#[that which does not kill us makes us strong: sydney]

[myriadxofxmuses]

@4fter-hours for our semi plotted thing : )

The party was in full swing. It was the first time she'd actually agreed to come out to a function full of her loved ones since things had disintegrated with Alejandra. And she was glad she had listened to her friends and attended the get together. Sydney was enjoying herself far more than she expected. Even hitting it off with a few new potentials - one who's attention seemed to grab on more than the others. The pair had been dancing and seemingly deep in conversation when Sydney's gaze caught sight of Alejandra.

Her chest tightened and the air was sucked from her lungs. Six months and she still wasn't over the woman. Alejandra still managed to elicit nearly uncontrollable attraction. Every missed memory rapidly flashed through Sydney's mind and she alomost collapsed under the grief of no longer having her by her side. That was until she noticed just how friendly she seemed to be with another party guest. Sydney couldn't help but notice how the duo appeared to only have eyes for each other, as if no one else was there with them. That they weren't smack dab in the middle of a lively party. And it made Sydney's stomach turn from jealousy.

She returned her focus to her own coupling for the evening and pulled her closer, leaving little space between them as they danced. Her eyes kept sneaking glances Alejandra's way, hoping against all odds that she would eventually look up and see her. And when it finally happened Sydney quickly looked away, just barely avoiding being caught staring, and gave her night's companion a kiss.

[myriadxofxmuses]

Sydney agreed with silent nods as she spoke. Given her upbringing, she hadn’t been one to cherish memories.  There were so few that she was beginning to have a hard time recalling them. Only bits and pieces remained. But here talking with Ky was bringing up a lot of long forgotten emotions tied to the most important ones.  She was surprisingly enjoying the reminiscing.

The mention of comics caught her attention. Now she knew Ky and D would hit it off. The short, two years they spent as friends had ingrained itself so deeply that those were memories she would never forget. Including when she’d caught him reading comics and subsequently how much he’d enjoyed them once she convinced him he wasn’t a nerd for it. 

“Thanks,” she said with a tip of her bottle and a small huff of a chuckle. “And you’re one of the first people I haven’t wanted to put a bullet through your eyes,” she added playfully, taking a drink.

------

Two weeks later.

"So have you talked to Ky yet?" Syd asked Daryl as they loaded up a truck for about upcoming run.

Immediately a soft blush tried to make its way to his cheeks. "Yea. A little," he told her of their concersation at his place a few nights ago. And the few times they'd managed to catch a few words in between duties. "Why? S'she said somethin'?"

Sydney shrugged and shook her head. "Just curious," she half lied as she shut the truck bed and leaned against it. "But I still think you guys would hit it off."

"Yea. You n'Carol. She's been tellin' me tha same," he admitted, now leaning against the back bumper himself. He pulled a smoke from his pocket and lit up. "You two better cut it out. Ky s'too good for a guy like me," he told her with slight disappointment.

"You mean a good guy who actually gives a shit?" she asked rhetorically. "You gotta stop being so hard on yourself D. You'd be great for her and I really think you should take the chance."

Daryl silently smoke and took in her urging, even if he didn't agree.

"Tell you what. I'll give you an easy in. I found out she has a penchant for comics too," she told him.

He looked her way with what she could assume was hope he might be wrong like she said. In reality he was both surprised with the information and terrified she'd told Ky how much he enjoyed them too.

"Don't worry. I didn't tell her you're a geek for them too," she both assured and teased him. "But maybe you'll find something on the run." She pulled a folded up map out of her pocket. "Here," she told him, pointing to a marked spot.

He took it from her and looked it over. The spot was right on their route. "What's this?" he asked with a shrug, sliding the map in his back pocket.

"Comic store I saw on my way in here. I used it as a marker to find my way if I had to," ahw explained just as she caught sight of Ky coming their way. "Speak of the devil," she said with a knowing grin his way.

“Oh loads,” she joked back. “My social calendar is full up. Guess Negan’ll have to wait his turn,” she added with a smirk, taking a drink of her beer.

Nice, huh? Syd smirked into her bottle as she drank, Ky’s word swirling through her mind. She had found Daryl nice of all things. Not gruff. Or standoffish. Or the most popular first impression - the lone wolf type. Which he very much was, but she had found him nice. Interesting.

“He can be quite the chatterbox once you get to know him,” she told her, finishing off her slice and dusting off her fingers on her pants. “Or you get him drunk,” she teased him with a wiggle of her bottle.

She left the kitchen and headed into the living room. While she was grateful for what they had there, and also back at her place, she sure wished there was t.v. to kick back and watch. Anything at all. She’d even watch the news - even if it would have been the usual reports of death and destruction.

“You know what I miss?” she asked aloud. “Did you ever watch that gross, cryptkeeper guy that used to tell scary stories on t.v.? That. Of all the shows I remember as a kid, that’s the one I wish I could watch right now,” she continued. “Sort of ironic considering the walking dead would have been a great episode back then. Never thought life would be like getting sucked into one,” she added with a small chuckle before taking another drink. “Well, that, and Three Stooges. Its corny as fuck, but my grandma used to love that show. We would watch reruns late at night whenever she watched me,” she reminisced mostly to herself to keep the silence at bay.

