#we are no longer part of each other's lives

[yuwuta]

YOU AND I TOGETHER, WON’T YOU HOLD ON TO ME — YUUTA OKKOTSU

cw mentions of children, pregnancy. so much of yuuta being happy and sappy :(( sorry i haven’t shutup about my little depressed lovesick boy making it out and living a full life. probably won’t anytime soon actually. satoru is alive and well in all my renditions of happily ever after and that won’t change either i fear  

Yuuta talks about the future often. A future with you, and him, and your friends, and a family where you’re all together forever and he gets to love you until the end of time. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t realize what he’s doing—dreaming about forever with you; but you can never find it in your heart to break his illusion. The boy who used to dread his next waking moment is dreaming and dreaming and dreaming, and making all of yours come true. 

It’s quiet in this part of the Gojo compound. The gentle sounds of a stream running through the garden, and chirping of birds are the only noises that disrupt your daydreams. 

Or, perhaps, fuel them. 

“I hope our kids aren’t afraid of birds,” Yuuta muses, wide eyes looking past your face up to the tall trees, full of happily singing bluebirds, “There’s so many of them here.” 

You’re gentle when you stroke his hair, taking advantage of his head in your lap to pull the longer pieces out of his eyes. 

Your smile is giddy, unfiltered. “Kids? Plural?” 

Yuuta hums with smile. His eyes remain on the sky, chasing a pair of birds that flitter between long branches. 

“Yeah. At least two, so they don’t get lonely,” he says, “They’ll have us, and their cousins, and sensei, and our friends, but they’re going to need each other at home.”

Yuuta lets his eyes fall to you at the end of his sentence, a sparkling smile on his scarred lips. 

“I see,” you smile, “At least two so they can be friends.” 

“Best friends,” he revises your statement, “So they can train together, too, if they want to be sorcerers. Or not. It’s fine, either way.” He blinks, eyes warm, “I hear that four is the happy medium for a family, but I think three is going to be easier inheritance wise, if sensei is serious about making me clan head someday.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, but if a fourth comes along, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” 

“I’m sure sensei will have made more than enough money for them by then.” 

Yuuta giggles, earnestly in your arms at that. “Of course he will.” 

You pause for a moment, committing his laugh to memory. His features flush slightly under your gaze, and you lean down to kiss his scarred forehead. You let your hands resume petting his hair, following in his gaze to look up at the birds. 

“Tell me more about them.” 

Yuuta doesn’t waste a moment, closing his eyes; letting you paint the picture in the sky for yourself as he talks. 

“The gap between the oldest and youngest is six or seven years. I think five might be enough, though. So, that means our middle one is about three when our littlest comes along.” 

“Unless a fourth happens.” 

Yuuta hums in agreement. “Unless a fourth happens. But we’ll have time.” 

You’ll have time, you nod. You have time now, you and him; all the time in the world. 

“A three year old and newborn sounds like a lot of work.” 

“Maybe. But we’ll also have a seven year old. He’s going to want to help with the baby, so we’ll have an extra hand,” Yuuta says, “And that’s not even counting sensei and the rest.” 

“He?”

“I think he’ll be a boy, the oldest. He might look like me, but he’ll act like you, so he’s going to be Kugisaki’s favorite.”

You find yourself choking out a genuine cackle at that. When you look down, Yuuta’s got a smile wider than yours. 

“He sounds wonderful. Like his father,” you confess, “But the idea of pregnancy thrice in a seven year span sounds exhausting.” 

“We can use surrogates. Or adopt. Or whatever,” Yuuta tells you, “Gojo-sensei will help us figure it out if we need help.” 

You have no doubt about that. And now, when you look back up to the sky, you can see vignettes of Gojo-sensei with your your seven year old on his shoulders, your middle child on his hip, and the baby gnawing at his legs. 

And then Yuuji is skipping into the scene, cooing at the youngest, picking him up and consoling him effortlessly. He carries the baby over to a crib with another crying newborn that looks eerily like Megumi, whose green eyes go wide at the stranger, then smile gummy as both babies reach for each other. 

Maki is there too, tapping your eldest on the shoulder with her staff and pretending not to have done it. Nobara holds up a shirt to the middle child, brassy in questioning Gojo why she told her that the baby would fit in this size that’s obviously too big, meanwhile the toddler ignores them both, fascinated with the marks on Toge’s cheeks as he plays peek-a-boo. 

It’s not hard to imagine. The scenes in your head aren’t wild fantasies or unattainable dreams—not anymore. 

“You want a big family.” 

Yuuta nods, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from his hair, and to his lips. “We have the resources for it now. Not just financially—we have time, and lots of friends, and lots of love.” 

Yuuta presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and you smile. He’s right, there’s more than enough love to go around. 

[mazamba]

Alpha Trion nodded, "Miss Sumdac, if you could-?"

"Why should we care about them?" Sentinel interrupted, "Don't play dumb. We all know that's why you're here. Optimus has always had a soft spot for organics. Organics that live mere decades with civilizations that barely last millennia. Even without the 'Cons, how long do you expect them to last?"

"Oh, not long," she replied, getting a shocked look from her friends, "I would say the Galactic Republic will collapse within ten thousand stellar-cycles or so. Then the next one will have to retro-engineer hyperspace travel, droids, and the like from whatever's left.

"And I know this will happen because it's happened before. This is the fifth Galactic Republic, but each collapse has destroyed so much of their history that they only know about the last two."

Alpha Trion and the other Autobots had visibly deflated during her speech. They hadn't expect her to be that honest.

For his part, Sentinel looked like the cat that ate the canary.

"Thank you for your honesty. I'm sure we can now-."

"That said," she interrupted, "a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.

"The Jedi and the Sith are the latest in a long line of Force-wielder factions, just like the Autobots and Decepticons are the latest in an even longer line of Cybertronian factions. Eventually one will wipe the other one out, in-fighting will divide them again and they'll go to war. Lather, rinse, repeat for all eternity.

"Their Galactic Republic has lasted hundreds of generations, but there are bots alive right now that remember the foundation of the Autobots, so it's not like your civilization is that old either."

"Cybertron isn't in question right now," he growled at her through gritted teeth, "we're discussing-."

"Why you should care about your war destroying more lives. I could stand here all day and tell you of every reason organic life is beautiful, why it's worth saving, but I'd be wasting both our times.

"I know you won't care about what happens to them because you didn't care about Earth. But I do know what you will care about."

Sari tapped her sparkpiece, projecting a hologram of Cybertron. A different Cybertron that had been dead and dark for eons.

"There are new players from a completely different universe. Their Decepticons are different, weaker than the ones we're used to, but they're much more dangerous. I got into their files and got this image. This is what they did to Cybertron."

Sentinel Magnus, the Elite Guard, and the entire Council stared in horror at the dead remains of their world. They finally understood what was at stake.

"Autobots, get ready to mobilize."

Closed RP w/@mazamba

Ahsoka Tano is seen down in the lower levels, looking for work to continue paying for her place. She was no longer a Jedi, so she needed to find work. In order to pay for her place she was staying, while also getting food to fill her belly. Ahsoka sighed knowing she wasn't going to be able to find a proper job without getting her hands dirty.

"They want me to steal from a known crime lord or to steal from the Jedi Temple to retrieve a lightsaber from one of the fallen Jedi," Ahsoka knew both of these would either get her killed or arrested. She knew the Jedi Temple needed to be warned about this, but didn't understand why this person wanted the lightsaber.

"Well, I'll need to find work somewhere in order to pay for my next rent," said Ahsoka as she stops in her track when she sensed something. "What was that?"

@mazamba

[coffeegnomee]

All About You

This is about to be the most meta analysis post of my life, but something that has fascinated me the most about lifesteal recently: chat is the 38th member.

As a live stream story, lifesteal is always going to be affected by the live audience, the streamer reading messages, talking back and forth, sometimes doing what chat wants. This is the streamer-chat dynamic. It's natural, it's part of the story.

But something that has fascinated me particularly since season 4, particularly post zam's break s5, and Particularly in s6 since I've started interacting on tumblr, is just how much chat influences the lore and how much we influence each other.

At each of these moments there was a shift in the PrinceZam streamer-chat dynamic.

Season 4 was a lot of anti-lore chatters. People who blah blah blah'ed it up whenever Zam went into a spiral about what he should do. It heightened the feeling of isolation and confusion, especially as some chatters (shoutout van) tried to gently encourage zam in his decision making, giving counter points to the negativity. Unfortunately it often just lead to more confusion as chat was split 50/50 on almost every decision.

In season 5, after the break, there was a reset of the mod team to the team we have now (knowing most of you are here potentially reading this is weird.) These were the best chatters of s4, the ones who became highly invested in Eclipse, and lifesteal in general, and Zam in particular.

In season 5 the hivemind of the mod team getting excited about lore was hilarious to watch. Half the team reprimanded backseating of the rest of the mod team (shoutout meep), the other half lored it up (shoutout chips), everyone loved it. 'Credit to the artist' was born as direct quotes from chat made it into the character.

Read that again: Direct Quotes From Chat Made It Into The Character.

That is weird.

No longer was it simply the mind of PrinceZam forming the character of Zam, as we watched and reacted, but chat itself became an integral part of the lore (these are his amends. make him repent) forming and shaping it, right alongside Zam, into what that season became.

In particular the conversations as the Joker (specifically the Jumper yap in your president doesn't care about you) brought out comparison after comparison to past seasons of princezam as chatters brought up and compared jumper to zam season 3. This sparked a huge renaissance of past season analysis of Zam which became heavily integrated into the final months of the server, with zam to minute, with minute bringing up his own inspiration of season 3 zam, and with zam musing about how each character approaches what past seasons mean to them (concluding, iirc, that they remember it but it doesn't matter to them. tell that to s6 zam lol).

