, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. But then, with a sharp breath, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As you both began your journey toward the Gojo family estate, the weight of the day settled heavily on your shoulders. But Satoru’s hand never let go of yours, a silent promise that even in the face of unimaginable loss, you would survive this—together.

When you and Satoru finally reached the outskirts of his family estate, the sinking feeling in your chest returned with full force. What should have been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the horrors you had just fled, was nothing but devastation. The Gojo estate, once majestic and proud, had fallen to the same fate as your home.

The gates were twisted and mangled, barely hanging from their hinges, and the walls that had once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble. Smoke rose from what remained of the manor, a bitter scent of burning wood and stone hanging in the air. The destruction was so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very earth had swallowed everything whole. The silence was deafening.

Gojo Satoru froze at the sight, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurt. You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his usual brightness dulled to a vacant stare. His family, his home....everything he had known, everything he had grown up with. All was gone. Nothing was left but the earth where it all once stood.

You tried to say something, to offer words of comfort, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. More tears could only pour out of your eyes from then on. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he would feel your silent support. He didn't need to hear your words right now; he just needed to know you were there.

For a moment, he stood motionless, his blue eyes scanning the destruction as if trying to comprehend it, trying to find any sign of life among the wreckage. But there was nothing. Just like at your estate, the earthquake had consumed everything.

Finally, Satoru exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. But even in his grief, he didn’t break. He couldn’t—not with you depending on him. He glanced down at you, his eyes softening with a kind of sadness you had never seen in him before. 

Satoru stopped for a moment, turning to you with a look of determination in his eyes. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “We’ll get some place safe here, and I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. You hear me?”

You nodded, though the world felt unsteady beneath you. The future that once seemed so bright, the engagement that had filled your heart with hope, now felt overshadowed by the tragedy that had befallen your lives. Still, with Satoru’s hand wrapped securely around yours, you knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“We need to stay warm tonight.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark. We’ll make a fire here, and then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do.”

He led you to a relatively clear patch of ground, away from the worst of the rubble. The sky was darkening, and the air had grown cold, a biting wind cutting through your torn clothes. Satoru quickly set to work, gathering what dry wood he could find, his movements steady and focused despite the grief that must have been tearing him apart inside.

You watched him in silence, too exhausted to help, too numb from everything that had happened. When the fire finally sparked to life, its warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold that had settled deep into your bones. You sat beside him, huddled close to the flickering flames, the only source of light in the endless night.

Your Satoru didn’t speak for a long time. He simply stared into the fire, his expression distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t fathom. His hands, usually so relaxed and playful, were tense, gripping his knees as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But then he turned to you, his gaze softening when he saw the exhaustion written on your face. Without a word, he pulled his outer robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around you, tucking it gently against your chin. He tried to do it, smiling like nothing happened. As though to comfort you even in all this suffering. And yet, you could see it all in his eyes. He was exhausted, he was in pain. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Sleep, my beloved.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep watch.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he needed rest just as much as you did, but your body betrayed you. The exhaustion, the grief, the sheer weight of everything you had been through—it was too much. You nodded weakly, laying your head against his shoulder as you curled into the warmth of the robe.

Satoru shifted slightly, easing you into a more comfortable position so you could lie down near the fire. His hand rested on your arm, a protective gesture that reminded you of his earlier promise. Even as the world fell apart around you, Satoru Gojo was still there, watching over you.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if he were afraid to pull away, afraid that something might take you from him if he let go.

“I’ll keep you safe, my beloved.” he whispered against your hair, his voice trembling with the weight of his vow. “No matter what happens. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but his resolve was unshakable. He couldn’t save everything—his home, his family—but he would save you. That much, he was certain of.

As you slept, Gojo Satoru remained awake, his eyes scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of danger. The devastation around him was complete, but his focus never wavered from you. You were his world now, the one thing he had left in the midst of the ruin.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, but Satoru didn’t move from his spot by your side. Even as the grief gnawed at him, even as the weight of everything he had lost threatened to crush him, he stayed strong. For you. Because no matter what came next, no matter how uncertain the future had become, Gojo Satoru had made a promise—and he would keep it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE YEAR 2018 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR FOR DISCOVERIES. You remember reading about it in the newspaper on your way to university—the discovery of two lovers found in an eternal embrace, huddled together in a shoreline cave, their bodies preserved for three hundred years by the elements that had claimed their lives. 

The volcanic eruption, the earthquake, and the tsunami that had ravaged Japan centuries ago were some of the worst disasters the country had ever known, obliterating entire villages and swallowing countless lives in an instant. And yet, even in the face of such unimaginable destruction, these two had remained together, their bond undisturbed by the passage of time.

Standing quietly in front of the memorial, you felt the weight of their story settle around you. The air was still and somber, carrying with it the distant hum of waves crashing along the shore. The stone monument before you was simple yet profound—a silent marker of the love these two souls had shared, a love that had endured in the most unimaginable of circumstances. Their bodies had been found in the ruins of a household long buried by the mud and debris, a household much like the ones surrounding this coastline, now reduced to scattered memories.

You had followed the story from the beginning—the day the archaeologists uncovered them from the earth, the painstaking care they took in revealing the remains. The headlines had drawn attention, not because of the tragedy alone, but because of the story those two bodies told.

There were no names. No clues as to who they had been, what their lives had looked like before the disaster struck, or even how they had ended up in each other’s arms when the end came. But it didn’t matter. Their identities weren’t needed to understand the significance of what had been found. What mattered was that they had faced their final moments without fear. They had faced the end together, with love.

It was that thought—the resilience of love in the face of overwhelming disaster—that had touched you most deeply. In a world where so much is fragile and fleeting, the strength of their connection had remained, even after centuries had passed. It was as if their love had transcended the destruction, as if they had chosen to defy the disaster by holding on to one another in their last breath.

You stepped forward, placing your hands together in silent prayer. You wished them peace, a kind of peace that transcended the tragedy of their death, that honored the love they had shared.

You prayed that their spirits had found rest, and that wherever they were now, they were still together, watching over the place where they had once stood. The offering you placed at the memorial was simple, a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, symbolizing purity and remembrance.

"I pray that you'll always be together, the two of you." you murmured, your voice soft, barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the trees around the monument. "Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace, and that your love is still as strong as it was in those last moments."

You stayed there for a while, the silence of the memorial surrounding you, offering its quiet comfort. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene, a contrast to the deep sense of loss the place carried. But you didn’t feel sadness. Instead, there was something almost beautiful about it—knowing that even in the face of disaster, these two had been together, and their love had transcended time. As you prepared to leave, footsteps approached from behind. You turned slightly, curious to see who else had come to visit this quiet, forgotten place.

A man with striking white hair and bright blue eyes under the rim of his glasses stood at the edge of the memorial, his head bowed in silent prayer. He was tall, his presence commanding even though he moved with a quiet grace. His features were sharp, but softened by a kind of deep, unspoken sorrow. He knelt down beside the monument, laying a single white flower on the stone, his fingers brushing the surface with reverence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though you couldn’t quite place it. The way he stood there—tall and composed, with an air of quiet reverence that just seemed to draw you in.

There was something almost ethereal about him, as if he was intrinsically linked to the story of the lovers you had come to honor. The connection felt deeper than mere coincidence, as though his presence was a significant part of the narrative that had touched you so profoundly.

His white hair glowed softly in the fading light, and his posture was relaxed yet dignified, embodying a calmness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil you had felt as you reflected on the lovers’ fate.

His eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene, as if he was offering a deeply personal tribute to the souls who had been found together in their final moments. The sense of connection was so strong that you could almost feel it emanating from him, a silent bridge spanning the centuries between his presence and the lovers' tragic end.

You hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of solitude. Yet, there was something compelling about the situation—an unspoken invitation to acknowledge the shared significance of this place and the story that bound them all together. Your curiosity and empathy drove you to speak, despite the quietude that hung between you.

“Excuse me.” you began softly, breaking the stillness of the memorial. Your voice was gentle, barely a whisper against the backdrop of the crashing waves. “I couldn’t help but notice… There's something about you that feels so familiar, so connected to this place. I… I’ve been deeply moved by the story of the lovers found here, and I can’t shake the feeling that you share a connection with them.”

The man turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful and measured. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this conversation, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“Oh.” Gojo Satoru whispered back, his cheeks tinged with a flush of surprise, as if your words had caught him off guard. He seemed momentarily at a loss, his usual confidence replaced with a bashful vulnerability. “Yeah, I… I saw the news, and I thought, I just had to come. It felt… it just felt right, you know? To come here and see them off, to wish them well.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a raw honesty that struck a chord. You could see that this wasn’t just a casual visit for him; it was something deeply personal, a moment of reflection and respect that went beyond mere curiosity.

“I see…” you mumbled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A smile slowly spread across your face, touched by his heartfelt gesture. “That’s kind of you to do.”

Gojo Satoru shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. “Ah, not… not really,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “If anything, I think you were more kind. You brought them white chrysanthemums and everything. You probably had more of a proper prayer for them than I did.”

You waved off his comment with a small laugh, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the memorial. “Oh, not at all. I think… I think your intention was purer than mine. You came here just on a feeling, an instinct that something was right about being here. I was… I was interested historically before I was here emotionally, you know?”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “I guess we both had our reasons,” he said softly. “But in the end, it’s the connection that matters. Whether we came here out of personal feelings or historical interest, it’s our respect and acknowledgement that count.”