Was it surprising that she had described Daryl as nice? The look on Syd’s face kind of led Kyleigh to believe it was but that was how he had been with her. Oh she saw how he was with the others, very short answers to their questions, right to the point. She couldn’t blame him for that. With the way the world was these days why let that many people get to know you when they could be gone the next morning? Maybe she was the one being too nice to him, but damn it was hard to find people she could stand and she could definitely stand to be around Daryl more often.

Tucking away that little bit of information and the fact that she was going to do her best to find some liquor while she was out on her next run, the half lycan finished off her beer as well and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. She wondered where the hell they were putting it all, shrugging it off quickly after. As long as it wasn’t near her why bother to even care?

The pretty living room of the house seemed so empty without a television in it, but even with electricity there still was no shows to binge watch or even just have the damn thing on in the background while doing something else. Kyleigh missed the days when she would lay in bed during the night when she couldn’t sleep and read her comic books while something played away on her small TV. Reruns of something that she kind of wished she had paid attention to now. Grabbing another bottle for herself Kyleigh made her way over towards where Syd was sitting and plopped herself down. Where in the hell had they found these damn couches? Better yet all of the furniture that was around them. Yes she had been made aware that this community existed before the world ended, but with more and more people finding it how did they manage to keep up with the demand?

“Oh shit I loved that show! My Aunt didn’t want me watching it because she thought it would give me nightmares but I still did. Some of the graphic novels I used to read were so much worse than what they showed. I think that’s what started my love of horror. Of course I never would have picked this to be my future either. Thought I was going to have to live the rest of my life slinging food and fixing cars. Not that there’s anything wrong with either one of those but having to deal with the people that come along with it? Yeah, not the fun part.” Pausing to open her new drink Kyleigh took a swig before she paused, hating herself already for what she was about to say. “Current company excluded from that. You’re one of the first people I’ve met that I haven’t wanted to throw a pot of hot coffee in their face.”

[blindseer0]

Who Is Jenna and What is Her Route About?

(Reposted from Twitter)

Jenna’s Route is a highlight for many: arguably the happiest ending and the one most people recommend playing last. It’s also controversial, not just because Jenna is one of the more polarizing characters, but because people feel it doesn't focus enough on her.

I’ve seen multiple people comment that they still didn’t really know who Jenna was after playing her route. That kind of makes sense, since it has a large focus on Leo, which I think distracts people from what is going on with Jenna.

It doesn’t help that she is canonically the most enigmatic and guarded character, with Chase even commenting that he feels like there is extra meaning to what she says but he’s not smart enough to figure it out. So, who is Jenna and what is the point of her route?

Thankfully, the game has Flynn tell us exactly what each route is about. Carl’s is about his anxiety, fear of the future, and lack of confidence in himself. Leo’s is about his obsession with the past, inability to move forward, and projecting all of that onto Chase.

What about Jenna’s? Flynn’s comments to her are arguably the cruelest, and he even says as much. We know Jenna’s family were abusive towards her and that she had good reason to leave and never come back. Flynn knows this, he and Leo dealt with her family the most and its implied that after Leo and Chase started dating he was left to help her by himself. He never has anything positive to say about any of her family and seems to despise all of them. Why would he care about what happens to them or her relationship with them? The answer is, he doesn’t.

Flynn isn’t talking about how Jenna treats her biological family, he’s talking about her found family, our main characters. As he points out, Carl and Leo are both in very dark places (and we see him trying to help both of them, in his own way) and could really use her help.

Chase, who went to Pueblo on Jenna’s advice, seems lost and unsure of what to do with his life. Jenna’s on the same campus as him, and they’ve hardly talked. To be clear, Jenna isn’t obligated to sort their shit out, but it’s easy to see why Flynn thinks she abandoned them.

Flynn also accuses her of thinking she’s better than them because she left Echo, and he’s absolutely right. Why do I think that? Let’s look at everyone’s reactions to Sydney’s death. In Carl’s Route, Leo talks about how everyone changed after that.

Carl became more anxious and depressed, Leo became overprotective, Flynn became bitter, and TJ was obviously keeping a traumatizing secret. So, what about Jenna? What did she “learn” from Sydney’s death? Jenna learned that if you stay in Echo, it will FUCKING KILL YOU.

Jenna saw what the town did to her family, how it killed her brother, Sydney and countless others and she decided to leave before it killed her as well. We see her try to convince Chase, Carl, and even Leo to leave Echo, because she thinks the town will ruin them if they don’t.

That’s why she shows disdain towards Janice for still working at the diner and to various other people, because it’s obvious to her that the town breaks people and if they were smarter they would know they should leave; if they were stronger or just tried harder they could leave.

Jenna tells Chase as much, that the difference between her and Jeremy was “temperament”. Her “nature” was strong enough to overcome her “nurture”. She talks about how Heather “made herself a victim”, which is in contrast to Jenna, who does her best to not talk about her abuse.

Jenna needs to believe that she got out of Echo through sheer force of will; that she is better, tougher than everyone who stayed, because if that wasn’t the reason, what does that mean for everyone still there? What does it mean for her family? For her?

And the reason she shows disdain towards Flynn is not only because he’s still in Echo, but because he knows the truth of the lie Jenna tells herself: she didn’t survive Echo because of her temperament, she survived Echo because of her friends, her found family.

To get her good ending, you have Chase tell her “We kept each other sane”; we’re supposed to understand that “we” isn’t just Chase and Jenna, it’s all of them. Chase even says he could have become like Jeremy and Clint if he didn’t have Jenna, Leo, and the rest of the group.