In season 6 the dynamic has shifted again. Credit to the artist has died down, usually in favor of admitting he's reading a suggestion from chat, but the back and forth conversation, reading out specific messages, from often the same few people (shoutout arch and van and citrus (hi citrus)) has flourished more than ever (also shoutout the new chatters. there's been a turnover again and a lot of new names who are consistently affecting the lore)

Right at the end of season 5 I began interacting on lstumblr and writing and reading posts. It came from the end of season conversation about The Mering essay, Barrier Blocks: a breakdown of lifesteal in 22k words about season 4 and conflict. It wasn't the first time that essay and the story of Eclipse Federation was brought up and analyzed on stream as Zam encountered head on that his darkest time on lifesteal was the defacto fan favorite story of the server.

The analysis of the chatters was being shared with the streamer and therefore, the character. These were the seeds of thinking deeply about his actions in s4 and s5 and how he actually felt about them and not just moving on and forgetting.

And then something else started happening. Maybe it happened often before, and I was just not aware of it; I do remember a few times in s5 the mod team referencing and asking zam questions about his character that they had talked about or mused over between each other on discord. So it was happening to some extent, but particularly since starting to hear your opinions and analysis about the story on tumblr, I'm seeing a new trend in s6.

The fandom stream snipe:

When someone in chat innocently brings up something I damn well know was talked about on here just the day before.

Some analysis about a previous stream. Some wishful musing about interactions we hope to see. A tidbit about a previous stream that was unresolved.

And it changes the lore just as much as Planet is known to change the lore by talking to Zam.

The two instances that got me really thinking about chat being the 38th member were recent:

After 4c betrayed there was of course a lot of discussion and the general consensus was the we would love to see another 4c and zam conversation. Especially after 4c gave kab the disc, and zam did the short confrontation of him with derap. Multiple people, I mean it was on everyone's mind, wanted another interaction.

And when the timing was good, chat struck. Or should I say, van cooked. After Zam wrote signs about kab and wondered what to do about his interactions with her, someone mentioned 4c, and the door was opened to talk about what we were all wondering about. Van delivered, nearly single handedly driving the conversation towards talking to 4c, musing that it felt unresolved. When zam got distracted by demi talking about his base, van brought the discussion back around to 4c and the rest of chat started cooking too, innocently encouraging a second conversation. And Zam /msged 4c to talk.

It would not have happened without chat.

The second was yesterday: talking about Leo potentially being a mole. I had analysis, I know zy had analysis, I think others did as well. But until chat started bringing up fandom analysis, zam and derap were not sus of Leo in the slightest. Zam was only partially suspicious about Mapicc wanting to kill Flame, but he only thought of it in terms of letting Mapicc down.

And it got me thinking; at what point are we stream sniping ourselves? It's not really stream sniping (though the 4c one gets very close) because it's based on our own analysis, and usually just based on zam's streams, or doesn't include knowledge that isn't known.

But that Leo analysis was lifesteal spoiler walled. It was, by default, something that was kept hidden from lifestealers on tumblr (though less for zam and more for anyone else), though, as a theory, is it really a spoiler? But as a theory, is it really meant to be seen by the character? Unless we were a member and wanted to tell our teammate we thought something was up?

It's an interesting conundrum. Our analysis is a hivemind of hyperfixating viewers who Think about lifesteal all the time, rewatch streams, watch everyone and know how everyone is likely to be thinking and acting, breaking it down, reading each other's analysis and cultivating a deep web of theories and hopes and dreams about this lovely server of ours.

And that holds weight. All the minds of the viewers pushing together to have an affect on the server. Honorable mentions are our opinions/analysis on lskab that ran rampant in chat for that like month, and, in the opposite direction, mer's rewatch of s4 ending in a "i wish zam could talk to vitalasy again" post which plausibly reignited the deep dive thinking about that season and then culminated in this past saturday's stream!

Would PrinceZam the character ever have wanted to talk to vitalasy nearly half as much without the love of the fandom (not just mer) for eclipse federation that persists to this very moment nearly 2 years later?

We mighteswell be a member on the server asking zam to talk to someone!

Not to give us a big head.

I'm in no way criticizing these actions. I don't have an opinion either way for when it's too much. It's part of the medium to have a chat. Lifesteal would simply not be lifesteal without the audience interaction and this influence is hardly new to the story. One could say the ls story never got started until the audience cared enough about the story as story to have an opinion on where it should go.

And it's the same with the server members: they have to care about the story enough to log on and be in the story. And then they start affecting it and the story is created.

[mountsmase]

Christmas Day

(The last one!! Thank you to everyone who has read all of the concepts over the last 12 days and everyone who has sent any in. So much love to you all 🫶🏻)

———————

Just thinking about Christmas Day with Mason and all of the different ways you could spend it together…

So we know he usually spends Christmas Day with his family, so imagine being a part of that. Maybe you and Mason don’t actually live together yet but he invites you over to sleep at his and wake up with them all on Christmas morning. He understands that you’d still need to see your family so maybe you and Mason would see them on Christmas Eve before driving back to his together.

All of his family would be staying so Christmas morning would be chaotic, but in the best way possible. You’d all sit together in the living area, with Mason sitting right next to you, pulling you into his side and you’d snuggle into him, tugging on a blanket that rests over the back of the sofa so it falls over your laps. You’d all take turns opening presents, watching his two nieces as they tear through the paper, joy lighting up their faces every time they find a toy or something they’d asked Santa for.

You’d love getting to spend Christmas with him and his family, and would always be grateful for how welcoming they are towards you, always making you feel like part of their family, but you’d also love the little moment that you and Mason get together.

Maybe you’d make the effort to wake up a little earlier than everyone else, taking the opportunity to cuddle and be together in bed for a while before all the craziness starts. It would be hard to stay awake, his warmth and the feeling of his fingertips tracing patterns over your skin the perfect recipe to fall back asleep, but he makes sure to wake you up if you do drift back off. Maybe you’d even exchange a few presents with each other before going to find everyone else, some of them a little more meaningful or just ones you don’t want to open in front of the rest of his family, like Mason would always buy you some new lingerie and would obviously want you to open that when it’s just the two of you.

Maybe there’d even be a bit of lazy morning sex. You’ve always been a bit funny about having sex with him whilst his family are in the house because what if they hear or walk in on you, but the door is locked anyway and the minuet he gives you those eyes you know you’re going to give into him. It would be the soft, lazy kind, a little bit of foreplay leading up to him thrusting into you slowly, under the covers with both of you still wearing your PJ tops because you were so desperate for eachother that you never got around to taking them off. There’d be loads of kidding to keep eachother quiet and you’ve have to have a quick shower to clean up and make yourselves look more presentable, and less like you’ve just had sex before going downstairs to be with the rest of his family.

Now thinking about spending Christmas Day together when you’ve got your own children…

I spoke about how Christmas Eve would go as a family of four in the last concept, so leading on from that they’d both come bounding into your bedroom as soon as they’re awake, waking you and Mason up to tell you that Santas been. They’re both so excited and you know you can’t make them wait any longer so you’d follow them downstairs to begin opening the presents.

Maybe you’d let them open all of their presents from ‘Santa’ first and then you’d take a little break, not wanting all of the excitement to be over so soon. You’d make some breakfast, with Mason putting in the effort to make it an extra special one, even attempting to make some snow man shaped pancakes before going out on a family walk. Maybe one of their presents were new bikes or scooters so you and Mason follow behind them whilst they ride them.

When you get home again you let them open the rest of your gifts, all of them would be from you and Mason though, signed ‘from Mummy and Daddy’ and it would warm your heart because every time they open one they’d come running over to thank you and give you each a hug. Then you and Mason would get to open your gifts from each other, the little ones just as interested in what you’ve each opened.

It would be the best morning ever and once all of the wrapping paper is tidied away you’d start getting ready to go and spend the rest of the day with family.

And I’m sure there’d be some christmases where you and Mason wake up with just the two of at home.

Maybe you’re hosting the rest of his family in the afternoon for Christmas dinner but it’s your first year living together so you wanted to experience waking up and spending Christmas morning just the two of you in your new home.

You’d wake up with absolutely no rush to get out of bed, having the laziest of lazy mornings before giving each other your gifts and having breakfast in bed before it gets so late that you have to get up and start getting ready.

The two of you trying to make Christmas dinner together would be interesting. Maybe you’d offered to cook it this year since you’ll be hosting anyway and some of it goes really well, but some of it not so much. It would take up the majority of the day, each of you taking control of certain dishes to make the process a little quicker but you still end up needing the help of his mum and sister when they arrive in the early afternoon, wanting their help with things like the turkey because you’re too worried about somehow messing it up and ruining the whole meal. Mason would also be feeling extra touchy and would be all over you the whole time, not necessarily making it easy for you to focus on the cooking when his hands are roaming everywhere.

Christmas with him would just be the best, whether you’re spending it just the two of you or with the whole family, and I know that he’d spoil you rotten, buying you loads of gifts even if you told him not to but you’d love everything he gets for you. He knows you so well and can tell when you want something even if you don’t actually say it. Like a lot of your gifts would be things he’s seen saved in your favourites or wish lists, or things he knows you want but would never buy yourself. And you’d spoil him to, wanting him to have just as much to open even if he is quite hard to buy for.