You nodded, feeling a shared sense of purpose in your conversation. There was something profoundly meaningful about how your paths had crossed at this place, driven by a mutual respect for the story of the lovers and a desire to honor their memory. The distinction between your reasons for being here seemed to dissolve in the face of a greater truth—that both of you were here because of a deep-seated respect and a wish to pay tribute to the enduring power of love.

“So……” Gojo continued, a slight smile returning to his lips, ���I’m glad we met here. It feels like the right place for this kind of encounter, don’t you think?”

You agreed, feeling a warmth in his words. “Yes, it does. It’s like the universe brought us together in this moment to remind us of something important.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, something like that. It’s nice to know that even after so much time, and despite all the changes and challenges we face, there are still moments that can bring people together in such a profound way.”

You stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared understanding settling around you. The memorial continued to stand as homage to the lovers’ eternal bond, and in that quiet, sacred space, you felt a connection that transcended all the limits given by the bountiful universe.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.”

The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile. 

“They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

There was something in his tone, a weight to his words, that made you wonder if he was speaking from experience. You gave him a respectful nod, choosing not to pry into the emotions that seemed to flicker beneath his calm exterior.

The two of you stood there in silence for a while longer, both paying your respects to the nameless lovers who had defied death with their love. The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the memorial. Finally, the man rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes before turning to you.

“Take care, stranger.” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sorrow that had lingered moments before. Then, with one last look at the monument, he began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light like a beacon.

As you watched him go, something tugged at your heart. You didn’t know who he was, but in that moment, you felt as though you had shared something important with him—an unspoken understanding of love and loss, of holding on to someone even when the world falls apart around you. 

Somehow, there was something stirring within you—a feeling that you couldn’t let him just walk away, not without knowing more. There was something about him, an invisible thread connecting you, as if fate had brought you both to this quiet place for a reason.

"Wait! Hey, mister!" you called out softly, taking a few steps toward him. The man paused, turning back to face you, his expression curious but calm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, with a gentle smile, you extended your hand. "I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is……"

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether to reciprocate. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he took your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, and comforting in a way that felt strangely familiar.

"I'm Gojo Satoru." he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with something deeper, as if his name carried a history he didn’t fully reveal.

The name hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of recognition. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. You smiled politely, though something about the way he said it, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you, made you feel like there was more to his introduction than simple formality.

"It's nice to meet you, Satoru." you replied, feeling a strange sense of ease as you spoke his name. There was something about the way it rolled off your tongue, as if you'd said it a thousand times before.

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp, crystal-blue eyes studying you with an intensity that was both disarming and oddly reassuring. It was as if he could see beneath the surface, understanding more than what was immediately apparent. Yet, instead of feeling exposed, you felt a sense of comfort, a silent acknowledgment that he grasped the depths of your emotions and thoughts.

With a gentle, almost shy smile, Gojo Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you. “Put your number in,” he said, his voice tender and inviting. “I think… I think you know more about this story than I do. I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his smile compelled you to act. With a nod, you took his phone from him and began to enter your contact information, a small flutter of excitement rising in your chest. There was something intriguing about the prospect of continuing this conversation, of sharing more about the story that had brought you both here.

When you handed his phone back to him, a playful grin appeared on your face. “It’s your turn,” you said, taking out your own phone and extending it toward him.

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looked at your phone. “Well, alright.” he said, taking it with a mock sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

As he entered his number into your phone, the atmosphere between you shifted from one of solemn reflection to one of friendly connection. The small act of exchanging numbers felt like a bridge, linking your shared experience at the memorial with the potential for future conversations and deeper understanding. Maybe, just maybe — you’ll understand life the way these two in front of you did. Just maybe.

When he handed your phone back to you, he looked at you with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sharing this moment with me. It’s been… meaningful. I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that came from more than just the shared experience. “I’m glad too. It’s not every day you meet someone who understands the significance of something like this so deeply.”

Finally, Satoru spoke again, his tone lightening slightly. "Well, I should be going. The train is leaving soon. But... It was nice meeting you." He paused, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we’ll see each other again."

You smiled, feeling the same unspoken connection. "I’d like that."

With one last look at the memorial, Satoru turned and began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light of the day. You watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over you.

As you stood there, the weight of the lovers' story still fresh in your heart, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you would see Gojo Satoru. Something told you that your paths would cross again, in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the memorial, you whispered one final prayer—not just for the nameless lovers, but for yourself, and perhaps for Satoru too.

"May we all find each other, in every lifetime."

[intothedysphoria]

Billy’s therapist probably didn’t mean to be patronising but he very much came off that way. Something about being in a wheelchair now made people think he was simple.

It was CIA appointed or whoever the assholes who’d dragged him into hospital were. The therapist felt like he should have been a part of the Men In Black and Billy half expected that he was going to get his memory erased.

Instead, after Billy signed several NDA’s about the time he was possessed by a fucked up alien thing, he was told to draw. So he drew. He drew his mom bathed in the California sun, Max trailing a muddy skateboard around the house. Heather when she was still alive. Neil covered in bulbous sores, just because. He didn’t draw Steve, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t going to get his boyfriend into more shit than he already was.

The man pursed his lips then asked Billy if he knew why he was there. A sardonic answer almost danced on his tongue until he remembered these guys probably had Max. He shook his head no instead.

“We’re moving you out of Hawkins Billy” came the crisp response. For Billy’s own safety, of course. No cover up here.

They were not moving him back to California, even after Billy threatened to stab a guard. California would be too obvious of a move.

They were dumping him in yet another shithole but this one was in Texas. To live with his maternal grandfather, who Billy hadn’t met since he was three years old.

He didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. All he had were Max and Steve’s house numbers balled up in his fist as he boarded the plane.

His vague memories of “grandpa Patrick” were of a gruff, surprisingly fit old man who scared the shit out of Neil. Memory did not disappoint.

Patrick had served 32 years in the Air Force before working as low level management on an oil rig and retiring soon after. He was a piece of work when it came to bending house rules but it came from a place of genuine caution not the desire of instilling fear.

Since the past months had destroyed any hope of going to college, Patrick signed him up for wheelchair basketball. Under the surname O’Connor, not Hargrove.

Phone usage was limited from 5pm until 6pm every day, because Patrick was perhaps overly concerned about bills and was also convinced that all phones were bugged. Billy tried to call Max and Steve every day. And every day either Susan or Mrs Harrington picked up. It was driving Billy up the fucking wall. What was the point of having a boyfriend or sister if you weren’t allowed to call them?

Billy’s aunt Marie had noticed that he was becoming steadily more despondent by the day, so she gently suggested writing a letter. As long as he didn’t use his old name and wrote with his left hand he should be fine.

Max’s letter took about 10 minutes. They knew each other so well all Billy really needed to establish was that she was safe, she was coping and she wasn’t getting too much shit at school. Billy already knew how she’d be feeling in this situation.

Steve’s letter took much longer. Trying to judge how your boyfriend of a little under a year would react to you suddenly reappearing in his life was a little more complicated. Especially when you had to drop in hints as to who you actually were.

Billy struggled through emphasising that he loved Steve, leaving him had been hell and he’d met several actual cowboys since the move. After that he really just had to wait.

Steve sent him back a letter with tiny butterflies drawn on the front. He was always doodling and on their first date Billy had been told his eyes reminded Steve of butterflies. It was a difference from all his past dates who’d told him they looked like the sea.

It was a long letter for Steve. He was dyslexic and despised writing, would constantly need to be bribed with affection to finish a book report but Steve sent practically a novel. He was bored and lonely in Hawkins, had a job in a video rental space and was working his way up to going to college. There were several paragraphs asking about the rules of wheelchair basketball followed by several more asking if he’d bought a cowboy hat.

He loved Billy more than he could explain and hoped he could come back soon.

Billy felt asleep with the letter tucked into his pocket and resolved to find Steve again.

One day.

For @shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 and also @oopsiedaisiesbaby for giving me the idea of Texan Billy

[senditcolton]

hiiiiiii my beautiful friend!!! I’m sure I speak for a lot of us when I say that I would love a check in on we’re a bad idea matty—whatever that means for you and where you vision they are now! (request 1 of ???)

- @comphy-and-cozy

Who Are We to Fight the Alchemy?

a/n: i will gladly write anything for this universe because i love it so much and i will happily write anything for you @comphy-and-cozy. if you couldn't tell from the title, a Taylor Swift mashup inspired the final part of this series so it's only fitting that a Taylor Swift mashup inspired this fic.

Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: brother's teammate, references to alcohol consumption, but mostly just pure romantic fluff!!!

Things change.

It was a statement that brought pain and heartache. But it was also a statement that sometimes brought about such joy and happiness. You were thankful to say that in the past year, the latter was more applicable to your life.

The amount of change that you had experienced felt astronomical whenever you sat down and tried to quantify it. In just a few short months, you went from being miserable in Los Angeles, trying to get over a man that broke your heart and left you reeling to being happy back in New York City and coupled with that same man. A man who had changed even more than you could’ve ever imagined.

Matt Martin used to be a bad idea. Last summer, when the two of you reconnected, he was a surprise. Now, you could safely say that he was one of the best things in your life.

It was jarring at first. There was a part of you that was still distrustful, remembering who he used to be: someone who wanted you to himself but never wanted to claim you. But that summer night, he proved how much he had changed and how much he wanted you. Completely. And he had continued to prove it every day afterwards.

That wasn’t to say the transition was easy. There was a lot of bridges to cross: emotionally, physically, metaphorically. It took a while for you to believe that Matt meant what he said and what he did; that it wasn’t all just an overcorrection brought on by guilt or that it wasn’t just another elaborate ploy to get his hooks back into you. But the one thing that convinced you was how patient Matt was. He understood your reservations, took responsibility for how he treated you, and gave you as much space as you needed to process – even if that space was thousands of miles.