Deep down, Jenna knows this. Before the temperament line she says that it was falling in with Clint that made Jeremy the (awful) person he is; that if things had been different, he, or she, could have been different.

In Jenna’s route Leo expresses a similar sentiment, saying he should have been there for Micha, should have introduced him to the group, that if he had, maybe things would have turned out better for the bat. In Route 65 he says that his friends are why he didn’t turn out like the people at the party.

That’s why Jenna’s good ending is what it is. You, as Chase, convince her that people can change, can be better, and that they can help each other survive, that you don’t have to do it on your own. Jenna talks Heather down because she realizes she could have been like Heather, if not for her found family keeping her sane and supporting her through the worst parts of her life.

(This is also LITERALLY true, in that she could not have physically left Echo if one of her friends, Chase, hadn't given her a ride out of town.)

It’s also why the Socketman is so prominent in the route; it’s what helped her survive her abusive childhood until she could meet Chase, Leo, and everyone else.

(I have another thread I could write about Jenna, Flynn and the Socketman, but this has already gone on too long.)

That’s why she doesn’t actually talk to Jeremy, another common complaint. Jeremy makes his choice when he sells her, and the people she cares most about, out to Brian. It’s not him she needs to talk to, it’s them. Her route is the only one where they’re all together at the end.

Jenna is a tough, talented person, and it wasn’t just luck that got her out of Echo and where she is; she put in the work. But admitting that she was lucky, that her found family, for all their flaws were, and are, still there for her, that there was some good in the hellhole that is Echo, that’s what allows her to save the people in the town, to save Heather, and leads to (arguably) the happiest ending in Echo. That’s why I love the writing for Jenna and her route so much. There’s so much under the surface and so many layers to explore.

(You, obviously, don’t have to agree with all or any of what I’ve said here, and I’d love people to tell me what they think or if I’m full of shit. I just wanted to put my thoughts out there, since I’ve seen people talking about it, and give another way to look at things.)

(I wanted to write a thread about Leo and Conservatism, but to write that I needed to write a thread about Leo, Jenna and College in Echo, and to write THAT I needed to explore Jenna’s character and what motivates her. Let me know if you would want to read either of those.)

[vickyvicarious]

For all the beats that The Beetle has with Dracula, one thing that it never touches at all is the variety of how people feel towards the common enemy.

-Mina is a complex case, she declares she feels no mercy for Dracula at first due to what he did to Lucy, then after she gets the same affliction from him she feels pity despite how relentlessly she hunts him down, and then relief from seeing his humanity at peace upon death.

-Van Helsing at first gives the impression of being clinical, but from reading his own account at the end we see that he feels that killing a vampire is to him just as horrifying and violating as murdering a human person. Despite how much they had tried to kill him and Mina.

-Serward sees vampirism as a terminal illness to be eliminated. Euthanasia is a comforting word.

-Jonathan hates all vampires' guts throughout, they're devils who belong in Hell. Except if the vampire Mina. Then he'll become one himself.

In The Beetle the variety towards the enemy is

-Everyone: Bugs and Arabs are evil

-Robert: THE BEETLE!!!

Yeah, that's an excellent point! In Dracula, there is a lot of variety to the characters's - actually, you could stop the sentence there, even. Every character is distinct, and while their goals all firmly align, there is definitely nuance to how they view the situation and thus to their thoughts about the villain. Meanwhile in The Beetle, there just isn't that level of nuance anywhere, but especially in regards to Theb in particular.

I think I've mentioned this before, but it's really hard to care too much about most of Marsh's characters because at the core they all seem to hold the same awful values as him. There isn't even anything really interesting done with contrasting different values or opinions... unless you count Marjorie's whole "I am a strong, independent woman! *gets kidnapped*" thing, which is clearly proving how wrong she is to the readers. Or Percy being more 'meek' and willing to wish Marjorie happiness with Paul - that was clearly set up for us to join in with Sydney at scoffing/laughing at him not being much of a man. Even when it would make more sense for a character to believe something different, or to express something in a different way, it usually doesn't happen. It's why I'm really glad we never got any real Paul Lessingham POV (though he still hurt his own image a lot with some of the things he said later on), or The Beetle for that matter. Not to point to the sexyman contest, but it's true that the less we hear from them directly, the more likeable the characters tend to be.

Marsh doesn't really go in for unique character voices, either. I wrote a post midway through Dracula Daily last year, but the search section is terrible and I can't find it right now. Anyway though, not only does each character think and act differently, but they write differently too. They focus on different things, describe stuff in different ways, the amount and for what purpose they write all inform their characters. To some extent that isn't possible in The Beetle given we don't get to see things like letters to different people and such, but even in this 'deposition' style first-person it should be more distinct. Honestly, the one POV character who stands out the most is Sydney, whose narrative is at least somewhat distinct. The other three though, don't really have unique 'voices' in the same way. In-universe, Holt's story is written up from what people remember him telling them after his death, so it makes a bit of sense, but it's still just so much more boring to read, honestly. I like my characters to be more distinct!

[goronska]

My OCs: Ubisi the Red Goddess

[Masterlist]

Honestly, one of my personal favorites. Illustrations are both picrew and AI generated images.

UBISI The Red Goddess [age unknown, she/her, sexuality unknown, mostly found in the realm of Inbetween]

Not much is known about Ubisi's past, but her cult is the most prevailing one in Vermillion (with some small enclaves of Islam and Christianity sprinkled here and there).