———————

Day 12 Concept night tomorrow. I’ll be working so I’ll be scheduling them all to post 10 minuets apart 🫶🏻 please send them in asap if you have any 😚

[withered-blossoms]

Snow Angels

WARNINGS: Death, witch hunts, indications of hurting people in cruel ways, burning of people (vague descriptions), bodies of the deceased, harsh injuries, mentions of blood

A/N: I participated in the 2024 Obey Me! Holiday Exchange held by @obeymeholidayexchange. This fic is a holiday gift for @rou2464 and contains spoilers for Obey Me! Nightbringer lesson 14-14 regarding Solomon’s backstory as it is pretty much my spin on his lore. It’s also a little long, around 9658 words.

Do what you will with this warning and I hope y’all enjoy it. Also, this fic is entirely fictional and does not represent my / any beliefs. Comments, likes and re-blogs are highly appreciated!

Immortality is not the blessing that the people make it out to be.

People often wish for what they do not have, and endlessly yearn for the impossible in hopes that they would be the unique, favoured exception to the rules binding each and every soul. Take the social hierarchy as an example. There is one, or a group, at the very apex. ‘The royals’ is what those below refer to them as. Then we have the nobles, and even they are split into levels depending on how prominent their families are. The commoners, making up the majority of the population, are bound to respect and obey the commands of those at the top. That is the general rule. They could very well have lived their entire lives, content with the peace and the ease of not having more lives than they could count on their shoulders.

But it is in the human nature to want more. To be greedy. To lay their eyes on what they do not currently have. And to seize it at the next opportunity that presents itself.

Just give it some thought. How many times in human history has the hierarchy been rearranged? How many rulers have been overthrown only to have the lesser of the two evils rise up the ranks? How many times had this have to repeat for the mortals to truly be content, from the bottom of their hearts no less?

Undeniably, quite a few have been out of necessity. But can one truly say that it was purely for the people’s sake that the victors took over the throne as the next rulers? To be in a position of near absolute power? To enjoy the view of having so many others below them? Of course not. After all, there will be a part of them that wanted to stand above all. And more often than not, they realise that with every pro comes a con.

Immortality is no different. Those who long for it only saw the rainbows and sunshine, but never the storm that has to be experienced. No matter how hard the mortals try, the scales are fair and must be balanced. It is simply foolish to try and escape the law of the universe, the one that demands balance and equivalence.

Just like how after the warmth comes the cold, and how the snow has arrived after the sun earlier this year. Blanketing the soil, it aims to cover all that the warmth had touched, be it living or non-living. To hold them in its chilling embrace and hope that it is just as desired as the heat, despite knowing otherwise. It can see how the mortals hid away in their cozy little abodes, huddling to keep out the cold, so imagine its surprise when it saw that one exception making a snow angel.

There, amongst the sea of white, laid an equally colourless figure, his vibrancy long bleached by the merciless tides of time. It left nothing behind but a blank slate, just as it was when it was first brought into the mortal world. He finds it ironic, that humans start out as pure white sheets of paper that are eventually coloured with memories. But what most tend to forget is that as the colours gradually overlapped and blended, white is all that forms. The longer the life, the more the memories, the emptier the canvas. Such was the cycle of life, a loop as complete as ever. Life is born from dust, and to dust it will return. How you start out is how you end up. He would know this better than anyone else; time, despite having stopped for him, still flows for those around him after all.

Those with lifespans often wish for an extension, be it limited or unlimited, for the fulfilment of their wishes. They wish to make up for the regrets staining their life, or to further fuel their procrastination. There is a plethora of reasons, and those making (clearly unbalanced) deals just to attain it are a dime a dozen. What remains the same though, is the fact that when they’ve truly attained it, the scales are there, waiting for them. The now immortal will then finally realise how heavy the weights they have to place on the other end are. That in order to gain all of life, they have to sacrifice everything in life. Their family, friends, freedom, choice.

Nevertheless, if he had a penny for every time a person begged him to reveal the secret to immortality, he would have been wealthy enough to buy the world at least five times over. Now now, Solomon is by no means an open-book. He’s learnt through the hard way in his younger, human days that displaying yourself for all to see is a fatal mistake. However, word will always spread, at an alarming speed no less. It would surprise you just how much sorcerers, even high-ranking ones, love to gossip. It was only due to the elusiveness of the Sorcerers’ Society that the man was not burnt at the stake by the commoners, though he did have to move quite a bit from how frequently those in power sought him out, attempting to pry the secret from his lips with vast amounts of gold and subsequently threats of exposure when he declined.

Now that he thought about it, he was indeed lucky to have loving parents, caring enough to not discard him the moment they found out about his innate powers. Loving enough to risk their lives for him. You see, back in the times where magic was seen as anything but pure and holy, being ostracised for even being related to such a heretic was the best fate one could have. It was thus not uncommon to see many of his kind huddling together for safety and comfort in cages, and put on display like circus animals. It would not be long till they were then given anything but a merciful end, though in his opinion it was better than them being subjected to decades of servitude. 

So, imagine the fear engulfing his parents when they stepped foot into a room with various floating objects and a giggling child entertaining himself. Old enough to know that magic is uncommon, but young enough to deem it mesmerising and beautiful. And as a child would, he pouted when a pair of hands grasped his, causing his fun to stop and thumps to echo throughout the house. With a swoosh, the curtains were drawn.

“Sol, my sweet child, never do that again."

His questioning gaze only served to increase the panic in their eyes, but the terror lacing her words was enough for him to dazedly nod. A sigh of relief was released from pursed lips and the woman rose to help her husband to check on the furniture their child had levitated for damage. He would then overhear his parents reassuring the concerned neighbours of his family’s safety the next day, not knowing that it was the last he would ever enjoy of his freedom.

News soon spread around that Solomon was down with a rather serious illness, one that was contagious. The people spoke in hushed whispers about how much of a pity it was for such a bright and adorable child to have been inflicted with such a disease and how his parents must have been devastated to see their son end up like that. But Solomon’s parents knew that time fades all. Eventually, the town will forget about the boy with the beautiful sky-blue eyes and Solomon will get to live. Thus, the couple turned away the visitors, as concerned and genuine as they were, thanking them for their well wishes and praying that they had let nothing slip.

Solomon, on the other hand, had not taken much of a liking to his new room. Sure, the basement had been cleaned and transformed into his new room, but it was dark. His only natural light source was the light streaming in through latticed windows and somewhat lit his room. All that were left now were but a basement, spacious but empty. Devoid of life, laughter, smiles. He missed his large glass windows, how illuminated his room was and the life outside. He yearned for the day him and his parents would be able to sit at the dinner table once more, chatting and giggling at the stories his father would share about his work. But it seems that day would never come.

His parents, sensing their child’s disappointment, were no less heartbroken. They tried to make up to him, moving their dinner nights to his room, spending as much time as they could with him. However, there was only so much they could do, and it was not before long until Solomon turned to magic for entertainment once more. After all, if there was one good thing that came out of this, it would be the extra space he got and the lack of prying eyes. He supposes that in a way, he had traded one freedom for another; childhood for magic. And maybe, just maybe, he would not have it any other way.

His inner child begged to differ, though he chose to turn a blind eye in denial.

Despite his parents’ worries, they decided to let him be. They may be terrified about potential discovery, but they would rather he be strong enough to break free from future hunters or even captors. Hence, in a silent promise, the two took to covering for their son while he slowly mastered his powers. It comforted them just how quickly he learnt and Solomon was happy to spend time with the two things he loved. He, too, slowly understood the reason why he was confined to the basement, never to see the light of day again, and hated it. So, he vowed to become stronger, to prove that magic could be used for good and to dispel the people’s fear.

Just as Solomon had mentally prepared for his ‘eternal solitude’, a pair of feet popped up near his window. He knew that children tended to approach the woods across his window and had completely forgotten that humans, just like all life, were naturally drawn to the light. The subtle flashes of light coming from his window might as well have been from a disco party if his times had that, so in hindsight he honestly should not have been surprised that they were guided here.

How had he never noticed the light from his spells was a problem to solve later, for he had a visitor and it was not a welcome one. The piercing shriek they let out upon discovering a pair of curious blue eyes staring back at them from a basement was sure to draw unwanted attention, so Solomon clambered back down and laid on his bed.

Readying a banishing spell in the hand hidden in his blankets, he coughed a few times, hoping to pass off as sickly and frail. The new face then tilted their head curiously and tapped at his windows, “Who are you? Are you the child with the serious illness?”

“Serious… yes I am–” Solomon cut himself off, feigning a cough to hide the fact that he nearly forgot the story his parents made up for him. He sheepishly turned his head away, not willing to face them, but that only made them even more concerned.

“Man… it is that serious?” The other child had murmured, bright eyes filling with pity, “You should be out here playing with me an’ the others, not stuck in a dark room all day.” “Wish I could, but I can’t. It is contagious.” Relaxing only slightly, he eyed them warily. There was no way he was trusting this random stranger who had popped up, and he would never risk his family’s life. He needed to scare them off, and what better than the threat of contamination?

“Eh, I ain’t scareda that! You can’t scare me; we’re practically of the same age from what I can tell!” They way they waved their hand dismissively drew a chuckle from Solomon. He knew not how they managed to spot his window since it was rather well-disguised, but he cared not. A few years of not touching grass was enough for his young heart to yearn for a friend, and a friendship thus blossomed. They chatted for a while, getting to know each other before the child’s parents called for them. Scrambling to get up, they brushed the dirt from their pants and waved, a promise of visiting soon spilling softly from their lips.