You went back to Los Angeles. Mostly for realistic reasons, like your job and your lease. But you would be lying if you didn’t think of it as a test for Matt; to see if he would wait for you, to see if he still wanted you.

And he did, in every single way.

That was enough for you to take the final leap, move back to New York, and fully commit to being his, the way he was ready to commit to being yours.

That was six months ago. Now, you were Matt Martin’s girl.

It was a massive mind-blowing change, one that you never expected. You had wished for it when you were younger, the massive crush you had on your brother’s teammate making you a fool. You desired it that winter you went to a bar with your brother and ended up leaving with Matt. You craved it every moment, during the stretch of hookups and illicit meetings after charity galas and nights out and engagement parties. You resigned that fantasy when you left for Los Angeles. You tried to banish the dream from your mind while you were underneath California’s sun.

But when you saw him again at Scotty and Emily’s wedding, the fantasy of being his resurfaced. Only this time, it wasn’t just something that you wanted. Matt wanted it just as much, if not more. And now, it was no longer a dream. It was your reality.

You were his. He was yours. Something that everyone in your life knew.

You had told your brother Scotty and sister-in-law Emily shortly after the two of you became ‘official’ and were happily surprised when they seemed okay with it. You were sure that their reaction would’ve been much different if they knew the entire timeline of your relationship with Matt Martin (something you were unsure if you would ever tell them). Your friends from college knew, although they were more skeptical, having known part of the tryst you and Matt had shared. Eventually, the news spread to the whole of the New York Islanders, as well as their wives and girlfriends, who welcomed you into a whole new world, one that you never experienced when you were just Scotty’s sister.

But the person that knew before anyone else did was Mat Barzal; the person who knew the entire history of you and Matt Martin and the only person who had one foot in each of your worlds. He was the most supportive of the change, a fact that was slightly surprising but not at all that shocking when you thought about it. You even sometimes thanked him, for giving you both the necessary push that allowed you to reconnect.

While everyone in you and Matt’s personal circles knew, you hadn’t – quote unquote – gone public with your relationship. The gossip blogs had deduced that Matt Martin may have been taken off the market but there was nothing confirmed by you or Matt or anyone else. Whenever you went to Islanders games or appeared in pictures with the other WAGs, you were still known as Scotty’s sister. There was never an implication that you were something more.

And when the New York Islanders had clinched their spot in the playoffs and the discussion of the ever-important WAG jacket began, you told Matt and the girls that you weren’t going to wear his last name on your back; a boundary that Matt respected and the girls playfully ignored. Something that you realized when you were invited to the ‘jacket reveal’ party (out of principle, of course) and had a large package placed on your lap.

In the moment, you were a little annoyed at them for ignoring your wishes, even though you knew that they did it with the best intentions. But now, in the friends and family box at UBS Arena, the jacket wrapped around your frame and your hands clasped in Lyla and Emily’s, you were happy that they did.

It was game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals after all. And the New York Islanders were less than five minutes and one goal away from reaching the peak of the mountain.

Your gaze is glued to the ice, your knuckles turning almost as white as the surface that the Islanders and the Jets were zipping across. You felt as if your breathing stopped every time Winnipeg entered the zone, also vying for that single goal that would bring the Cup to Canada instead. You flinch as Mark Scheifele took a shot at the net, your muscles only slightly relaxing when Ilya made the save. The Jets manage to secure the puck and throw it to back to the point where Josh Morrisey waits. Morrisey attempts to pass to his teammate Vilardi, but a miscommunication causes the puck to bounce off his skate instead.

The black disc sits in the expanse ice until someone scoops it up. And you can’t stop the screams of his name that escape your mouth as Matt Martin skates down the ice, his focus on the net in front of him, a Vezina trophy winning goalie between him and the deciding goal.

The puck flies off his stick and you swear you can feel the entirety of UBS Arena holding its breath. Until the rising shot sails by Connor Hellebuyck’s blocker and hits the netting. Then the arena seems to explode.

The goal horn coupled with the cheers from seventeen thousand people is deafening. However, it all seems like background noise to the way you’re screaming, your pure excitement not even muffled by the pile of bodies that rush over to hug you. You swear you can feel tears in your eyes as the girls pull away, your gaze connecting with the giant screen hanging over the ice as you watch Matt skate by the benches, receiving aggressively excited fist bumps and helmet pats from his teammates.

The reality that there was still two minutes left in the game washes over everyone quickly, the seasoned fans realizing that while things change quickly in life, they can change even quicker in hockey. But as the clock counts down, the nervous energy slowly transforming into that of pure excitement, your eyes scan the arena to find the number 17.

You see him on the bench, his body almost draped over the side as the Islanders hold the puck against the boards, the seconds dwindling down.

Three. Two. One.

The sound of the final buzzer almost makes your knees drop out from under you, your body wanting to collapse in pure relief. You don’t have the opportunity to because before you can blink, Lyla is gripping your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy.

“They fucking did it!!!” she screams in your face and you can do nothing except pull her into a bear-hug as the excitement from the girls, the fans, the players, the coaches, everyone fills the arena. Your eyes flick up to the Jumbotron to see the mass of blue jerseys surrounding the net as the team embraces.

You watch content as the traditionally handshake line happens, your eyes forever glued to Matt as he skates around, occasionally being pummeled with hugs and cheers befitting the game-winning goal scorer. The Conn Smythe trophy is brought out and you hug Lyla tight, cheering almost as loudly as she did when Mathew is announced as the winner.

When the Stanley Cup is brought out, you think it’s a miracle that you can even hear the commissioner over the sound of cheering – a noise that only becomes louder when Anders lifts the trophy over his head.

The girls slowly start filtering out, bustling to get down to the ice but you wait until Matt gets the Cup handed off to him, not wanting to miss the moment he holds the greatest trophy in all of sports for the first time. If you thought there were tears in your eyes when he scored or when the final buzzer went off, there was no denying their presence now as you watch Matt skate around the ice with the silver chalice held proudly over his head.

You feel Emily gently tug at your hand, pulling your attention away from the celebration and pulling you into the hallway and down into the bowels of UBS Arena. The ice is almost blinding as you walk out onto it, your arm linked in Lyla’s. She quickly abandons you when she spies Barzy, running towards him and enveloping him in a massive loving embrace, leaving you to catch up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Conn Smythe winner,” you tease as you walk up to him, his arm securely wrapped around Lyla’s waist. His grin is wide as he pulls you into a hug. “Congrats Barzy. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he mutters to you, letting you go as you step back. You watch his eyes glance over your frame, registering the material wrapped around your torso. “Nice jacket.”

You laugh, the joy in your eyes reflected in his – your insanely supportive best friend.

“Have you seen him yet?” Mat asks, his question causing your eyes to dart around the arena.

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’s getting interviewed or something. I’ll just congratulate Scotty while I wait.”

“Does he know? About this?” he says, gesturing to your body. You reply with a playful shake of your head and Barzy whistles. “This will surely be a night he’ll remember forever.”

You giggle, Mat’s statement not even close to an exaggeration, even without the innuendo that one could easily attach. You give him a quick wave as you wander away, taking a moment to spy Emily standing next to Scotty and your parents. You run up to him, head butting him in the chest in greeting – a ritual that started when you were younger that the two of you continued to this day. Scotty embraces you, smiling as he takes in the moment.

You are laughing with your family when you feel the weight of someone’s gaze attaching to your frame. It is a slow turn of your head until your eyes connect with the ocean blue irises of Matt. You can see his chest rising in heavy breaths, the adrenaline of the moment still buzzing through his body. But the thing that nearly stops your heart is his expression; a mixture of shock and wonder so clearly painted on his face.

You smile, your attention falling completely from your family as you drift away, walking slowly towards him. He coasts up to you and you’re still unsure if his disbelief is related to winning the Cup or to the sight of his last name on your back until he stops in front of you.

“What – ” he begins to say, his hands reaching out to trace down your arms, fingers gliding over the material. His almost hesitance makes you giggle, a smile pulling at his lips in response.

“Surprised?” you laugh, before twirling slowly, the weight of Matt’s gaze raking across your frame undeniable. “It looks good on me, don’t you think?”

The confirmation Matt gives isn’t verbal at first. Instead, he simply lifts you into his arms, your legs instinctively hook around his hips. One of his hands flies into your hair and tugs you forward until your lips press together. The energy and excitement that had been sparking around the arena seems to funnel directly into the kiss. The way your body was buzzing had nothing to do with the glasses of white wine that you had consumed in the past hour and everything to do with the feeling of Matt’s lips against yours.

He finally breaks the kiss and sets you down on the ice, keeping you wrapped in his arms as he stares at you with just as much reverence as he looked at the Stanley Cup.

“You look fucking fantastic,” he mutters and you can’t stop the laugh at the bluntness of his statement.

“I thought I should dress up for you,” you muse, your hand lifting to brush away a few of the sweat-soaked stands of hair from his forehead.

“Glad you did. I think you were my lucky charm.”

“If that’s so, then why didn’t you sweep every series?” you tease, the joke falling from your lips.

“Because the universe needed to know that you were mine.”

The seriousness of his words has you pausing, your eyes looking into his, seeing the sincerity and relief reflecting in his pupils. You realized the gravity of the situation. What you were wearing… it wasn’t just a jacket with his last name sewn between your shoulder blades. It was a confirmation to him, to the team, to the fans, to the world that you were his, even after everything that lead the two of you to this moment.