She is a bit of a shapeshifter, especially when it comes to size, but she usually presents herself as a woman double or triple the size of an avarage human, with short wavy hair, red skin, proportionally shaped and strong. She also has horns going to the back of her head and some battle scars she wears proudly.

She is considered the one to represent the strength in femininity, so she is often connected with fire and blood or emotionas like battle drive and bodily pleasures.

She doesn't meddle with earthly stuff too much, unless it's someone she Traced before. Tracing is a phenomenon in which Ubisi is physically present and takes a liking or curious attention to a mortal she deems amusing - through physical touch, usually of a fingertip, the person has a reddish Trace burnt onto their skin, serving as a signal amplifier between them and The Red Goddess. Yet, she is not interested in politics, wealth or sins. A lot of things are permitted within this cult as long as you understand how to ask Ubisi for things and what can you get in return.

Ubisi is deadly bored most of the time, so she's always hungry for things that either spark her interest (elaborate dancing rituals in the temples, anyone?) or give her power (like extreme emotions of pain, desire, anger, love, joy or sadness). As she is not an all-powerful goddess, she is the mistress of trade. Offer her something, get something she thinks is of equal value. She also needs people to actually believe in her, not just practice the rituals to exhibit any power at all. Transfering between this realm and her home also consumes a lot of power for her, so she needs something to make it easier. such as a zurda, a mirror with frames put on fire / drenched in milk / blood, or a person that has been Traced, using the Trace as a portal (this leaves the poor human "pistachio'd" as my co-players called it - there's only a burnt, dry shell left behind, with a crach where the Trace used to be. She used that technique 3 times in the past 50 years, killing 2 High Priestesses and 1 believer).

She barely ever kills her believers, but enjoys inflicting pain to her favourite ones when she is jealous, needs energy or their behavior is unsatisfactory. Apart from being able to hurt some through their Trace, she is also knowns to sporadically send Red Sickness, which results with dizziness, fever, rapidly developing patches of red skin and at final stage scarring and weird spores emerging from them, effectively killing the person. If the person manages to repent and fix their behavior in time, they are usually spared, she does it purely for the show.

She also enjoys having a good opponent, so if someone wants to outsmart her (like Setia), beat her up (like Sydney) or just obliterate her (like Life that one time) - she will gladly pick up the gauntlet and diss the oponent with irony and sarcasm to rub in their lack of chances. This is always where it is interesting for her, and she also adores infusing the Vermillion soldiers with bravery and strength to see a show. The only being she really lost to so far is Life, who herself is a much more powerful goddess, and absolutely tossed her around by the head like a ragdoll. Which earned Life a top respected and admired position in Ubisi's soul and heart.

After queen Marehtua sacrificed her uterus to the Goddess, she came up with tens of uses for it, and finally created a demi-god boy later called Eodum. After she deemed the experiment of creating life successful, she completely lost interest in him, so although he survived he really has social issues.

Some rules in her cult:

Only women can be priestesses and acolytes in her Temples. The High Priestess is the top position, mostly for life, picked by the priestesses among themselves. Current one is Agat. Her predecessor, Miko, served as a portal through the Trace on her face (ouch).

Most of the rituals involve symbols like zurdas, milk, blood, fire. Apart from Cleansing which can be performed one-on-one like a catholic confession or purification in shinto, most of them involve groups, moving in theatrical, sometimes bordering erotic manner.

Believers of Ubisi usually have their personal zurda, which is decorative oval stand, with a red-and-white stone on top. The stone is supposed to be the symbol of triumphant womanhood with the two life-giving liquids: milk and blood (also the menstrual blood), and the oval stand upon which it rests - the cycle of nature, including ovulation, day and night, seasons, life and death. Some anthropologists and tourists claim it really is a simplified shape of a vagina, but both priestesses and Ubisi deny this. Zurda should be displayed at one's window (like Menoras are in winter by the Jewish community) and taken to the temples. If you go abroad, it should also be packed, to remind you about your link to your community at home. Sometimes it is buried in the ground, with the stone protruding above, to perform certain prayers and rituals.

Males are deemed worse forms of being both in Vermillion as such, and in the cult, hence out of the whole population of slaves/servants (who are est. to be 5-7% in Vermillion), around 90% is male.

Sex is strongly advised in this religion, provided it is consensual and safe. Marriages, however, are monogamic and living in bigger groups is frowned upon. Ubisi doesn't care for the genders of people involved, and if they want to open their relationship, it's fine even in wedlock, but only in bed, not in everyday life.

Ubisi never stated this explicitely, but she doesn't care about type of addiction. Alcohol, cigarettes and drugs are permitted, but banned by law for people under the age of 16 in Vermillion, with the total ban on synthetic drugs for everyone.

Ubisi likes things like hot baths, and esthetically pleasing items. Her temples are often surrounded by well-kept gardens and have stained class domes or fragments of the ceiling.

The education on her is provided at first by parents and then in discussion groups with the local acolytes and priestesses at the temple grounds. They take form of room-wide debates where teens can add any challenging question about the doctrine. As all topics are treates seriously, and teens are treated as partners in this discussion, most young people enjoy those meetings and form many friendships there or organize additional activities after, like watching films, practicing sports, doing artistic stuff, or just playing online games together.