This new friend would show up once in a while and Solomon has since taken to practising his magic with a board to his window. Every time the new friend showed up, they would knock six times on his window; three short and three long. It was a secret code they kept close to their hearts and Solomon would tidy everything up with magic, check that there were no traces of his practice and allowed the light to stream into his room once more. The other child had already plopped themself down, a pouch in one hand and shiny rocks tumbling into the other. “Ain’t this cool? I found this on the ground an’ it’s shiny! Has a pretty colour too!” A clear crystal with light orange fading to sky blue was excitedly shoved up in his face and it was only because of his window that it did not end up in his nostrils. He observed it, feeling that the colours looked familiar but he couldn’t tell why.

“Don’t’cha think it’s the colour o’ your eyes? That’s the main reason why I picked it up by the way! The orange looks exactly like how the sunset did when reflected in your blue eyes!” And there it was, the unknown reason. “How did you know what the colour of my eyes were?” Solomon asked, not believing that a person could clearly see his eyes when he was in a room so dimly lit.

“Don’t be silly! O’course I know the colour of your eyes. They’re the first thing I noticed after all!” They grinned triumphantly, “My parents say I’m an observant one all the time, and they would never lie t’me! You can have this if you want, I did pick it up because of you.”

Solomon could not deny his friend of this gift, not when he wanted it as well. It’s been so long since he’s received such a heartfelt gift from people his age, the last time being…. well, last time. How should he react? How did his fellow children react in such a situation? Do they cheer? Hug? Smile? He did not know. But what he did know was that he could not afford to draw attention to them both right now, and so he settled for giving them a bright, sincere smile in return. “I’ll take it, thank you so much! You can leave it near my window, I’ll grab it later.”

For a little while, he received no response and tilted his head in curiosity. Had he offended them somehow? Was this not how the other kids reacted from what he observed through his window? Was his reaction too mundane, too cold? Was this friendship going to end? Even worse, if so, will they tattle and bring about his family’s demise? Their stunned expression only served to fuel the flames of his anxiety, and a slew of apologies was on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill from his lips.

“You smiled! You actually smiled! You should smile more ya know? You look very handsome when you smile.” They leaned in a bit closer to see his face better, almost squishing theirs against the glass. The sparkles in their eyes made him blush, a mixture of embarrassment and awkwardness, and he could only stammer out what he hoped would be a socially acceptable reply, “T-thank you, yours is very bright as well.”

“That’s what my friends said too! It’s such a shame you can’t play with us though, I’d love to introduce you to them sometime. You’d fit in so well! I just know it.”

“I’d actually prefer if you did not. Having too many visitors is bad for my health.”

A sad sigh ended the conversation, though the other child quickly brightened up at the suggestion of the friendship being something akin to a secret for theirs to keep. “Aw yeah! This makes us so much cooler than the rest!” And with that, the two continued their daily exchange till the sun started to set and the child went home. As soon as they were out of sight, Solomon pleaded for his parents to bring him the beautiful crystal sitting beside his window and they had agreed on the condition that he be more careful.

If the world was a huge vat of dye, then Solomon would be a piece of cloth, pure and clean as the snow that soon arrived. In such times, none are fully trustworthy, and it wasn’t a risk they could afford to take.  As much as the couple understood that it was a lesson that Solomon had yet to learn, they did not have the heart to taint his innocence. Pair that with his puppy eyes and his parents’ resolve stood no chance. But they were rather confident in their child. He had always been a cautious one since young, who loved his family enough to try his best, and for now that was enough.

Solomon, too, thought that he would understand the ‘adult world’ once he became one, but fate had a cruel appetite for the good that happened to people. And it so happened that he had been selected as the sacrificial lamb.

Just a few days ago, his friend had showed him how to make a snow angel and he had laughed at the silliness of it all. “Look! This is how you make a snow angel!” They had chirped, flopping backwards onto the snow and spreading their arms and legs till they had dug a shallow human-shaped hole. Due to the angle of his window, Solomon could not see the hole in its entirety, but he could tell that it vaguely resembled the holy ones he’d constantly hear about.

“That looks fun! I should try it sometime.”

“You should! I can’t wait for you to get better so we can have a snow angel making competition! The one who makes the biggest snow angel will win!”

“Oh, you best believe I’ll beat you in that! Mother says I’ve been growing taller recently.”

“Hmph, I’ve been growing too! Dad says I’m a few inches taller now.”

The little banter was then wrapped up with tongues playfully stuck out at each other and was soon replaced with bursts of laughter. “But in all seriousness, I really do want to play with you outside someday. Who knows? We might even create the largest snow angel one day!” “Yeah, I can’t wait for that day either!” A vow was made and that day, Solomon learnt how to make a pinkie promise. A new experience to add to his diary, he grins. Having a best friend was truly fun, and he truly looked forward to the days filled with snow angels and snowball fights. He’d never like the heat much, so he’s confident he would fare well in snowy weather.

Solomon then went on his days merrily, preparing a birthday gift for his dear friend. It was their birthday and he had been anticipating their presence since the crack of dawn. It was the first time excitement had robbed him of his sleep, and he jotted this incident down in his little diary as well. The journal was pretty much running out of pages with the sheer number of new experiences his best pal had brought him and he made a mental note to ask his parents for a new one.

So this was what it was like to have a best friend, he realised. To have someone laugh and cry with you, to lift your mood when you’re down and to help you see the world when you couldn’t. He cherished every second of their friendship, and it showed in his gift. In return for their crystal last time, he had picked one according to the colour of their eyes as well; one with a gorgeous shade of emerald that gradually transitioned into a yellow as bright as their presence. He has thought it a perfect combination; one colour representing the eyes that held so much hope for the world and one colour to represent said sunshine child. There was no better gift than this one, Solomon was sure.

The seconds soon ticked by, yet even when the sun had started to set, that bouncing ball of excitement was nowhere to be seen. A growing fear was gnawing at the back of his mind and his stomach was in knots. Something was wrong and he could not pinpoint just exactly what. His intuition had never been one to lead him astray and that only served to make him more anxious.

‘Perhaps they had something to do today.’ ‘Maybe they got caught up in celebrating with the others. Everything is fine, Sol, don’t worry about it.’ ‘But they promised they would make time for me today as well and they have never gone back on their word. Could they truly have forgotten?’ A green monster reared its ugly head, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Solomon did not realise, but currently he was feeling jealous. Jealous that they had other friends, jealous of those who distracted his friend so much that he was shoved to the side, but mainly of the fact that he couldn’t cheer birthday wishes alongside them.

When Solomon finally noticed his scowl in the reflection of his window, he was taken aback. Since when was he capable of such twisted expressions? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Now is not the time to get distracted, Solomon. He had to figure out where his friend was, and only then did he pick up on the eerie silence of the town. Where was the hustle and bustle? Where were the kids playing tag on the streets? The houses usually lit were now dark, and the chimneys were not spitting smoke like they used to. Something was off and his mind demanded to know what.

Hurrying out of his room, he eventually reached his parents after making sure that there was no one over. The concern was unnecessary; the townspeople avoided their house the moment they caught wind of his supposed ‘illness’ anyways, but it was better safe than sorry.

“Mother, father, they haven’t shown up and it’s been a day.” He urged, grabbing his mother’s sleeve gently. His parents knew just how much he had been looking forward to this day and had been the ones to help him find that crystal; surely they’d help him get hold of his friend. In his urgency however, he had missed the flash of guilt in her eyes and the aversion of his father’s now heavy gaze, only focused on asking for their help.

Before he could plead for them to check up on his friend, his mother got up and directed him to the basement instead, a strained smile pulling at her lips, “It would be rude of me to show up to their house uninvited and without prior notification, dear, especially on such a day.”

His father nodded in agreement, chipping in his suggestion, “Why don’t I deliver the gift for you if they still don’t show up tomorrow?” The feigned strength in his father’s voice did not go unnoticed, but the young child passed it off as mere fatigue. “It’s alright, thank you.” He sighed, turning away in disappointment. The next second though, his ears caught a faint cacophony of voices from the outside world and he could not help but run towards the windows.

‘The answers to your fears are there!’ His intuition screamed, ‘the truth is about to be revealed!’  What it failed to let him know, however, was that it was a truth he could never handle at his age, mental and physical.

The couple could not grab Solomon in time. For a child who spent his current life cooped up in an underground space, Solomon was surprisingly agile. Well, for the adults anyways. Only the child himself knew that he had also been working on his physical health and strength all this time. Strong powers demand strong vessels, he was not about to try his luck with the next spell he cast.

The burst of speed he gained from curiosity was immediately lost when he spotted the tendrils of smoke clawing their way into the sky. Various torches lit up the city square, and the usually peaceful citizens were now huddled in a circle, thumping their pitchforks against the ground and demanding for evil to be banished.

‘Evil? What evil?’ Solomon wondered, not having seen any malicious entities around in the town lately. The crowd parted slightly, but the little gaps were more than enough for him to spot said ‘evil’.

There, tied up to a stake, was his friend.

Their clothes were tattered, and gaping streaks of red took the place of the rips in the cloth. Bruises littered their skin and their hair was sticking in all directions; the crystal-clear result of harsh pulling. The poor child looked completely disheveled; their eyes devoid of the light they once held, their parents equally unkempt and displayed for all to see. Their once dear neighbours, friends and even relatives were now spitting from sidelines, disgust lining their features as they screamed curses.

“Burn, you heretics! You should not roam the very earth we step on! How dare you try to take over our space after conquering the depths below!”

“How dare you even come up to the surface and even bring that hell-spawn along with you?! You should have rotted in the very depths of where you spawned from!”

“I knew something was up with that little bastard the moment it showed off a rock to my child! Turns out that blue an’ orange stone was magical; it was trying to lure and drag my child down with it! Not on my watch!”