It was a symbol of your commitment, your trust, your love. It was a public declaration that you were his. Completely.

You could never resist the pull of him, even before this moment, and you certainly can’t stop it now as you lean in and press your lips against his again in a kiss that was just as – if not more – passionate as the last.

“I think I’ve been yours long before I put this jacket on,” you whisper to him, your quiet confession clearly heard as Matt pulls you impossibly tighter against his body.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he replies, a remark that he has made a dozen times before and one that you never tired of hearing. You step back, the playful smirk appearing on your lips.

“Even now? After you scored the goal that made you a Stanley Cup champion?”

“There’s absolutely no comparison,” he asserts, lifting your chin to kiss you again.

Things change, that much was true. They morph and transform, get created and destroyed. What you and Matt shared had shifted more than you could possibly imagine. But it had changed for the better. The connection you two shared was the purest form of alchemy; taking something sordid and turning it into pure gold.  

tagging the "we're a bad idea" babes: @texanstarslove @smileysvech @laurenairay @dissonannce @cowboybarzy @cellythefloshie @provokedgoalie @m00nlightdelights @tkachvkmatthew @cixrosie @alwaysclassyeagle @geospatialharmony

[hyvyinjie]

hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

[burstfoot]

Figured I'd make a post outlining Arknights' auxiliary material for those who want to see more of the universe and aren't aware of all that's out there! ANIMATION Arknights Prelude To Dawn (S1) and Perish in Frost (S2, currently airing): [Crunchyroll]

A straight up adapation of the main story, up through Chapter 0 to Chapter 6! It's much more fast-paced than the story, so I wouldn't use it to replace actually reading it, but it's very cool to see some of these scenes in full animation. Lee's Detective Agency: (Youtube)

A mini-series animated in a chibi-style with a comedic tone focused on the adventures of the Kuroblood-illustrated Lee's Detective Agency! Distributed by Crunchyroll globally, but entirely free to watch.

Closure's Secret Files: (Youtube)

A cut-out styled series of shorts hosted by Closure which outlines a lot of the game's basic mechanics!

Holy Knight Light: [Youtube]

A short Youtube OVA focusing around Penguin Logistics delivering a package, celebrating Arknights' first anniversary!

[Upcoming]: Kay's Daily Doodles: (Twitter Annoucement)

Another free youtube mini-series that starts airing December 1st, focused around Ceobe! Here's some additional animations! Each event usually also has a 15 second 2D animated preview of the event, but there's so many of those that I can't list them all. Official Anniversary Event 3D Animations: Lone Trail Where Vernal Winds Will Never Blow Il Siracusano Ideal City Stultifera Navis Invitation To Wine Near Light Dossoles Holiday Under Tides Bonus 3D Animated Shorts: Legend of Chongyue Arknights Special - IL Siracusano Lo Scontro Youtube Shorts: Ch'en and Lin's Watermelon Splitting Game Part 1 Ch'en and Lin's Watermelon Splitting Game Part 2 Amiya's Siracusan Food Guide Part 1 Amiya's Siracusano Food Guide Part 2

Comics, Manga, Manhua

Officially Translated Rhodes Island's Records of Originium: Rhine Lab: (Offical Website)

A canon manhua centered around the circumstances that lead to Silence falling out with Saria and joining Rhodes Island with Ifrit, as well as Ifrit's attempt to save a dying infected stowaway on the landship. Essential reading for understanding the Rhine Lab storyline and characters - read it right after Mansfield! One of the characters, Darya, is mentioned in both Ifrit's module and briefly in Lone Trail.

Rhodes Island's Records of Originium: Blacksteel: (Official Source)

A short story focusing on the lives of the Blacksteel operators aboard the landship. While it often gets overshadowed by the Rhine Lab manga which is bigger in scope, this is a great read especially if you're interested in Franka or Liskarm.

Rhodes Kitchen -TIDBITS-: (Official Source)

An anthology story related to the cuisine that's important to a variety of operators. While it might seem unassuming, the art is gorgeous and it's really well-written. I particularly recommend the Goldenglow (Chapter 4) and Rosa (Chapter 5) chapters.

Unofficially Translated

Arknights Comic Anthology: (Mangadex)

As the title says, a series of non-canon anthology stories regarding the cast of Rhodes' Island! Note that the link provided only has complete translations up to Volume 4 (and Vol. 4 is missing Ch. 7), and most of the chapters avaliable after that point were MTL'd, so I can't vouch for their accuracy. Chapters I'd recommend are: Volume 1: Chapter 12 (focused on Myrrh trying to improve her medicine), Chapter 14 (focused on Saria and Silence trying to put apart their differences to take Ifrit on vacation, afaik the only place where they are directly referred to as her "moms") Volume 2: Chapter 1 (Manticore tries to make friends), Chapter 3 (The LGD gets drunk), Chapter 11 (Texlapp and Mosexu yuribait), Ch. 13 (Magallan tries to find a pet), Chapter 16 (Ethan spies on the interior lives of Rhodes operators) Volume 3: Chapter 6 (Snowsant, Ifrit, Nian and Shaw are forced to make friends), Chapter 7 (Gummy flashes back to Chernobog), Chapter 10 (FEater and Shaw yuribait), Chapter 13 (Blackout on the landship, as well as Ayerscarpe and Leonhardt yaoibait)

Volume 4: Chapter 4 (Thorns tries to make friends with Weedy [this one is my favourite]), Chapter 6 (Tomimi tail spankings), Chapter 9 (Elysium helps Frostleaf get along with Dur-Nar) Volume 6: Ch. 1 (Whisperain opens up to others) [this one isn't MTL'd afaik]

123 Rhodes Island: (Mangadex)

A series of non-canon gag 4komas! Many of the games' offical stickers are done in this series' art style.

Arknights: Operators!: (Mangadex)

A compilation of 4komas posted on the official ArknightsJP twitter account! Thank you to @sleepywoodscans for their work on translating these, please show them some love!!

[Edit: For clarities sake, the only stuff here that has used MTL is later chapters of the Comic Anthology! Sleepywoodscans’ work on Operators! is all done by hand (they’re a native Japanese speaker). Again, I really appreciate their work!]

Arknights: A1 Operations Preparation Detachment: (Mangadex)

Part of the Terra Historicus website and not yet officially translated, focusing on Fang, Kroos and Beagle, and a catastrophe striking the Columbian city of Tkaronto. Unfortunately, only translated up to Chapter 6, but one of the characters (Elba) has a brief cameo in Light Sparks in Darkness! Edit: Chapter 7 has been translated by @pooce-art, and they're working on Chapter 8!

Angelina: Sketches of THIS Messenger's Journey: (Mangadex)

Also published as part of the Terra Historicus website and not yet officially translated, focuses on the adventures of Angelina travelling across Terra as a Messenger! Recent chapters relate to the upcoming Sami event & IS4, as well as the upcoming So Long, Adele.

Prelude Suite: Unrestrained Play: (Wiki)

Unfortunately, I can't find a full translation for this one - an epilogue to Hortus De Esscapismo focusing on Arturia's background. Of course, major spoilers for Hortus apply - if you can find a full translation yourself.

As well, an upcoming manhua focused on the Break the Ice cast was annouced during the 4.5 Anniversary stream. As far as I'm aware, chapters have not begun releasing yet!

Other:

Arknights Ambience Synesthesia: (Youtube)

A series of concerts (3 so far), focusing around Arknights' music! A live performance has been done every year, with skins released in-game for the concert's theme & 3D animations produced featuring the skin's cast in 2022 and 2023.

Monster Siren Records: (Spotify) (Official Website)

Arknights' official (and-in-universe) record label publishing game OSTs, themes for almost every 6 star operator that releases, and occasional bonus songs.

Arknights: Endfield: (Twitter)

An upcoming 3D action gacha game from Hypergryph, set in the far future of Arknights' universe on another planet. Currently in closed beta testing for their CN servers!

Arknights: Nomad City: The Founders: (Youtube)

A to-be-released CN Arknights board game! Unclear of if it will ever be translated or released globally, unfortunately...

Terra: A Journey: (Wiki)

An upcoming CN lore book focused on the intricate details of Terra's worldbuilding. As well, unclear if it will be translated or released globally.

UNOFFICIAL:

Some fandom-developed tools that might be of use to you are the Arknights Terra Wiki - which just transferred from FANDOM to wiki.gg, and has very detailed information on both game mechanics and world-lore.

As well, the Arknights Story Reader can help you catch up on stuff you don't want to or can't read in game!

Finally, Aceship's Toolbox provides access to a variety of tools, including a levelling calculator, a calculator to ensure the best recruitments, and all the CGs, backgrounds and character sprites that are avaliable in-game.

Conclusion:

Thank you for reading! I hope this provided some new information to you or at least provides an easy reference resource in the future. There's a lot to check out even outside of the game, and I hope you find some stuff you enjoy!

[pachimation]

an 8 page comic about childe visiting scaramouche after the sumeru archon quest

[amphorographia]

Something interesting about Pathologic that I don't see people talk about very often is the fact that technically none of the protagonists are doctors and, of the three, it's actually Artemy that's the closest to a real physician.

The fact that Daniil is specifically referred to as a "Bachelor" of medicine is something that was always sort of confusing to me but is actually extremely telling when put together with all the other details we get about him.