[myriadxofxmuses]

@lunarruled from X

To say Daryl was relieved they were back ans unharmed was an understatement. He had already been biting at the bit to figure out a way to get them home. He didn't care what rescuing them may have brought, nor their subsequent escape, he just wanted them back - never having been for them women leaving in the first place. A fact that Rick had been hearing about since the decision had been made to leave.

"He gave ya rooms?" Daryl asked, genuinely shocked they'd gotten such comfort at Sanctuary. "Sonofabitch," he said under his breath.

He'd fully expected them to have been put into a cell the same as he had, but then again they were attractive women. It wouldn't have surprised him if Negan was trying to groom them to become one of his wives. As if that would have worked.

"Dwinght left yea?" he asked further, glancing between the two women. Sydney gave him a silent nod in confirmation. "I knew tha' asshole was up ta no good. I doubt he comes back. 'Specially if he does find his wife," he went on, irritated that the group had even considered trusting that guy. "Saviors ain't no good. Period."

"Relax D," Syd chimed in. "We're fine and anyone in Dwight's position would do the same. Even you," she told him truthfully, momentarily side eyeing Ky knowingly. Daryl merely huffed, knowing she was right and apparently about who he would have done it for.

"Why don't we get back to the house and you can fill us in on everything," Rick started, diffusing Daryl's rising anger and ushering the small group further into Alexandria. "If Dwight is gone for good and you two escaped, then you're right about Negan. He won't stop until he finds all of you and gets you back to Sanctuary. We have to be ready for anything," he added as they walked.

-----

"That's all I could get from out little walkthrough. I gotta give it to him, it's pretty secure," Sydney told them as she finished giving her relay of the trip. "There's only one weakness in the whole compound and it isn't easy to get to. The only way we're going to take it is if we manage to turn some of his guys and convince them to just let us in. But I don't see how we're going to do that," she added a bit dejected.

[the-firebird69]

The Blues Brothers (1980) - Mall Chase Scene (2/9) | Movieclips

It says it's been years in the jungle and you're having to say funny things and we don't like it we don't like you you two idiots we don't like your game we don't think it's funny and we're gonna go after you nobody sits there mocking us who's your age in size you're not very big even though you're half the population I mean what is wrong with people why don't you calm down great sake I don't think it's worth it so listening to you and your bosses we all have excuses for making this mad and harming him bothering him he won't stop no matter what kind of injuries you sustain or losses. We therefore have to conclude that you are lost and that's what it means. You don't have prison in Chicago and it's kind of both your areas and you can't seem to get along with anybody. What's also very strange is you're up there before the crocodile attacks which is not long from now and we're wondering why she's Superman and we are the mission from God to try and go after the max and he would as well it gets into a fight with one of them and that shows up on the screen and the fight continues and it's with Sydney's Space Act and he's a sack of **** and he doesn't know how to fight or do anything and who knows how to get out there and it happens to be about this gigantic emerad. And it looks like Tommy F again somewhere else moving it and probably where the max wanted so we can't stand you and we're going after you we have to do something and we are figuring out that you're horrible to our son no matter what you doing you're really awful and these bugs are bad enough and you make him worse and we have to go after you so you're sitting around you can't figure it out you're gonna figure it out pretty soon you're in a big fight and you're losing and what's with your uncle and your father I didn't wanna stand to any reason. Superman is off of New York the Green Lantern is in Chicago area but so is the Avengers and the Wonder Woman in her crowd of the Justice League and a whole bunch of other people in tights. It really continues like this and it is a shame but we do think that there are several movies that happen before those heavyweights. And one of them is rampage starting the rock cocoa who for some reason turned white and well the crocodile who doesn't really know who you are now he knows who you are he can't stand you. We keep shooting him it says they hurt me and they won't stop. So he tries to kill you it's really fast though and it's just an animal but doesn't need to be treated that way so you treat him that way so he does stuff like he does in the movie and he's powerful and he can be real big and move and you don't care but alright it takes that building down and it's like an example for other animals and there's a lot of animals. There's other things happening they're pretty big but this is a huge concept. You're running around dinging our son and saying You're on a mission from us now we've had it you're not in a mission from us but the concept is about what BJA is talking about and considering doing he said that these people are sitting there with them and eventually they're gonna try and get in there and it's gonna be impossible. So he's gonna try and go in there with many many teams tonight to see what the max are doing and really that's a breakthrough. I helped do it and he thanks me and I'm up for accommodation because he couldn't get it done. It's true too

Duke Nukem blockbuster granted there was a lot of priming but really it just let loose and nothing happened. And we needed to we needed to have an

We thank you for your time and he says to stop by on occasion and he needs you to have attention and people need to see what your work is like. And he does appreciate it. Council Hardcastle does. We all work together he's trying to alleviate stress he's under a lot of it and he's a boy and he laughs at things a lot he's still a baby and it's coming out kind of strong now so we have to understand it's important it's physiological and mentally he needs to be taught other things than with these idiots are doing and he says I'm keeping it straight and separate and really it's not as hard as it looks and we do understand that.

Thor Freya

I have more now since later and we are running out of room here.

Hera 

Olympus

[ideal-girl]

Rhe Links are like this because I accidentally deleted this several times over and I got tired of linking them correctly. 

Now about the topics of retributive and restorative Justice. Well more like, more EXACTLY rambling.

On the original (I guess the now private) post, I believe you mentioned your disdain for someone suggesting that Israel should face restorative Justice instead of retributive Justice. Instead of leaving the response there, I decided to make a separate one because that post was too long and I’m mixed about retributive Justice in by itself and I rather Israel not be the focus on this post.