“These wretched beings tried to lure children? How despicable! We must send them down at once!”

Each word spat out drove the dagger deeper into the rope known as Solomon’s sanity. That stone was magical? His friend was a mage? No, that could not be. He could not sense any traces of such powers from the other child and he had always been a sensitive one to such matters. His friend was not a mage!

Clearly, the accused family tried to say the same. Vehemently denying that they were practitioners, trying to reason with the people. “We do not have magic! You’ve never even seen us do magic!” But how could logic ever appease the rage of the villagers? Humans choose to believe what their eyes see and deny the existence of what they did not. Out of the fear of the unknown, they choose to turn a blind eye to justice, to innocence, and most importantly, to the lives of the condemned.

Before his thoughts could spiral, calloused hands filled his vision and he was slowly pulled away. “Don’t look, Sol! We… tried to save them from the sidelines, but they were discovered halfway.” A deep voice full of regrets sounded, followed by the drawing of curtains. “They are neither mages nor witches! They don’t have any magical abilities!” Solomon exclaimed once he had snapped out of his daze, trembling as it finally dawned on him. His friend and consequently their family had been condemned to death because of him. It was all because of one stupid crystal the colour of his eyes.

He had caused their suffering.

His parents released him, pained by the agony in their son’s words. They were powerless to stop all that is happening as much as they wished they could. But there was no way two mere mortals could ever hope to defeat a raging, pitchfork-wielding crowd. All they could do was to comfort their son and pray that the other family would be given a quick release. However, it seems that their son had other thoughts.

The slamming of the doorknob against the wall was all that was left of Solomon; the boy having rushed out as quickly as his slippers could carry him. He had thought about using his powers to somehow save them, be it teleportation magic or perhaps some optical illusion.

Yet he was well aware that it would only serve to make their lives worse. He could only help them hide for a short while but not forever. Word will still spread and bounties will still be set up. His best friend, a beautiful ray of sunshine, ever so kind and understanding, would be subjected to a fate worse than his. Never to see and enjoy the surface life, having to live by scraps like sewer rats as the people scorned and dragged their names through the dirt.

They did not deserve that.

Solomon thus chose the safer option of squeezing through the crowd and screaming at the mayor. “They are innocent!” he yelled, “They do not have magical powers!” That sudden interruption successfully stopped the adults who retracted their torches before they could accidentally burn an innocent child currently blocking their path. “Whose son is this? Children are seen, not heard, boy! Besides, how can you prove that they are not from the underground?” The mayor questioned, the scowl on his face deepening as noises of agreement echoed from the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw their eyes light up, but they soon shook their head slightly at him. Their parents were no different, eyes full of worry for HIS safety. They were already tied to stakes, at death’s door and yet this family was worried about HIS fate?

No wonder they say “like child, like parent”. He could definitely see where that kindness came from and it only made him even more determined to stop this tragedy from taking place. There was no way he was going to watch that light be snuffed out, not over his dead body.

“Haven’t all of you known them for years? Never once had you seen them doing witchy stuff, have you? Mmph–!”

“My apologies, he’s currently feverish and disorientated. We will watch over him better.” His mother gave an apologetic smile as his father picked the struggling child up. “Hmph, watch your child before he gets burned by accident. We ain’t takin’ any responsibility fo’ that!” With that, the crowd turned to the three supposed criminals.

“The time to send these demons back to their creator is here! Pray, for their salvation, for them to be cleansed by the holy flames, for them to become holy and angelic instead. Pray, for their rebirth as a clean and pure being!” The wood beneath their feet were subsequently lit, and the family’s silhouettes were gradually engulfed by the smoke. The crowd quietened down, choosing to witness this punishment in silence.

“Mama, are they going to be snow angels now? Since the flames are cleansing their souls and helping them become angelic?” A voice filled with innocent youth rang out, successfully stopping the boy struggling in his parents’ arms. All this time, Solomon had watched on, wanting but not bearing to bite down on his father’s hand. Tears had spilled over from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks in large droplets as his screams were muffled to the best of abilities.

But hearing those words made something snap in him. So, he went limp, bangs covering his dull blue eyes. His parents could only hold him closer, trying not to let their own masks crack. The people would get suspicious if even the adults in their family were seemingly mourning for the ‘evil’, so his parents could not express their sadness nor guilt for being unable to repay the good shown to their family.

Snow angels? Calling them that just because they were being cleansed and turned ‘angelic’ in snowy weather? How could this child watch such a cruel sight with excited eyes and still say such dim-witted and disgusting words? She was but a little over half his age; had she already become a bloodthirsty abomination like the rest of them? The adults were even more revolting, since it was only due to their influence that the children had turned out like that. Unmoving, unblinking as they watched fellow, live humans turn into charred, unrecognizable corpses before them.

But the one he loathed the most? Those who started this trend of executing people for magic, even without concrete evidence that they actually had any. How could anyone even stand for this? Mages, sorcerers nor witches alike harmed people. Well, most didn’t if the receiver did not deserve it. Even if they did, chances are the ‘victim’ had committed some sort of crime heinous enough to incur the wrath of those wielding such powers. Even so, the true victims are always villanised and the innocent have their blood spilled. ‘People like that do not deserve to co-exist with the good,’ he thinks.

He then remembered the promise made to this friend of his, back when they had discovered his magic and had voluntarily been sworn into secrecy, that he would be an amazing sorcerer who served humanity and the greater good. That he would help humanity reach greater heights and eventually humans would not be powerless compared to other life anymore. That those with magic and those without will live together in peace and harmony. The ones with magic will be in charge of the protection of their residential areas and those without will be able to focus on food production and other areas necessary for survival. The entire population be able to thrive and none will be condemned for something they did not choose again.

But were these the sort of people he wanted to protect? To help them prosper and live only for them to kill more of his kind and accuse those they needed to get rid of or despised of something they were never born with? Was he willing to protect the murderers while the murdered hollered their woes into the night?

In that split second, he decided ‘No’. This was not the humanity he wanted to lend a helping hand to. These vile beasts in humans’ clothing will not be part of the humanity he envisioned. They deserved neither his future protection nor efforts, and he will make sure that they know it.

With a raise of a finger so slight it could be passed off as a twitch, he extinguished the flames before the tortured cries could continue. Confused murmurs soon came from the crowd, and those at the front tried to light the wood again. Despite multiple attempts, not even a single spark could get the fire going and a frustrated kick sent some of the branches skidding across the harsh gravel.

Solomon’s parents had a feeling that somehow, just somehow, this may have been their son’s doing. No reaction came from the boy, and they had no evidence. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have said anything anyways. But a temporary solution was not enough, and the civilians were obviously upset about having their ‘fun’ end. Even without fire, there were plenty of ways the family could suffer, each crueler than the last.

Solomon knew this. He also knew that he was not powerful enough to pull off any major spells despite his daily practice. There were no books he could consult, for those were seen as evil traps used to lure innocent souls. He could only rely on his active imagination and was relatively successful for the most part. And yet there was a limit to the power he currently wielded. He just was not strong enough to truly save them from the hands of the vile.

He had never felt so powerless before and neither had he loathed himself as much as he did in this moment. Wide, blue eyes could only watch as the mayor grabbed a pitchfork from a farmer and readied himself to carry out the sentence. It felt as if time had been slowed down, the seconds turning into hours as he struggled once more, a hand reaching out for the one who had never left his side and had opened his eyes to a new world.

They felt so far and yet so near; would he be able to save them after all?

A bright flash blinded all that were gathered in the town square before they found themselves floored, quite literally. What Solomon had yet to learn but did in this moment was that emotions were very much capable of unlocking one’s potential, something he had tons of. Only able to stare at his hands in wonder, he surveyed the surroundings and to his horror, he found that the people had been thrown backwards by the sheer strength of his magic, and most if not all of them were unconscious. His parents were, fortunately, unharmed for the most part, but were also sprawled and unmoving like the rest.

His friend and their parents were more fortunate, for the stake had prevented them from being blown away. It, however, did not shield them from the resulting disorientation and Solomon took the chance to free them from their binds. None were in good condition, but his friend’s concerned him the most. Just the sight of their fresh and old wounds was enough to make his skin crawl and he had to hold back the bile rising up his throat. The priority was not how he felt right now, neither was it the visual assault his eyes had just taken. He had to get them all away before the others regained their consciousness, and so he did. Or well, tried, at least.

“I’m so sorry but please, if you can stand, follow me to the best of your abilities! I…am not sure for how long they will stay down and your injuries require urgent treatment!” He had whispered, shaky hands trying to find a good spot on his friend’s skin only to find absolutely none.

As expected, the three were no longer capable of standing without support and could only lay where Solomon had carefully lowered them to the ground after releasing them. The two adults were shocked to see that Solomon had magical powers, but soon smiled.

“That… was why they said you were sick.” “It matters not, I would have done the same.” Their parents mumbled, the words slurred from pain and exhaustion. “Run, child… bring ours and go. I’m afraid we do not have long.” The lady spoke and the sir nodded, lifting a hand to stroke his child’s cheek and the fingers of his other intertwined with his wife’s.

The stunned silence coming from Solomon was broken by the sniffles from the friend laying in his arms, them grabbing onto their father’s wrist with bloody hands. “Sol, my friend, please do not separate me from my mom and dad! Save them, save them!” They had sobbed, partly due to the salt entering their wounds but mainly due to their fate.

Solomon, with all his being, wished he could save them, but there was nothing he could do. All he knew were spells for minor cuts and scrapes, nowhere enough for areas of broken skin this large. That did not stop him though. He had the option to try and he was going to take it.