There's an excellent video essay about Daniil's character by Horror Game Analysis which goes into more detail about this [x], but he points out two things about thanatology that I think are really significant:

It was first conceptualised as a field of study in 1903 by Ilya Mechnikov, a Russian-Ukranian immunologist and microbiologist, who felt that there was not enough known about the phenomenon of death itself; and

Thanatology straddles the line between the humanities and the sciences because it's investigations grapple with the physical, psychological, socio-cultural, philosophical, and spiritual elements of death

With all that in mind and Pathologic's ambiguous time period, Daniil could very much be read as the in-game world's equivalent of Mechnikov. Despite his (sort of) alignment with the philosophically-minded Kains, Daniil is consistently shown to be very much focused on the physical components of death. He came to the town hoping that "[Simon's] tissues will help [him] defeat death." Rubin, Artemy, Victor (and Lara, Yulia, Aspity, Anna, and Clara) all need him to collect and examine blood samples for evidence of the disease. Once the plague begins, his focus in on the creation of a vaccine - a tool for immunisation - instead of a cure.

All of the evidence points to Daniil, at his core, being a microbiologist and researcher. His medical knowledge, while far above average, is highly specialised and doesn't indicate that he has any practical experience as a physician. He's not a doctor, he's a bachelor of medicine using his theoretical and academic expertise to fight an impossible disease in the only way he knows.

Now, Artemy does have some practical knowledge. Isidor taught him about the traditional medicine of the town while he was growing up before sending him to "study modern medicine in the academy" when he was 16. However, in his opening description, all we are told is that Artemy is returning from several years of "travelling from town to town learning theoretical and pratical surgery." In Pathologic Classic, Artemy is canonically 26 years old so if he spent 6-7 years travelling, his formal medical education was likely either short or incomplete. Not to mention that the emphasis on Artemy as a surgeon and menkhu (much like Daniil as a bachelor and thanatologist) implies a very specialised area of expertise which, although closely related to practical medicine, is not the same thing.

This is reinforced in a number of ways. For example, while there are multiple dialogue options which let you dismiss the town's local medical practices, they appear mostly (or only) in conversations with outsiders - responding to Daniil's admission of underestimating the value of "steppe medical knowledge" with "there's nothing medical in their knowledge" and telling Block that he has "an education in the civilized world and ha[s] forgotten two thirds of the specific local practices." Ultimately, Artemy is more consistently aligned with the Kin's more bodily approach to medicine. That distinction between Kin and Town is important, since the traditional medicines Artemy makes are not valued or trusted by townspeople and the kin refuse almost all of the modern medicine (specifically antibiotics) sold in the town.

He also seems to be either unfamiliar or seriously out of practice with the more formal language of science and medicine a university-educated physician should know. At several points, Artemy is shown to be dependent on Daniil's medical knowledge, and various members of the town poke fun at him for asking clarifying questions - Boy: "You graduated from a university and this is your question…?" Rubin: "I thought you were [away] studying." Artemy's story is about trying to fill his father's role and, while he succeeds in becoming a menkhu, his position as the town's doctor is less clearly defined even after the plague. While he begins the game with the most practical experience of the three protagonists, the fact that he's not qualified to be a physician but has to act as one is what drives his story forward.

I won't go into Clara since it's obvious she's not a doctor. If anything, she's more like a personification of a cure for this one specific disease (just like her 'twin' is the plague). She couldn't reset a bone or diognose the flu any more than she could synthesise antibiotics or distinguish between bacteria in a blood sample. Still, she's an interesting comparison point and does serve to remind the player that the protagonists don't really represent different approaches to medicine, but different approaches to healing.

The Bachelor is the modern healer of formal scientific practices who sees healing as the result of understanding the body, disease, and their interactions.

The Haruspex is the traditional healer with the spiritual or ancestral right to protected knowledge and practices who sees healing as a reflection of cultural duty, customs, and community.

The Changeling is the divine healer chosen by a Deity (or Deities) to carry out their will on earth who sees healing as an act of religious faith and demonstration of the existence and power of God(s).

[chemdisaster]

IT'S DONE

5 Times Scar Couldn't Speak + 1 Time He Didn't Have To

based on this

@stiffyck @jos-has-too-many-hobbies - people who asked to be tagged

[buckera]

Wip Word Search 🔍

rules: use this generator to generate three random words (or however many you'd like to do) and share the lines where they show up in your WIPs

my words: affect, great, opposed

1. affect from the mudslide fic ☔️

He watched as Eddie got up from the couch, carefully depositing Christopher’s legs from his lap before turning back to him and planting a soft kiss onto the top of his soft curls. He was getting too old for these kinds of affections when awake and — as much as he couldn’t wait to see Christopher become his own, independent person — Buck desperately wanted to halt time. It wasn’t a fair thing to think; Chris wasn’t exactly his kid to begin with and regardless of what Eddie’s will said would happen after his death, Buck's place in their lives wasn’t set in stone, so he savored every tiny moment he could. Somewhere along the last handful of years, Eddie and Christopher became Family, with a capital F. Buck loved Chris like he was his own and his feelings for Eddie were clear as day — only if not for the man himself. It was better that way, Buck reasoned. He probably wouldn’t let Buck hang around all the time, if he’d have known. Eddie probably didn’t think of them that way anyway. Buck ran his fingers through the curly hair tickling his cheek and pulled the kid’s small frame just a fraction closer, relishing in the moment of stillness.

2. great from the jealous eddie fic 🧇

“So uh t-tell me about yourself, you know, hobbies, pets, family, whatever.” “That’s pretty broad.” Jason chuckled and Buck felt his cheeks heat up immediately. Wow, he really hasn’t been on a proper date in such a long time that apparently he lost the ability to make conversation. Great. “Sorry I—” “Relax, Buck. It’s alright.” His shoulders sagged a little at that. “I guess cycling is a hobby, right? I’m not allowed pets at my place and uh… Two sisters, parents live in Nevada.” “Uh great, that- that’s great! I have a sister too, my parents live in Pennsylvania though.” Jason assessed his face for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair with a small sigh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem much more nervous than before. Is everything alright?” “Uh yeah— yeah, I’m fine, just…” Buck sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Eddie, my uh my partner at the 118, he’s been acting kinda weird about us going out. I just… I don’t know, I guess I got a little into my head about it.” A disapproving frown tugged at the patch of skin between Jason’s eyebrows for a moment, before it disappeared with a sigh. “So he’s one of those guys then.” Buck knew what he meant instantly; the type of guys who were just too macho not to feel threatened by even the mere mention of two men dating. Of course, it couldn’t have been further from the truth —  and Buck was quick to make that clear. “N-no, not at all! He’s a good guy, great actually. He’s my best friend.”

3. opposed from the breeding kink fic 🛏️

“You might be right,” he breathed, leaning over Buck and slipping his hands under his thighs for more leverage, “maybe we should just stay here like this forever.” Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment when he bottomed out again. It wasn’t a plausible or in any way realistic idea, really, but Eddie found that he still wasn’t opposed to the fantasy of it. Especially not when Buck’s warmth enveloped him so perfectly, while he got to watch his chest rise and fall quicker and quicker, listen to his quiet whines and grunts as Eddie sped up his movements until he hit a steady rhythm and smell as fresh sweat broke through the lingering scent of their shared body wash; tea tree and mint. His hair was still damp from their shower and that was one thing they didn’t share; the shampoo — and god, Eddie was grateful that it never became something that he’d lose on the account of getting used to smelling it on himself, so now he could let the fruity and fresh scent of green apple, and something that uniquely belonged to Buck wash over his senses.

tags under the cut 💛

I was tagged by @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @fortheloveofbuddie and @wikiangela thank youuu 💛

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @eddiebabygirldiaz @nmcggg @thewolvesof1998 @ladydorian05

[scalira]

I'm somewhere outside my life, babe

“Nancy,” Murray says once he’s reached her. He looks even more disheveled than he did a moment ago. “The mice… asked me to give you a message.”

Nancy looks at him, then looks over her shoulder to Robin. Robin looks as confused as Nancy feels.

“The… the jumping mice?” Robin asks.

Murray doesn’t even look at Robin as he continues, “They’re saying… don’t go through the little door. Does that make sense to you?”

[carelessflower]

The flowers, albeit powerful, were abundant in their clan, as long as foxes proved themselves to Heart of Alicante Tree, their flower would bloom, ready to pick. Foxes must prove themselves, by using the power their clan had prided themselves on for thousands of years - successfully seducing and making at least two people fight over them.

Alec rested his head on the table, suddenly tired.

Of course he would struggle at something most foxes pulled through with ease.

Prompt: fighting for @animalecfest

Read one smile, a kingdom fall on AO3

tag list:  @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @ukisteria  @wildesummerchild @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43 @khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart  @raziyekroos  @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood @andrwminward @noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks​ @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible @letsgofortacos​ @kita-no @mxtthew-fxirchild-apologist  @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @pocketoffeels @cityofdownwardspirals @stupidfuckindinosaur @i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag

[whelmed-justwhelmed]

Thoughts about Vincent Valentine and some of his struggles

Some miscellaneous notes before the actual substance of this post.

Loosely inspired by / based on this post, might suggest reading it before my own for a better understanding of the perspectives of the ideas in this post, though not strictly necessary as I think it’s still comprehensible without doing so. This post was made to my understanding + my current interpretation + what I can remember of things at the moment. Anyways here’s my maybe somewhat rambling thoughts, this is what I’ve got thus far. ( @sephirthoughts ask and you shall receive.)

After seeing and being inspired by the previously mentioned post I got to thinking about what I felt to be an interesting character development opportunity for Vincent. The basic premise being how Vincent’s situation, mostly in relation to himself and some of the things that have happened to him in the past, could potentially improve if he could at least start to reconcile his views of things compared to the objective realities. I feel like a step like this could help him to have a healthier perspective and at least somewhat improve his general quality of life.