Now I think I can get why “Retributive Justice” is a favored concept. I mean for the past years there’s been a surge of politicians who’s trying to make life a living hell for LGBT people; such as forbidding talk in school about sexual orientation, trying to ban drag shows, even trying to get To Kill a Mockingbird banned from libraries, and making stupid “educational videos” where they basically say “Slavery wasn’t a terrible thing kids!” So of course it would be hugely entertaining so watch those kind of people get their just desserts.

The problem is that “retributive Justice” can very easily be a pipeline into some either misaimed, toxic, or even wicked beliefs. For starters well basically it’s punishment. And punishment can in many instances, be equivalent to suffering. And it’s believed in society that suffering is a good thing, that one could only be greater better through suffering, that it teaches one how to be a good person. Which is not always true.

I’ve seen this already with fictional characters, as more than a handful of people believe that Catra and Azula, both victims of abuse since childhood, should have suffered more than they already had by their respective series, despite the fact that Catra’s whole arc was that she kept putting herself in a cycle of self-punishment and suffering due to her bad actions and the latter gets locked up in a mental institution by the end. Not to mention wishing they could have suffered more contradicts some of the themes in those shows. I’ve seen a “funny” RWBY fan skit where the villain Adam Taurus gets one of his eyes branded using the logo of a mining factory company in what was supposed to be a “badass” moment. The same mining company which forced him to slavery since childhood and already branded one of his eyes, which is implied to be a strong reason why he ended up a terrible person.

https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/jkzgxe/some_thoughts_on_catras_redemption_for_the_all/

It’s something that affects real life. There’s this weird incident that’s not really about punishment but it is about suffering sorta. Sydney Sweeney recounted working a brief stint as a tour guide for that tram ride in Universal Studios Hollywood to make ends meet for her struggling family as they were poor and some weird entitled Tiktoker tried to claim she was lying because apparently becoming a Universal tour guide was this “notoriously difficult” position that “not everybody could get into”, and apparently a bandwagon of people hopped up trying to say that she actually had a cushy life as if struggling and suffering is the key to being a good person.

ever heard of Jasmine Richardson? She’s a Canadian killer who murdered her own parents and younger brother along with a boyfriend accomplice. She was incarcerated for 10 years, and then afterward once she served her time, the legal system cleared her criminal history and she walks free now. By all means, this sounds like a real life pure evil character and a misjudgment… except if you know that Jasmine was 12 years old when she did this. And the boyfriend character was a 23 year old man. Medical professionals confirmed that she did appear to be truly rehabilitated upon her release. The comments don’t care, they say that this person who was a manipulated child groomed by a older man is a utter monster who does not deserve a chance and should instead be locked up for life in prison or at least publicly shamed.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2hfMn2maU8o&pp=ygUSSmFzbWluZSByaWNoYXJkc29u

Speaking of prisons actually, have you ever heard about the prison system in Norway? Originally they built prisons similar to that of the US however due to the fact that prisoners released kept recommitting crimes two years of their release Norway decided to take a new approach. They focused on “Restorative Justice”, treating their prisoners (even the crueler ones) like ordinary people with more humane conditions to make it so they can reintegrate into society easier, some have even got a better chance of getting employed afterwards. It seems to be working pretty well for them, as their recidivism rate is one of the lowest in the world. Compare that to the more “retributive” US prison system where often prisoners are treated subhuman and it’s nigh impossible for anyone to hire them afterwards, and of course the high recidivism. And the US may not be the worst in that regards! What do you think about the Norway prison system?

https://ultranos.tumblr.com/post/645435392662929408/sits-down-and-brews-chrysanthemum-tea-atla

Here’s a choice quote from this blog post that got me thinking: “This has told me that the very basis of the US justice system is flawed. That people are focused on the “retribution” part of retributive justice, they’re focused on vengeance. Not mercy. Not the humanity of the victim and perpetrator.”

Another post I’ve recently found that got me thinking is this which points out that the thing is, people like Qanon, racists, anti-abortionists, corrupt governments like America, Israel and North Korea do believe that they are the good guys and that their acts of violence or whatever are their form of Justice. Sure those are more obviously evil motives, but the fact is those still function on the same motive on “retribution” which can turn into a pipeline to more reckless thoughts.

(I was toying with the idea of doing a Mandy story with this theme; but the problem is that it would be a big Author tract and I usually design the stories to be open to interpretation so I don’t know if I should send it)

There’s this great story of the George Perez Wonder Woman comic series that dealt with this matter, better than a mediocre episode of Justice League which tried to deal with a similar theme. The story was that there was this island much like Themyscira, except that its inhabitants came to be through a violent revolution where most of the men died. Despite banning men from coming to the island, the argonaut Jason and his crew came into the island, seducing the women which resulted in many offspring. However Jason and the crew abandoned them, and the islanders took ”justice” by slaughtering all the remaining men (mostly infants) including the Queen’s own father and son and banishing her and her daughter. In the end, it was revealed that because it was a ”paradise” brought by prejudice and violence, and with no one left to fight now that all the men were dead, the women turned their anger towards and slaughtered each other, the society collapsed. Maybe you can use it as an allegory for something in real life, IDK. But the Themyscira shown in that same series as ruled by Hippolyta and Diana did not suffer from this problem as they chose a more peaceful approach (in fact, any instances of writers portraying a more flawed version of Wonder Woman’s homeworld usually go use Amazon stereotypes, and those tend to be poorly written)

https://unbidden-yidden.tumblr.com/post/733640314679689216/there-are-two-related-things-ive-noticed-coming

[myriadxofxmuses]

"Nice," she mused quietly as she looked out the window at the landscape going by. "I always wanted a dog, but my mom and I moved around too much. Plus the apartments we lived in weren't really pet friendly," she added with a quick smirk and a momentary raise of her brow.