He could, and so he would. Like how he knew could try to save this family, and so he did.

Letting the powers flow from his fingertips as spells left his lips in silent chants, he watched as their pained expressions relaxed a tiny bit. It comforted him, though not by much. Their lives were still slipping from his hands like grains of sand with each passing minute, yet they’re choosing to use their last moments to urge him to leave them and to run before he’s next on their hitlist.

“Child, please. Go! Spend no more of your time on us and leave. Run as far as you can!”

“We are already a lost cause … we genuinely do not have much longer. Don’t waste your energy on us and go!”

“Sol, my best pal, mom and dad are right, jus’ go!” A harsh cough interrupted their words, and they watched in despair as their parents’ eyes slowly closed, hands intertwined with each other’s and their child’s. With one last murmur of a promise to meet in their next life and apologies for their sweet child, they were truly gone. The couple had brought nothing but their family to the afterlife, yet they gave and left so much for this unjust world to take. ‘The world does not deserve any of their possessions.’ Solomon thinks, but he knew better than to think that the greedy bastards in his town would leave their belongings be.

Despite their most precious belonging laying in his arms, he could not see his friend clearly through the tears blurring his eyes. He had already set their fate in stone and was unable to save their loved ones; the least he could do right now was to ensure their survival. Thus, the young boy shook his head and wiped at his tears haphazardly with his sleeve. “I’m not abandoning you! I… I could not save your parents, but I can save you!”

He had to, he must! He will do whatever he takes to at least do something good to repay this family for their acceptance! He could save them; he just knew it!

A hand tousling his hair stopped his ministrations and he soon felt his pinky being pulled at.

“Sol…I beg of you…” He looked up from the injury he was working on, large droplets still flowing from his eyes helplessly. Why? Why was he crying now?! The only purpose that these stupid tears would serve now was to blur his vision when his job right now depended so much on his sight! He needed to save his friend, not cry like a little baby!

“Hey… Sol… don’t cry.” They laughed a little, the huff being cut off by another coughing fit. “Never thought I’d see ya cry, but here we are. Shame… that it was in this sorta situation huh? You crybaby.”

Crybaby? He gaped at them, absolutely flabbergasted. “M-me? Crybaby? You’re practically dying and you’re calling me a crybaby? How could you?!” He yelled, trying to pour more of his powers into his fingertips. Watching the boy cry rivers was definitely not on his friend’s birthday bingo card this year. Seeing his tears made them want to sob alongside him, but they did not want to leave crying, so they pulled a little harder on his pinky, hooking theirs with his.

“Fine, fine, you ain’t one… but Sol…I feel so tired. So…very tired. I wanna sleep with my mom and dad. You’ll grant me that birthday wish, won’t you? Consider it my last request for ya.” Their cracked lips pulled back into an exhausted smile, “Promise me you’ll live and become a good sorcerer… for us humans yeah? Who knows? One day… I might come back to you, make the largest snow angel… and snatch your title of the strongest sorcerer!”

“Psh, as if I’d let you take both titles from me.” He huffed, trying to smile back as he gently laid them down between their parents. He wanted to tell them to stay up a bit more, to refuse the invitation to dreamland. But as always, they had successfully managed to distract him from his woes and sadness. He couldn’t bear to ruin the mood they worked so hard to lift either, so he settled for tightening his pinky’s grip on theirs. “I promise.”

“Also, here is your gift.” He took out the crystal he had prepared as their birthday gift. “Doesn’t –” He choked up, turning away to recomposed himself, “D- doesn’t it match the colour of your eyes? E-even the shade of green i-is the same.” A wobbly smile appeared on Solomon’s face, but even he could tell that this smile was ugly. How beautiful would a smile be when his facial features were twisted up in a fight to take control, to either display sadness or happiness?

He was sure that his face was covered in tears and snot. He didn’t care though. He wanted to send his friend off with the smile they had said was handsome even if his heart was bleeding tears. Solomon knew that that was what they would have wanted and he was not one to deny their wish.  

The other child gave a short puff of laughter. “Yeah, it does. It’s pretty like my eyes…” All they got was a watery eye-roll in return, but they wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world.

“You still have that stone… I gave ya?” Their dull green eyes now flitted to the pendant underneath his shirt, recognizing the imprint of their gift. “You should toss it out… they’ll go nuts and burn ya… for being a witch with a magical stone."

Solomon shook his head stubbornly, refusing to toss out the last momento he had of his very first friend.

“Save yourself and your mom and dad, Solomon... Live on and don’t end up like me…but if you can, become a good sorcerer and help others like my family.” They forced out with their last breath, head turning to face their parents as their eyes closed. Their last tear plopped onto the snow, incredibly loud in the mournful silence.

It was their last call for help, last resistance to the world which sought their lives.

The child had finally passed, a peaceful smile on their face as the life slipped from their eyes, leaving nothing but an empty vessel.

“I promise.” A choked whispers sounded out, echoing through the snowy night. Without the need to put up a front, he was free to express his sorrow.

So, the child let himself wail, placing the birthday present in his friend’s pocket. He cried and sobbed, letting his pain shake the heavens and earth. He screamed at the injustice of it all and let the words fall from his lips. His demands of justice and fairness went unheard, just as it had for others before his friend. It was a miracle that his shrieks of rage failed to wake the unconscious perpetrators; snowflakes littering their forms and melting after. He wailed, till his throat was raw and only then did he get up and gathered the remnants of his strength. He should at least give them a somewhat proper burial, even if snow was not the best option.

He simply did not have the strength to drag them to the woods despite knowing that their bodies would not be spared; the healing had sapped him of his power and there was no time to rest as he usually could. Thus, he did his best to see his friend off. To make their last moments a joyful experience. It was the least he could do when he couldn’t take or lessen their pain. His friend appreciated and loved it nevertheless, he was sure.

He then hoped, ironically, that they will become an angel, preferably of the snow. They were born in snowy weather, and now to snow they will return.

A silent prayer left his lips before the child was down. As his vision faded, he could not help but think. ‘Why were the angels watching this not helping the innocent? Why were they allowing such cruelty to happen?’ He simply did not understand. Weren’t they supposed to be good, preach good and do good? Then why were people killed for something innate? Something they did not choose? His brain could not figure out the answer, choosing to relax his body and lure him into a deep sleep instead. They would need the energy for the chaos unfolding afterwards, it was sure.

As expected, when the townspeople woke up, they were shocked at the disappearance of the criminals. A search party was unnecessary, however, since one tripped over the three piles of snow and revealed the ‘witches’ they were about to search for. Not willing to give the deceased a proper rest, the bodies were carelessly thrown into the woods for nature to do its job while attention was turned back to the unconscious.

Solomon, on the other hand, had thankfully woken up later than the adults had. They had assumed that he was attacked by the three evils upon seeing the blood staining his clothes and had urged his parents, now awake, to take him back home for treatment. His parents then carried him home, both concerned and fearing that they would be next. The couple was thankfully wise enough to removed his pendant and hide it before the town’s doctor had woken up, knowing that the townspeople would send the doctor their way first since Solomon’s appearance was rather bloody.

The boy turned out to be fine, the doctor said, he just needed plenty of rest after the “horrifying attack” he’s experienced. His parents heaved a sigh of relief and saw the doctor off, rambling about how grateful they were for God’s blessing and how their son managed to survive an evil attack unharmed. It was all a bunch of nonsense, but clearly convincing enough for pity to fill the doctor’s eyes as he patted Solomon’s father on the shoulder, all the while reminding them to pray more.

The next few days were incredibly dull for Solomon. The boy had stared at his hands blankly after regaining consciousness, still trying to process his emotions. His parents tried their best to comfort him to no avail; he was unmoving and unresponsive. With a sigh, they could only leave him to his devices and allow him to grieve.

Having gained some personal space and time, Solomon took to watching the snow fall. He wondered if his friend and their parents had been discovered. If so, what happened to their bodies? Their estate? He did not know. No one would tell him either. Closure was not given and would never be given.

He didn’t want to know either.

A sparkle in the snow by his window caught his eye and his eyes focused on the object. Laying in the snow was the crystal he’d given to his friend, shiny and polished as ever. The colours were ever so vibrant, still the same emerald and yellow combination. He had to do a double take and rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was no way this was real; he had already given it to his friend so why was it here? Were they in the woods?

He wanted to know. He had to know!

He grabbed the crystal and called for his parents, frantically explaining to them that he’d found his gift near the window and how the other family must’ve been thrown into the woods if the crystal ended up here. He pleaded and begged for them to at least check if the deceased were indeed there and to at least give him some closure, but all he got were regretful sighs.

“There was nothing left, son. There is nothing in the woods. Even if they were left there, surely the animals had taken them. You know how nature does its job.”

There it was, the cold hard truth. The one Solomon needed to hear. Their hearts ached at his pain, but he deserved to know as much as they did. Escorting the numb boy back to his room, they allowed him to keep the crystal and gave back his. Solomon could only force out a ‘thank you’ to his parents before sitting on his bed and gazing at the two crystals in his hand. These ‘rocks’ were all his powers saved.

At least he got to save another piece of them, he thinks bitterly. ‘How utterly useless. What do I need these powers for if I can’t even use them to protect the ones I want?'

‘…If the more powerful entities refuse to protect the innocent, then I shall become powerful and take on the role.’

‘One day, just one day, I’ll be able to defend the innocent from those wishing harm upon them. No matter how long it takes.’