Now it’s known how feelings such as guilt and regret among other such ones weigh heavily on him, of which a significant amount stem from his time as a bodyguard for the scientists of shinra manor. Although I do acknowledge these things aren’t the only ones that weigh on him and that my proposal of reconciliation is not the only thing that could be done to help his situation, much of his suffering specifically does seem to directly or indirectly stem from that time, his perspective of it, and of how it all relates to him. So with that perspective in mind, I think it’s a good place to start (at least for this hypothetical Vincent character development scenario).

Vincent is the sort where I want to (respectfully) gently grab him by the shoulders and shake a bit going, “It’s not your fault, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your responsibility, you did about as much as you could for the situation, It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.” Sadly though it seems (at least to me I feel) he’s generally not at a point where such a message would really get through to him in any meaningful or lasting way, so then that led me to wonder, what sorts of things might get him to that point? And what would the process look like?

I feel like he would probably need some sort of external prompting to actually properly start the process and that said process would be a gradual one. Not entirety sure how the prompting would start and be sustained though. Perhaps for example as something to start with, something like the moment in the lament of the damned side quest in rebirth where there’s brief vague discussion of the manor scientists and Barrett expresses how he thinks Lucrecia must not have been all that much better than Hojo causing Vincent to get defensive about her. A gradual process of stuff that challenges him like others questioning things and being faced with tangible evidence of the past, something that challenges him and he actually starts to stop and more seriously consider that perspective.

Here’s where the basic premise as previously mentioned really comes in. I feel Vincent’s situation could potentially improve if he could start to reconcile his perspective and feelings regarding what happened then and the objective reality of it. Challenges and consideration could lead to some acknowledgment that those two perspectives can coexist with each other, that he doesn’t have to choose one over the other.

In regards to Lucrecia, while not always exactly the most pleasant way to think of her, he can still feel fondly towards her and her memory while also thinking a bit more critically about how her actions and the choices she’s made have had serious and more often than not harmful consequences, especially about the harm done to him directly or indirectly. He could still care about her, albeit a likely less idealized version of her, and hold her a bit more accountable for the harm she’s caused. In regards to Vincent himself, it could significantly improve his overall view of himself and perhaps by extension general quality of life. Potential benefits being things like generally improving his mental state, the more specific parts of that could be things like better self worth, less self loathing, at least a bit of self forgiveness, generally starting to be able to take some of the blame off of himself. As such it could help him start to recognize he’s largely not responsible or at fault for what happened (and that he was a victim of the circumstances at that point more than anything?). It could help facilitate him being able to cope with it all a bit better, perhaps even heal the mental / emotional wounds a bit.

All that said, I highly doubt all this would be easy for him to do, I think he’s going to have to struggle for it. Like I’ve said, I think it would be a slow and gradual process that challenges him to think more critically and change his perspective to eventually at least start to understand that he’s not the one in the wrong, such a process would take time and effort. It would also involve a lot of difficult emotions, what emotions, in what context, and how they come up, I don’t really have as much of an answer for at the moment as I feel it depends on how one would imagine the reconciliation process and things as a whole would play out. I’m not necessarily saying I want to see him break down or something like that per se, but I would like for him to have proper opportunities to be more openly emotional about it all. For him to have chances to be vulnerable and be treated with care in return. (And if that means having him break down then by all means let him break down.)

I do want to say that I don’t expect such a process to solve everything with him or that I would expect him to stop being upset about all that’s happened or otherwise take away what makes his story his (etc.), just that ultimately the idea is all about getting him to a point of having a bit more of a balance of his feelings and viewpoint. Bittersweet, but hopeful.

Hypothetically, if I were to try and place the idea where I think it could work well game timeline wise, I would place it around Dirge of Cerberus and / or post Dirge. I think it would go well then for the subject matter being covered, could work well thematically, and for potential opportunities for him to actually have the time and space to think and process (etc.). (Admittedly I think that putting it sometime around DoC is the obvious answer and that it could work at other points in time as well if it was done thoughtfully.)

I think that’s about all I have on this right now.

[toy-pigeon]

MY DESMOND FIC . IS FINALLY FINISHED.

there will be accompanying sketches tomorrow once people have had time to read it. but for the time being have a couple memes under the cut

[devilsrecreation]

The Death of Piga

The view was gorgeous. Nothing like Kiburi had ever seen. The water shimmered in the sunlight, only adding to the luscious green trees and rolling hills. He closed his eyes as he felt the wind brush against his snout. He opened his eyes, grinning.

“Wow….”

“You like it?”

The hatchling looked up at the burly crocodile next to him. He was dark-skinned with dark brown eyes and was covered in battle scars, the most notable one being inches away from his left eye. His face remained unchanged since they both left Lake Matope. That was his father, alright. He always had the same sort of annoyed face. Kiburi didn’t really understand why he wasn’t impressed. But he didn’t care at the moment.

“How’d you even find this place?”

The older crocodile, Piga, gave a little smirk. “Your mother brought me here on our first date. Said it was her favorite place to swim. So, that’s what we did.” he sighed somberly. “She was so graceful in the water.”

Kiburi didn’t remember much about his mother due to how young he was when she passed, but what he did know was that his father always got lost in his own thoughts whenever he talked about her. As unreadable as his expression was, he seemed almost sad and he hated it. He nudged Piga’s leg with his snout.

“Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to show emotion.” he half-joked. “Especially not during a fight.”

It was impossible for Piga not to smile at those words. Words his own father said to him which he had passed down to Kiburi. Only his son could cheer him up like that. He was a gifted boy for sure, unlike his other siblings. He could see right through him and manage to crack a grin on his face, no matter what. He gave Kiburi a single nod.

“Uh-huh. And you know why?”

“Cuz we’re crocodiles! We don’t let emotions get in the way!”

“That’s right.”

“And if we do, then we can’t do this!”

Kiburi lunged forward, biting a spot on his father’s tail. Piga lifted it, making Kiburi lose his grip. He let out an amused scoff.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” Piga playfully challenged as he stepped into the water. “Let’s see if you can give your old man a new battle scar.”

“Bring it on.”

Kiburi swung his tail at Piga, causing the older crocodile to let out a playful “oof!”. He retaliated with a snap of his jaws, barely missing the tip of his son’s tail. Kiburi pounced, clawing Piga’s jaw and standing over him. He chuckled smugly before glancing up at the shadow looming over them. His face fell.

Piga frowned upon seeing the younger crocodile become distracted. He rolled his eyes, getting up.

“What did I say about letting your guard down?”

Kiburi’s eyes locked with his father’s. “Sorry, I—it—there—uh-”

“Come on boy, spit it out.”

“Look.”

Piga turned around to see a ginormous bull hippo towering above him. A long scar ran diagonally across his snout, just below his beady red eyes. His long, grotesquely yellow teeth formed an evil, almost psychotic scowl. He snorted.

“What’re you doing here, crocodile?”

His voice was deep and raspy, enough to send a shiver down Kiburi’s spine. His father, however, kept his signature neutral expression.

“Kiburi,” Piga said without taking his eyes off of the hippo. “Stay behind me.”

Kiburi obeyed as his father continued,

“My son and I were spending time together. You want to make something of it?”

“I do.” the hippo replied. “Everyone knows this river is my territory.”

Piga scoffed, “No, it isn’t. You can’t own a river. Rivers are for every animal to drink in the Pridelands.”

“Of course you’d think that. Typical crocodiles. Always disobeying the rules.” the hippo chided.

“We crocodiles live by our own rules,” Piga said matter-of-factly. “And given yours is a stupid ‘rule’, we’re going to ignore it. Aren’t we, son?”

Kiburi smiled, stepping out from behind his father. “Yeah, it’s the crocodile way.”

“Now leave us alone, hippo-”

“The name’s Hatari.”

“Fine. Leave us, Hatari…before one of us gets hurt.”

Hatari got closer to Piga’s face, snorting. “You think I’m gonna let some reptile tell me what to do? You think you get to drive innocent animals out of their territory just because you’re a predator? You crocodiles make me sick. Nothing but big ugly brutes who threaten the circle of life.”

Kiburi stepped forward, glaring. “Hey, no we’re not!”

“Quiet, brat!”

“HEY.” It was Piga’s turn to get in Hatari’s face. “You watch your tone with my son, got it?”

“You crocodiles just love causing problems, don’t you?” Hatari sneered, ignoring the threat. “I’ll give you one more chance. Get. Out.”

“I told you, it’s a public place and we don’t intend to leave.” Piga said, curtly.

“And if you want us to, then you’re gonna have to make us!” Kiburi added.

Kiburi’s brave face quickly turned fearful as the scarred hippo lifted his foot, wearing an evil grin.

“Gladly.”

Kiburi gasped, causing Piga to lunge in front of him and clench his jaws around Hatari’s leg. The pachyderm roared in pain and slammed Piga to the ground in an attempt for him to let go. The crocodile immediately jumped back up, able to latch onto Hatari’s body. His grip unfortunately didn’t last long, as Hatari was able to throw him off with his snout.

Kiburi, who thankfully had rushed out of the water the second his father stepped in, just watched the fight from afar. His eyes focused on Piga as he snapped and clawed his psychotic opponent with all his might. He could count all the fighting techniques his father was using: There was the Tail Whip….and the Leg Chomp….and his father’s favorite, the Super Jump. Kiburi smiled as Piga clenched his jaws on Hatari’s left ear, tearing half of it off and causing another roar of pain from the hippo. That was one of Kiburi’s favorite things about him: his bravery. Bravery beyond what was expected of any crocodile, but that of a honey badger. However, that hippo seemed just as brave and strong as he was. But no, that wasn’t possible. No hippo was stronger than his dad.