Ironically their nomadic lifestyle had been the perfect precursor to life now. It was all too easy for her to just walk away. Even more so now. So a pet wasn't even an option anymore in her life. Not that she'd seen to many dogs roaming the streets anyway. She assumed most of them had already been dinner to the undead.

"So," she continued with a slight stretch, bringing her attention back to him. "Think you can let me on our secret destination? Or at least a heads up on what I'm gonna be heading into?"

"Buck, huh. Solid name," she mused aloud.

Sydney always wanted pets growing up, but her mother's love life was barely stable enough for her to survive. Let alone an animal. The closest Syd ever got to a pet was feeding the stray cats in whatever small town they ended up in after her mother's most recent break-up.

But a dog would have been nice.

She wouldn't have felt so lonely all the time.

"What kind of dog was Buck?" she asked with a smirk, her imagination running a little wild with what it could have been like if she'd ever had a dog.

[grahamstoney]

Suicide Joke Gets Heckled at the Local Open Mic Night

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/anger/suicide-joke-gets-heckled-at-the-local-open-mic-night

Suicide Joke Gets Heckled at the Local Open Mic Night

I went to a local open mic comedy night here in Sydney on Wednesday night, to get up and do a four minute set.

There is plenty of angst on display by the comedians on the night for the audience’s entertainment. The MC leads the charge with a series of acrostic poems clearly displaying his disdain and resentment towards his stepfather. I didn’t even know what an acrostic poem was, so it turned out both enlightening and educational. He also does several bits in between other comedian’s sets, about his experience of depression, and of ironic conversations with his therapist.

Comedians Feel Like This about Hecklers and Step-Fathers Sometimes.

Several other comedians also speak about being depressed, taking antidepressants, seeing psychiatrists, psychologists, counsellors or therapists. Most of the stories sound funny, most of the time. But these people are clearly suffering.

I get a strong sense that a lot of comedians, deep down, are very angry. We’re putting on a brave face, smiling and joking around about some pretty serious issues. I sense that there’s a lot of primal rage going on, that we’ve been taught to suppress. We are using comedy to express that rage; or perhaps to mask it. Maybe both.

When it’s my turn, I get up and do a set about anger, focusing on my recent experience learning Tai Chi: the teacher who did more talking than teaching, and the woman that hassled me about the way I spoke one day after my practice down at the local beach. The stories I tell our literally true, but the deeper truth is that I’m not nearly as angry at my Tai Chi teacher as I am at, say, my mother. But I’m not ready to talk about that on stage; it’s still too painful for me to see the comic side of yet.

The other comedians are pushing boundaries when they start doing suicide jokes. They’re talking about their own potential suicides, and most of them are doing it in a way that is making us laugh. You’ve got to wonder what it is about human nature that make something like that funny. Actually, I know what it is: laughter is a stress relief. We laugh because we’re vicariously experiencing someone else’s pain, and the stress relief comes when our conscious mind realises that it’s not ours.

But the audience is not always laughing tonight. A female comedian ends her set by saying that since nobody finds her funny, she is leaving Australia to go to Europe where she can kill herself in a place where her mother won’t find her body. Part of me thinks she could well be serious; I don’t think anybody has laughed at any of her material tonight. I’ve heard her before, and I didn’t find her funny then either. Apparently that’s important if you want to be a comedian.

What to do? Tell her to call Lifeline? Call an ambulance and get them to come and pick her up as she comes off stage? Confiscate her passport? Or remind myself that the stories that most comedians tell onstage are distorted versions of the truth, exaggerated for our entertainment. I placate my discomfort by leaning to the attractive woman seated on my left in the audience and saying “Well, that was awkward!” to which she replies: “I know!”

I never did end up getting her number. The attractive woman beside me in the audience that is, not the suicidal comedian. Well, actually I didn’t get either of their numbers.

The MC gets back on and starts doing a suicide joke of his own, which prompts a middle aged woman seated in the centre of the audience to yell “Not funny!”

I have no idea what is going on for her; she looks old enough to have lost a son to suicide. Who knows.

The comedian launches into an angry tirade towards the heckler: “You have no right to judge me, or my suicide joke!” He starts yelling back at her.

I think “Wow, this guy is clearly in a lot of pain.” He’s reacting like a tiger with a thorn lodged deep in its paw.

Now most comedians hate hecklers, especially up-and-coming comedians who go to open mic nights like this. We don’t have the experience to handle heckling in a way that’s fun and engaging for everyone, we get triggered by the interruption, and it’s easy to lose track of where you’re at in your material.

Plus, maybe this guy is like me, and has a history of being criticised by older women when he is speaking his truth as best he knows how. Perhaps his suicide joke is an unconscious cry for help, and it hurts to get that met with criticism. Or maybe I’m just projecting myself into his situation, when really it’s completely different. Who knows.

Down the track, I suspect that dealing with hecklers just becomes part of the fun of it all. But when you are still new at this game and the heckler hits one of your hot buttons; that’s no fun for anyone.