That was the start of Solomon’s self-taught magical journey. His grimoires increased in number, but his diary remained single and locked up. No longer did he watch and observe the outside world, but spent his time practicing and mastering spells, particularly healing and teleportation spells. The sunlight would no longer stream in through that one tiny window; it’s not like it had any way to.

Without the sun to remind him of the time, he relied on his Circadian rhythm to remind him to rest. But even that was ruined when he started to push himself past his physical and mental limits, so the only way he’d rest was when his body forced him to. At the very least, his body could refuse to support him through his stubbornness and he would finally allow himself to slumber.

Sometimes, he would see his friend in his dreams, smiling and laughing, donning beautiful wings of ice and a shining halo on their head. They’d grab his hand and pull him, the two falling into the snow and making snow angels. ‘A snow angel making a snow angel.’ He’d laugh in such dreams, causing his friend to throw a snowball in his face. Of course, he’d reciprocate and a snowball fight would commence.

Those were the most beautiful dreams he’d had, but reality would soon deliver a harsh smack to his face and wake him up. This cycle would repeat till his adulthood, and only then did he truly start to move on.

Or so he thought.

Funnily enough, when he had turned himself immortal on that one fateful day, orange crept up the bottom of his irises and created a beautiful gradient. Even the shade of orange was exactly the same as the stone he was gifted. As for the crystals, he had taken to making pendants out of them, wearing them and roaming fearlessly in the human world.

It was a silent challenge to the world, for them to come and banish him for supposed magical stones as they had his friend. He’d protect these crystals with his unlimited life anyways.

Now his eyes could perfectly match his gift even without a sunset. He wondered how his friend would feel. Would they be happy? Sad that he had perhaps subjected himself to a fate worse than death? Would they finally come down to chide him for his silly magical mistake? Or would they try and steal his future title of ‘strongest sorcerer’ as promised?

Perhaps they would, but he should focus on his skills for now. He would rather they not show up when he’s still this… weak. When the day comes, he’d be sure to make them gape at his magical prowess and have them be his disciple. He’ll then be able to teach them, helping them grow just as they had him, and he’ll finally repay them as he’d always wanted.

Until then, he’ll wait for them. He’s always been a patient one anyways; a lifetime was nothing to an immortal like him.

However, as the years went by, his hair faded to white and the blue of his eyes faded to a dull grey. He could only pray that his friend recognised the crystals they’d exchanged, now hanging from his neck from a necklace. Surely they’d spot the crystals; their’s was hung right over his heart, and his over his core.

“Achoo!”

A sneeze escapes him and conveniently cuts short his trip down memory lane. ‘Goodness me,’ he thinks, ‘how long have I been laying here for?’ Nature answered with a gentle snowflake to his nose, drawing his attention to the slightly red organ. It’s getting cold. It would not be wise of him to stay out too long. His thermoreceptors are still working fine, and he’d rather they stay that way.

Oh well. At least they didn’t take the tea back. It would most definitely go well with Luke’s baking.

Perhaps a cup of tea would do the trick, he thinks. The other human exchange student had just given him a few bags the other day, all the while asking him where he got ‘the pretty green and yellow crystal’. They would love to get one, they’d said. But Solomon could only let them down, saying it was one-of-a-kind.

[dykedvonte]

I find your takes on Jimmy's behavior patterns interesting, especially in regards to how he treats Curly.

What do you think is the cruelest vs kindest he's ever been to him pre crash? Curious about the range; what Curly might hope is potential for better in him vs the biggest hit he was willing to take in hopes Jimmy became better before everything imploded.

I always find this question fascinating. The question of what Curly will tolerate towards himself vs towards other's with Jimmy.

The fandom creates this misconception around their dynamic due to a lot of hindsight we have and a lot of emotional/relationship dynamic gaps being filled. We assume Curly has to be equally as dependent and unable to regulate/understand his feelings towards Jimmy as Jimmy is to him as we never really get Curly's motives or inner thoughts towards Jimmy. I personally think this is far from the case and while still unhealthily attached to Jimmy he is still very aware of him, doesn't believe he'd ever go as low as he did in the game but knows he's petty/vindictive to an abnormal extent.

I think it's important that in HFIM he (Jimmy) is represented as a parasite on the fish rather than a real, helpful and needed part of him (Curly). It is something that slowly kills the fish if left unchecked or there are multiple (coughP.Ecough) and the fish would live better without but can't get out by itself. A parasite in which the specific method of latching is rather gory/unpleasant for the host the whole way through. I see people use this parasitic relationship as an example but never actually look at the specific relationship exemplified. How it is one formed without any consent or real want of the host but they are stuck in it no matter what they do, so they must adapt or be killed. In the games unfortunate circumstance, it just doesn't affect the host.

Jimmy on the other hand likes to test the waters, likes to see how deep he can really latch onto Curly so he can never really be pulled out, not without doing more unnecessary damage. I've said it before but I think they have breaks: Curly does have enough of a backbone to separate himself from him when he can, when the circumstances allow but he's not willed enough to keep him out, not when Jimmy inevitably finds a way to latch back on and sink deeper. Pulling him out again just rips more out of him, makes him less sturdy to it, drains more. He can take the parasitism. He thinks he's taking it.

As mentioned previously, Curly can't get/cut Jimmy out of his life alone. He will inevitably give him another chance because Jimmy will do something to make him think he deserves it. He will clean himself up. He will try to keep a job longer than a month. He will be polite, civil. He won't ask for a favor and if he does it's small and he'll repay it. He worms his way back in while also pushing others out. Anyone who claims it's all an act again or he's just doing it to get back in Curly's good graces just doesn't get him. They don't get them. Curly's upset he's seen it over and over again, the dip in progress, the lows. But the peaks get higher each time, he can't leave when he sees how good Jimmy is doing. He's scared without him the next low will be his last. Jimmy no doubt put that idea in his head.

But to answer you question: I don't think Jimmy's cruelty towards Curly's comes not from actions but conversations, the way he's conditioned Curly to view himself as underserving to complain. He's rendered him unable to talk about his pains because by "objective" comparison he's always worse off. I don't think its one cruel dismissive act in this vein but multiple, the act of uncaring and disinterest while also demanding the same attention Curly so desperately craves from anyone not just Jimmy. The want for his friend to act like a friend and be so purposely shut down or condescended to when he just needs the shoulder to cry on he always provides. The emotional relief he gives him returned.

I imagine he's told him to suck it up when pets die, to quit shaking when a career deciding meeting was about to happen, to get over and just "fuck someone new" when he has another failed fleeting relationship the few months back on Earth. Maybe it's said within a joke to make it less sharp, maybe with the same "You have it to nice to be acting like this) attitude. It's that type of cruelty that breaks him down and makes it harder to ignore that Jimmy truly doesn't care about him, does not have the same desire for him to be happy like Curly has for him. Jimmy doesn't really try to hide it either and he just never would outright say it. He calls it tough love, saying its just how he is and Curly doesn't know how much longer he can actually take it if it's really true.

Curly is willing to keep taking these hits in hopes Jimmy realizes how he hurts others, how it hurts him with every dogged look or abrupt end to a conversation. It doesn't and every time he's almost ready to just give up. If Jimmy won't be kinder for him, the only person that's still there for him, why continue to bother? Why believe he'll change.

Kindest? The fact he always tries to come back? That he stayed his friend and such a close one despite how long he'd be gone. That Curly is the one he calls and trusts and lets him know that. Curly has friends, we know that, but we also know they don't know him. Maybe they never did or maybe because of his job, the distance made it harder to keep knowing him. Jimmy didn't always work there and yet he stayed, close enough so that Curly was never alone when he came back. That he didn't come back to friends shocked he was coming back or a dozen new faces that were new at family gatherings/the news of who passed. He chose to remain consistent for Curly, with Curly, he never changed for Curly. That's how Jimmy explains it whenever Curly needs a reminder that he's not so bad. He's physically hear for him, he's something that's set and that already more than Curly should be asking for considering all he has. Curly thinks it's a major kindness considering no one else has done it for him.

I feel like people mischaracterize Jimmy in that he does not take pleasure or gain a feeling of superiority from the direct act of being cruel. He'd get nothing from directly making Curly hurt cause it's fleeting but he likes when Curly feels bad and lesser cause he can imagine it's lesser than him. When it's something he knows is gonna be a lasting mark. His kindness likewise if supposed to be a kiss on the initial boo-boo he makes. Purely for Curly and shallow. Jimmy likes Curly, I don't think him seeing him as a friend is debatable, yet we can question how utilitarian he does view friendship in general,

[ro-is-struggling]

The hell we both made for each other || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You love Matt with all your heart, but you can no longer put up with the risks of his double life.

Warnings: ANGST like so much fucking angst, there is no happy ending only tears. Also I wrote this with a fem!reader in mind but I don't think there is any direct mention to the reader's gender, so keep that in mind!

English is not my first language

Word count: 2000

He was late.

Again.

And he stumbled into your apartment, beaten and covered in blood.

Again.

You wanted to ask him to leave and find some other fool who was willing to tend to his wounds.

But you couldn't.

Seeing Matt in that state pained you, but it was also becoming a common sight. You were the one he went to after making his nightly rounds, beating up bad guys and saving innocent people in his attempt to make Hell's Kitchen a safer place. But as much as you wanted to help him heal his wounds and listen to his stories about the evil in the city, it was killing you inside.

Every night was a struggle. You would spend hours curled up on the couch, first aid kit resting on the coffee table next to your phone, waiting for news. Time stopped when the sun went down and didn't go back to normal until you saw the shadow of the Daredevil suit creeping up the hallway. The relief of seeing that he survived another night was always short-lived. The moment you heard his voice everything started moving way too fast as you rushed to relocate his bones and close his wounds before he bled to death in your living room.