Or was there?

Kiburi’s eyes were glued to his father, swimming around and diving to avoid Hatari’s snaps and stomps. Piga was no longer attacking as often, but focusing on his defense…at least that’s what Kiburi saw. It was difficult to tell from this distance and Hatari’s constant splashing, but it seemed as though the older crocodile was almost trying to escape; especially after he watched him being thrown from the tail.

“Come on, Dad,” Kiburi thought aloud, “you can take him.”

As soon as Piga had opened his eyes, he found himself being lifted in the air. He squirmed, only to feel a sharp force digging into his rough skin. He hissed in pain before finding himself thrown back into shallow water. He began to rise back up but was held down by Hatari’s foot. He grunted, locking eyes with Kiburi.

“Kiburi, get the rest of the float!” Piga ordered, struggling to move under the weight. “And make it quick!”

“No! I’m not leaving without you!” Kiburi shot back.

“Don’t worry about me, son! Just go!”

“But-”

“NOW!”

Kiburi nodded as he turned around and made his way back to Lake Matope as fast as he could. He was stopped short when he heard his father’s roar behind him. He glanced back to see Hatari crushing Piga’s back with his foot. His eyes widened.

“NO!”

Kiburi knew that was a bad idea the moment he said it. The hippo’s head shot up, causing him to frantically jump behind the first bush he saw. His heart racing, he stood perfectly still. He no longer knew what exactly was happening with his father nor did he want to. He didn’t dare sneak a peek out of fear that the monster would notice and go after him. A series of crocodile roars and hisses echoed through the air. First it was hissing, then a roar followed by a hard thud. Then another roar immediately after. The cycle kept repeating until it became a pattern. Hiss. Roar. Thud. Roar. Hiss. Roar. Thud. Roar. Hiss. Roar. Thud. Roar. It eventually became too much, as Kiburi squeezed his eyes shut hoping the noises would stop any minute. A roar louder than the previous ones snapped his eyes open.

Then silence.

Hatari held his head up high, scanning what was for sure his territory for any more intruders, particularly the small disgusting little crocodile that accompanied his opponent. The second he’d see that little brat, he would certainly teach him a lesson. Fortunately for him, it was nowhere to be found as far as he knew. Whatever. That thing was as good as dead anyway, so it was good riddance. He gave a single victorious nod and turned around, sinking into the water while mumbling something about how those crocs deserved it.

Kiburi peered his head out of the bush, checking to see if that hippo was still out there. Once he learned the coast was clear, he slowly stepped out.

“Dad?”

No answer.

Kiburi walked towards the river again, eyeing his surroundings.

“You okay, dad?…..Dad?”

Then he saw him. His father was lying motionless on the ground, his upper half on land and his lower half in the water. His body was oozing with blood thanks to several deep wounds caused by Hatari’s sharp teeth. All four of his legs were horribly bent, laying there uselessly. Kiburi gasped.

“Dad!”

Piga slightly lifted his head at the sound of his son’s voice. “Kiburi…”

“Your legs.” was all Kiburi could say at the moment.

“Yeah,” Piga gave half a nod. “that hippo busted me up pretty bad…”

“But you can get up, right?”

Piga sighed in defeat, “I don’t think so, kid…”

“We gotta go get Pua. He’ll know what to do.” Kiburi said, lowering his head down to one of his father’s front legs. “Here, I’ll help you!”

Kiburi then proceeded to grab Piga’s leg and pulled it as hard as he could, attempting to drag the older crocodile out of the water to no avail. Piga didn’t budge, instead looking down at the ground and closing his eyes for a moment.

“Forget it, son.”

Kiburi stopped. “What?”

“It’s no use.” Piga continued, taking in slow shaky breaths. “You’ll have to go on without me. Heh…didn’t think my journey would end so soon.”

Kiburi’s eyes widened. He knew full well what that meant. Granted, death was no stranger to him. He had experienced it as a toddler when his mother passed, then again with other crocodiles for various reasons. But this was different. He wasn’t as close to the others as he was to his father. He was more important than the rest.

He mattered.

“No…” Kiburi kept shaking his head. “No, don’t say that. You’re gonna be okay! You’ve been through worse, right? You’ll live just like you always said so!”

Piga frowned, “Not this time, kid.”

“No!” Kiburi repeated, feeling a lump form in his throat. “You’re gonna make it no matter what! You have to…”

“Kiburi, listen to me.” Piga started, “I know I’ve been tough on you and your siblings, but that was only because I love you. I wanted to push you to be the best version of yourselves, I hope you realize that—Don’t you dare start crying. It won’t do you any good. You gotta be strong, especially in front of your siblings. You’re the oldest, after all. You need to watch over ‘em, you got that?”

Kiburi did his best to keep a brave face, yet his eyes still began to tear up. “Dad, I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.” he bewailed.

Piga gave a weak smile. “You’ll manage. You’re very smart for your age, son. It’s one of the things that makes you better than all the other hatchlings.”

Kiburi smiled tearfully as Piga went on.

“You’ve got so much potential, you just have to live up to it. You keep making me proud, okay?”

“I will, dad.” Kiburi nodded, “I’ll be the best and the strongest and the bravest crocodile in the Pridelands! Just you wait!”

“That’s my boy.”

Piga finally let his head rest on the ground, his eyes closing and his warm, but weak smile fading away. His injuries had finally caught up with him. If it wasn’t the many broken bones in his body preventing him from moving, it was the massive blood loss he had sustained. This was it. He had completed his journey in the Circle of Life.

Kiburi could do nothing but stare at his now deceased paternal figure. The entire ordeal felt like a bad dream, yet it was all too real. The scarred, once a hardcore and stone faced warrior of a reptile was gone. The crocodile whom he respected more than the current leader, Pua. The crocodile whom he cared about the most. His father—his hero was no longer a part of his life. He felt his eyes getting misty again, but quickly blinked. There was no way he would cry in front of his father, not even in death. He had to be brave. He walked up and gently lay his neck over Piga’s head.

“I’ll make you proud. dad. I promise.”

The walk back to Lake Matope seemed much less cheerful alone. Kiburi didn’t even pay attention to the life surrounding him. He no longer cared. He just wanted to go home without anyone to bother him. It wasn’t until a familiar voice snapped him out of his trance-like state.

“Hey, Kiburi! You’re back!”

It was his little sister, Ucheshi. A sweet, light green crocodile with aquamarine eyes whom Kiburi cared about more than anything. Oh heavens, he didn’t even want to think about her reaction to the news. She most likely wouldn’t get over it for years.

“How was your trip? Did you have fun?”

Other young crocodiles in his float followed his sister.

“Where’d you go again?”

“What did you see?”

“What’d you do?”

Kiburi’s best friend, Makuu, grew a concerned look. “Kiburi, are you okay?”

Kiburi could only shake his head in reply, followed by an “mm-mm”.

“That’s enough, kids.”

Pua moved forward in between the little crowd forming around Kiburi. The other crocodiles obediently stepped aside to let their leader through.

“Come now, give him some air.” he turned to Kiburi. “Now Kiburi, tell everyone about your trip to Jua River.”

Kiburi merely looked down. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t want to talk about it’? You seemed so excited when your dad invited you to go.”

The word “dad” only made Kiburi shut his eyes, unable to look at anyone right now. Though he was not the only one with a reaction to the word. Makuu had immediately started looking around. After a moment, he finally spoke,

“Hey….where is your dad?”

Ucheshi perked up, “He-he’s not here?”

“He’s comin’ back with ya, right?” Tamka asked.

“Yeah, is he okay?” Nduli added.

“Kiburi…” Pua said softly, causing Kiburi to look up at his leader, “Where’s your father?”

That did it. Kiburi’s lip formed a deep frown, his legs starting to shake. Tears started to trickle down as a sob escaped from his lips. Before he knew it, he was nuzzled into Pua’s neck as all he could do was weep.

The End

[nazmazh]

I don't think it's a thing, or at least not as pervasive of a thing as previous iterations of it, but it seems like True Crime Podcasts never really got the full Moral Panic(TM) treatment that other dark/lurid media got in their times.

Like comics were put under the yoke of The CCA, which effectively killed the crime (true or otherwise) genre, because it was believed to be a corrupting force.

Rock music, TTRPGs, and video games got an extra dose of Satanic Influence flavour in their panics, without even necessarily being all that lurid anyway, but especially with HUGE variability in tone and style between works in the same medium - Like KISS and others leaned into the "Ah! We're so strange and scary!" vibe. And several rockers intentionally pushed the boundaries of "acceptable" sexuality and expression for the times, sure. And much of the demonization of rock is rooted in racism because it was developed from African-American music styles (with certain genres, where the influence, and popularity with Black people was more obvious, got hit especially hard because of this). But like, the freaking Beatles were seen as potentially "dangerous" and "unwholesome" (the scandal of it all!) even before they leaned fully into New Age and other general weirdness that I could see as being especially off-putting to the kinds of people that go on these moral crusades.

Violence and any sort of sexual expression/depiction in movies and TV was blamed for corrupting the nation, especially the youth - and to some extent still is. Doubly so for video games.

Computers, the internet, and social media are still seen as direct pipelines of filth into vulnerable minds.

Heck, even Novels were seen as a craze that would drive the women and youths towards inappropriate behaviours, back when they first started being published - Too easy to print and distribute (way more possible for people with ill morals to publish material!), too conviently accessible by anyone - Not needing as careful of handling or storage, and much less likely to get damaged being carried around than previous printing methods; they'd distract from duties and anything could be published in those books, and they'd be easy enough to conceal from disapproving guardians due to how compact they could be

But I can't say that I've really seen much, if any real targeting of True Crime Podcasts with these sorts of accusations in any sort of very visible way. Not even from the usual moral crusader suspects (though I'm sure some of them no doubt are out there railing against the podcasts, because that outrage against everything is what sustains certain kinds of fundamentalists), and certainly not in the mainstream media - The most I think I've seen is a few mild, often self-deprecating, jokes, said with genuine fondness, in a few more trope-savvy works here and there.

And that's despite the presence of many of the crusaders' favourite punching bag traits:

- Lurid subject matter

- Often sensationalized presentation

- New form of media

- Easily consumable by the masses

- Incredibly popular, especially paired with a rapid rise in popularity

- Especially popular among women (who, as we know from previous panics, clearly have such delicate sensibilities and fragile, malleable minds that they absolutely, positively cannot be trusted to make their own decisions about media consumption. CLEARLY.).

I would make a note about it definitely being popular with young women, which it is, sure. But honestly, I'm reasonably certain it's not especially more popular with them than with older audiences. The podcast format specifically may not necessarily be the favourite medium for a older potential audience member, especially compared to a younger potential audience member, but there's plenty of people middle aged and older that happily listen to podcasts. However there is an absolute glut of true crime shows on TV, often marketed towards women. The Investigation Discovery spin-off channel is pretty much all true-crime shows and documentaries (with maybe some Based on a True Story- style dramatizations thrown in for good measure). And even though it's not specifically, explicitly a women-focused channel in the same way, say the Hallmark Channel or Lifetime are, much of their shows formatting and much of the marketing material definitely leans toward targeting and retaining women specifically as an audience. I can remember my grandma contentedly watching the channel all day long. And let's not forget the archetypical "Lifetime Movie" is generally taken to mean a True Crime "It Could Happen to You"-cautionary tale-dramatization.

Heck, even the collection of books inherited by grandma when her mother passed away included a large amount of non-fiction books about "Tracking The Murders of [such-and-such] County" and suchlike. So, no, I don't believe the True Crime fascination is exclusively a young person phenomenon. It's been around in some form for quite a while and maintains its appeal across age demographics.

So, what gives, moral crusaders? Where's your campaigns declaring True Crime Podcasts a danger to society? Where's your press tours? Why don't you have politicians taking the floor in meetings/council/congress/etc., to declare this media to be the scourge of the nation and the latest existential threat to Western Society? Won't SOMEBODY think of the children?!?!

I know we as a society aren't all stuck watching the same news/media sources anymore, and in many ways we're not as beholden to the control/influence of the, often (but not exclusively) Evangelical, Christian institutions that used to really push this stuff as an issue to the forefront of public discourse, but I can't believe that they'd've just completely gone away and stopped trying to force everyone else to adhere to their sense of indignation and live under their moral code.

It's almost as though they're not stirring up as much outrage about this because they found something else they think is a bigger problem and/or stands a better chance of catching on with mainstream audiences.

And... oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Well.

Shit.

I started writing this ramble upstairs, watching TV with my parents. They've been watching that "Based on a True Story" show. And that's what got me thinking about the pop-cultural niche True Crime Podcasts have found themselves in, and reactions to them compared to reactions to other forms of media that have discussed/depicted violent crimes and other controversial subject matter in the past and present (See also: Only Murders in The Building).

This was supposed to be an all-"Haha, isn't it kinda silly how things are?" little quip about how "Outrage ain't want it used to be". From my very privileged white dude point of view. But I think I stumbled into something here. Something that I might not even be the best person to talk about. So I won't go too in-depth on subjects I'm very much out of my depth on, but, I do kinda wanna get to my conclusion.

So uh...

Yeah, okay.

The Moral Crusaders are busy with other topics.

They've found bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

They're out there railing against favourable and even neutral depictions of queerness in media, especially children's media.

They're out there railing against social justice, racial equity, historical rectification, truth and reconciliation.

They're out there railing against science and education and instilling earnest curiosity in people.

Against secularization, diversity, and inclusivity.

Against correction of their own misinformation and indoctrination.

They put it all under one banner these days, and rail against it all as though it were a conspiracy to deliberately supplant them.

They're too busy crusading against "Wokeness" - Their idea of what that means, anyway.

I don't think it's the only reason there's not a big crusade against True Crime Podcasts, as I've said above, Christian morality has reduced official and unofficial influence in so-called Western society than it did in times past. And there's much better access to resources for getting different information and opinions on a subject than the people immediately around you and whatever the handful of news channels and papers you have access to tell you. That is to say, sources that require very little effort on one's own part. It's a heck of a lot easier to google something or check wikipedia than it would have been to have to trek down to the library and ask if they have any books or journals or magazine or... any sort of information about a subject.

And it's not like their boogeyman of "wokeness" isn't anything new for them to crusade against. They've always complained about it in some form or another - Who could forget the outrage against children's media back in the day?:

"Is Bugs Bunny gay?" "Is Spongebob gay?" "Is Tinky-Winky gay?"; "This book discusses subjects that should only be talked about between a mother and her daughter! It's disgusting!"; "I couldn't let my kids watch anything with magic in it - That's the devil's work! That's why I don't trust these mainstream educational programs!"

In terms of more outrageous complaints about children's media.

That's not to mention complaints about other media - Those expressly intended for adults. Or complaints about progressive actions taken in society in-general. Some of these have typically appealed only to the most vocal of cranks - The kind of things complaining about depicting characters who do un-Christian things in works, or that students are being taught proper sexual education or that vaccination is mandatory for entry into institutions like public schools.

But there's plenty of complaints that don't garner immediate pushback from less-extreme conservatives or even so-called moderates: "Why is there so much diversity in casting these days? Why can't they just make their own shows?", "Why are they coming after that comedian for telling edgy jokes?", "Why are they pushing this global warming crap down our throats so much anyway?"

In "wokeness", they've found something that seems to not only unite everything under one banner, but resonate more strongly with some people than the old canards of "liberal" or "politically correct". Sure, there's always been people who have said those with the same contempt and venom that they use for the truly heinous things of the world. But in co-opting "woke" from the original meaning among Black people expressing solidarity with each other and encouraging others to to remain aware of the social and political issues that definitely, almost-always negatively, affected their lives, the moral crusaders have found something that strikes a nerve with a large swath of people who might otherwise have not agreed that several of their bugbears actually needed opposing. Now, there's a single enemy ideology that pervades all culture-war issues. It's all connected, you see. Something you thought was harmless? No! You see, that's just how they're going to infiltrate your mind! Your childrens' minds! Don't give them any ground at all!

Awareness of an issue was and still is basically the mildest thing to ask of someone else. As a call to action, "Stay Woke" is a pretty small request.

The crusaders make it out as though it's a battle-cry, a command - A decree that all aspects of all things must adhere to the most progressive, indeed, transgressive views, opinions and approaches on all subjects. That this is upending the previously established status quo just for the sake of upending it. And that this interpretation is the one adopted by all powerful entities in society - Government (especially including the education system), mainstream media, big businesses, etc. And that these entities have oppressive reasons in mind to force those beliefs on society. And that dissent against this woke "nonsense" is the objective truth in a world gone mad! It's an imperative to preserve your way of life!

And, uh. No.

Whatever world they're living in where that's actually happening is quite different from our reality, of course.

Honestly, though? It doesn't need to start out seeming like a big conspiracy - Even asking for honest awareness, in good faith, might be enough to infuriate non-crusaders. People don't often voluntarily to entertain the notion that things they do, things they've done, and things done in their name by others, that they continue to benefit from, are indeed "bad" actions.

Because that now feels like a personal attack against them. They're bad people for not pushing back against this. They must be considered complicit. How dare you think that of me!?!

And then, then the crusader-types just need to introduce the notion that this consideration being "demanded" of this otherwise passive group is the result of a slippery slope of this entire progressive, questioning mindset. Acknowledging any part of it means accepting all of the crusaders' hyperbolic claims about what that ideology actually means.

Through the magic of "Wokeness", it's all connected - It's all out to get you.

Where does it end? Didn't you see how they treated that one guy? Surely, he's no monster. If they can go after him for something so harmless, what's stopping them from coming after you next, for something that's probably even more innocuous?

Moral crusaders know the value of a good persecution complex.

It's not just asking you to be aware of how your presence in the world affects it. It's targeting you. Right?! That's surely the point of this is to find a guilty party and punish them! They're going to make you take the fall for this and directly suffer the punishment for it! You can't let that happen!

It's not even as explicit of a line of reasoning as this.

But either way, the moral panic is spreading and the crusaders are getting a bunch more people loudly on-board with their crusade.

They're banning books and calling for show cancellations under the whole banner of "woke ideology".

They're getting their press tours. Speaking with friendly talking-heads to puff themselves up, then going on with people unwilling to challenge their claims in the interest of fairness - And even if the commentators do push back, the crusaders will spin it as "the woke mainstream media trying to suppress our beliefs" and use that as a recruiting tool.

They're getting their politicians going on rants in city council meetings. During campaign rallies. In congressional/legislative sessions. In published opinion pieces.

In judicial rulings.

In enacted legislation.

The crusade continues. In many ways, it's as pervasive and successful as it's ever been.

It's not True Crime Podcasts that have been the subject of a moral panic this time around.

They must not be "woke" enough to bother with.

[youngpettyqueen]

ok I need to get into bed I was hoping to fill out the other prompts I got but they will have to wait until tomorrow! stay tuned...