Living like this was exhausting, but there was nothing you could do about it. The alternative was to get out of his life before the pain became too overwhelming, but that would only make things worse. Seeing him hurt broke your heart, but spending the night not knowing what had become of him on the streets would drive you crazy.

The most frustrating part of it all was that you had gotten yourself into this, so you had no one to blame for the void you felt in your chest every time Matt was out. You had been the one to offer to patch him up after he saved you from those drunken men who got really handsy with you that one time. You had let a complete stranger into your home, and not only that, but you had allowed him to come back. You were the one who fell in love with him even though you knew what he did. It was all your fault, you had backed yourself into a corner that you didn't know how to get out of.

Matt had never lied to you or given you false hope. You knew very well that being Daredevil was extremely important to him. It was his mission, his calling, and you knew he wasn't going to give it up even if you asked him to. He couldn't do it, or rather, he didn't want to do it, so being with him meant accepting his bloody and dangerous side. And at first you thought you could do it, but now you weren't so sure.

“You're quiet,” Matt's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. It sounded raspy and you wondered if it was due to exhaustion or the screams of pain he'd probably let out when the wounds you were cleaning and bandaging were inflicted on him. “What's going through your head?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. You didn't want to get into an argument right then.

“I thought you knew better than to lie to me.” He let out a smug chuckle. “I can hear your breathing and your heartbeat, I know there's something on your mind.”

“I was thinking about you...about us, actually.” You simply stated, not taking your eyes off the wound on his chest that you were finishing stitching up. And from the tone of your voice Matt knew that the conversation that would follow would not be a pleasant one.

He spoke your name, both a warning and a plea for you to stop. He regretted pressing the issue now that he knew what was coming. You had a similar conversation only a few days ago and he wasn't sure he had the energy to face it again. Lately it felt like that was all you talked about and Matt didn't know what to do to make you happy without having to push the devil out of him.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you interrupted him, taking off your bloodstained gloves and tossing them on the coffee table next to the other red-stained gauze. “You come home late and hurt and I have to sit here and patch you up while I pretend I wasn't going crazy thinking about what might be happening to you out there... I'm tired, Matt.”

“I told you you don't have to worry about me.” He reached for your hand, but you pulled it away. This wasn't something he could fix with gentle caresses and sweet words. You wouldn't let him this time. “I know what I'm doing out there.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is that why you come home looking like that? Because you know what you are doing?”

“It's not always this bad and you know it... Once this is all clear I'll go back to fighting thieves and rapists in the streets and I'll come home a lot less hurt, you'll see. You don't have to worry about me.” That was a lie and you both knew it. There was always going to be something. If it wasn't Fisk, it was The Hand, The Yakuza, The Punisher or who knows what else. The danger would never stop, it would just keep escalating.

“Well, Matt, but I do! I worry about you, I do...because I care about you, and I can't stop thinking about what will happen the day I'm sitting here waiting for you and you don't walk through that door.” You held back the tears that were burning in your eyes even though you knew it was in vain, Matt could hear the change in the tone of your voice.

Matt's fingers found your jaw and he turned your head carefully to face him. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs tracing soft strokes over your skin. His tender touches made everything harder, it reminded you of all the good things about being with him that had outweighed the bad for a long time, but not anymore. A couple of tears escaped your eyes, but Matt wiped them away with his fingers.

“I will always find my way back to you.” He whispered and you wished you could believe him. You knew that's what he wished and that he truly loved you, but it wasn't something he could control.

“Don't make promises you can't keep.” You moved away from his touch, wiping your tears with the back of your hand before focusing your attention on arranging the first aid kit so you could put it away. You needed to distract yourself with something so as not to fall for his charms once again. The softness of his touch and the love in his words had persuaded you to silence your worries too many times in the past. You would not let it happen again this time.

“So what do you want me to do?” Matt's frustrated huff echoed in your ears.

You threw the first aid kit back on the table viciously and turned to look at him. You couldn't believe he was actually asking you that question.

“I want you to stop!”

“You know I can't do that. People need me, this city needs me.” Matt's voice was soft even though yours had risen a couple of notches.

“I need you!” You finally broke down, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. You understood where he was coming from, but you were tired of Matt putting the whole city before you. You were hurt by his indifference, his lack of concern for your well-being. You were hurt by his lack of regard for his own life. You knew deep down he loved you, but the way he showed it wasn't working for you. The love you shared hurt you in a way that wasn't supposed to and you didn't know what else to do to change it.

“I can't keep living like this, Matt. I can't keep pretending everything is okay... I love you, but being with you every day feels like fighting a battle I can't win. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself little by little... I'm tired of being the one who cares the most about us, about your own life... this isn't going to end well and I don't want to be the one left behind to pick up the pieces. I can't.”

“I love you.” Matt's broken voice broke your heart. You didn't doubt it was true, but that wasn't enough. Love wasn't enough to keep your relationship afloat.

“No more than the devil.”

Matt didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't true, but there was no way he could explain how he felt about his alter ego that you were going to understand. Daredevil was his blessing and his curse. It was his purpose, the thing that gave him a place in the world and in God's plan, but it was also his punishment, the reason why everyone he loved turned away from him. He didn't love Daredevil, but he needed him, just like the innocent people of Hell's Kitchen did. He couldn't ignore his abilities and the pleas of a city engulfed in violence and corruption because if he did, then bad things would happen because of him, because he hadn't been there to stop them.

“What do we do now? We're out of options.” Matt mumbled in a breathy whisper after a long silence.

“I don't know what to do.” You let out a sigh, letting your tired body fall back against the back of the couch.

“Could you... hold me until we figure it out? Whatever you decide, just... give me this night with you.”

You watched him for a moment, your fingers reaching out to caress his cheek without even realizing what you were doing. There was something so tragic yet so tender in his words, it was the perfect summary of your relationship. You both knew it was over. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but the end was near. So you had to take advantage of the few sweet moments you had left, and express your love for each other while you still could.

You settled into Matt's arms without saying a word. Your head rested on his chest, your ear pressed against his heartbeat. He kissed the top of your head as he pulled you tight against him, trying to lose himself in the warmth of your body and the sweet scent of your hair. He wanted to memorize all the little things he loved about you, everything his enhanced senses allowed him to know about you without you knowing it. He didn't want to lose you, but he knew he would. You deserved someone so much better than him, someone who wouldn't hurt you the way he did. He could accept you leaving if it meant you would be happy, but he refused to forget you. So he spent the next few minutes memorizing the way the warmth of your body felt against his and how your soft skin reacted to the touch of his fingers. He paid special attention to the sound of your heartbeat and inhaled the scent of your hair as if it were the oxygen he needed to live. That way he could take you with him forever.

“I wish I had two lives, one for you and one for him.” Matt whispered against your hair and the corners of your lips curved with sadness.

“I wish I had two lives, both of them for you.”

As painful as it was, you couldn't imagine a life without Matt. You loved him, with all the good and all the bad. And even though you had spent the last few days repeating how hard it was for you to stay by his side, the truth was that you would still choose him even in another life. You wanted him by your side in every life you had and that was not going to change. Your heart was determined to break and put itself back together again if that was what it took to be with him.

Matt Murdock was and always would be the love of your life.

Matt Murdock's tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

[uwooyoungs]

//

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits

[welcometogrouchland]

Also what if I said the show taking time to show that Luz and Hunter aren't unhealthily dependent on one another post time skip the way they were in thanks to them (but still close seen in Luz's patches on her clothes or Hunter taking time off work to go to Luz's bday) actually plays in to the cycle of sibling betrayal motif w/ the Clawthornes and Wittebanes????

[critterofthenight]

my elementary school best friend just posted a video of them dancing with a girl on their prom thing and it made me tear up

[pepprs]

i resent so much about my life situation rn and have been complaining about it way too openly for my resentment to be justified because im stabbing my family in the back basically which makes me a bad person deserving of all of this. but i am just so deeply miserable constantly and have been for all of my conscious life i think. lol

[statementlou]

back up live https://www.instagram.com/louisblue_2156c/live/

[waugh-bao]

*

[the-crafting-gremlin]

I love my coworkers so much. (For many reasons, including that they're all genuinely pretty good people, open and accepting, and funny.)

One of them and her husband are going to a metal concert this weekend, and it turns out that our manager is going with his oldest daughter because they're also fans of this band. The one coworker commented that she wonders what people must think when they hear about the different concerts she's gone to this year since its kind of a weird variety--an old folky-country singer who's mostly only popular with older people (in their mid 50's and up; she and her sister were the youngest there by quite a bit, in their late 20's and early 30's respectively), Taylor Swift, and now a metal band.

Another coworker piped up, "That's why I like you; your music tastes are eclectic. You're poly-jam-orous!"

I about died laughing, y'all. Her pun game is on point, as usual.

[medicinemane]

At least even when I was a teenager and identified as communist, I was still never a soviet apologist

(And as I got older I came to dislike the USSR more and more and more, also seeing that soviet apologism kinda tended to fuck things up for western communists cause they'd be so busy running defense for people who didn't like or care about them, that actually getting policies passed to help western workers came second to being a tankie)

(Straight up, while I was volunteering in Quebec, one of the people I stayed with had this book by her uncle about being a Canadian communist, and he basically pinned soviet apologism as the whole reason he left the party cause they were more interested is doing PR for the kremlin than they were interested in like... unionizing in Canada)

Anyway, tankies suck, soviet apologism suck, and I'm glad to be able to say that even when I was a communist I didn't fall into that trap... like thank fuck for that, you know?