My set tonight gets a few laughs, and certainly holds the audience’s attention. I feel heard. I also feel proud of myself for getting over my initial fear of even getting up on stage in the first place. I don’t really end with a bang; my final punchline doesn’t get any laughs at all. Which leads me to finish with a statement of fact that does get a laugh: “Well, I can see that wasn’t a really great ending.”

A bit like this post, actually.

[myriadxofxmuses]

"Be honest… if I got bit and I asked you to be the one to put me down, would you do it?" (for both Daryl and Syd from Kyleigh)

Syd scoffed in disbelief and shook her head. "You're not gonna get bit," she flat out denied her. "So, no, I won't 'put you down,' she adamantly refused, repeating Kyleigh's words.

Daryl eyed Ky a few moments silently as Sydney got out her objections to ending their friend's life should the unthinkable happen. And he normally he would have agreed, the chances of Kyleigh actually being bitten slim if he had anything to do with it. But Merle had long ago proven no one was safe from the unfortunate fate. Not to mention the countless others he'd lost over the years to the very same.

"Put down," Syd repeated to herself with another scoff. "You act like your some rabid dog and not a friend," she mumbled further, angry Ky even thought it would be an option.

"I will," Daryl cut in.

Sydney's shock was more than evident. "Are you kidding me?!"

"F'ya were ever bit. I'd do it," he confirmed. Not that he'd want to, but Daryl was ready to do whatever he needed to keep his people safe - even if that meant ending a life to do so. "Wouldn't be tha first time v'had to," he admitted, clearing his throat of the sorrow creeping through him with the revelation. "N'I ain't 'bout ta let ya turn inta one's those things," he added with disdain. "So, yea, I'd do it."

[wavesmp3]

you jump; i jump

sunwoo x reader 

requested from sensory prompts #46: the waver in someone’s voice when they’re stressed genre: spy au, exes (ish) to lovers wc: 5.6k  warnings: cursing, tiny bit of gore/blood

Sunwoo used to pride himself for being able to keep his cool, in even the most unimaginable situations. He kept his exterior when Haknyeon turned out to be double crossing their agency, Creker, and secretly sending information to a rivaling one the whole time. Sunwoo didn’t crack when his entire mission in Sydney blew up right in his fucking face, never even flinched when his gear malfunctioned dumping him in a hospital for a week. But all those instances seem to fall flat now. All the times where Sunwoo stayed strong seem to disappear the moment he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around only to come face to face with you. “What are you-“ he falters, grasping at the last bits of crumbling pride and hanging on to the dip in his voice. “What are you doing here?” 

“You forgot this,” you continue, ignoring him entirely, “forgot it in Vienna specifically.” You dangle a watch in front of his face. The same watch he lost somewhere in Austria three months ago, at the same time that he was in the middle of the most intense and longest mission the agency had ever given him, and more notably, around the same time he met you. “Don’t look so shocked.” You scoff when he fails to respond. “You told me you were gonna be here.” 

Sunwoo laughs, except it’s less of a laugh and more of an exhale of pure disbelief. “I know what I said, but you’re…” his voice trails off, some part of him unable to finish the sentence and another part of him still too disturbed to believe it. 

You tilt your head with faux confusion. “I’m what?”

Sunwoo gulps. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

VIENNA, AUSTRIA  THREE MONTHS AGO 

Sunwoo remembers, with a starling amount of clarity, all that happened three months ago. He can recall every day he spent roaming the streets of Vienna with you despite the way he’s been trying to drown out the memories and douse his lingering feelings. 

When he met you at a pub on one of his first nights there, he told himself he entertained your conversation because, well, to put it bluntly, he thought you were cute. Although the small tug in his gut doesn’t help justify why he found himself stumbling back to his hotel room with you by his side. And there’s really no good excuse for the tiny sting of disappointment Sunwoo feels when he wakes up alone the next morning. 

It’s two days after that night when Sunwoo sees you again, sitting on a bench with a book in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. It’s an odd coincidence that he should see you in Vienna again, but the small pang of doubt is quickly replaced with a more promising burst of elation. Sunwoo can’t tell if it’s exhilarating or terrifying.

“Ah,” you mutter when you notice him approaching, “Sunwoo right?” It’s a facade, Sunwoo thinks to himself, he knows you remember his name, knows you only pretend to forget. But he doesn’t mention that, instead he nods rather lamely, shoving his fists into his pockets and burying away the voice of reason in the back of his head telling him this is a mistake. “Sit.” You say, moving your things to the other side of the bench and patting the now empty spot next to you. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And in retrospect, it’s quite obvious that Sunwoo should have found the words alarming. Really, he should have begun to put his guard up the second he spotted you in Vienna again. But at that moment in time, the only thing Sunwoo can think to ask is if he was worth the wait. 

Your tongue darts out, swiping at your bottom lip in thought for the smallest of seconds, before disappearing into your mouth again. “Yeah,” you say, lips turning up into an intrigued smile, “you were.” 

—

Sunwoo doesn’t think much of the way he comes to trust you so easily, telling you the truth about his job in the darkness of the hotel room. He doesn’t think anything of the way you hang onto his every word without ever sharing much about yourself. And when one day, you sit down at the cafe booth across from him and ask, “what’s your current mission,” Sunwoo doesn’t think twice before telling you everything about his objective to infiltrate Pegasus. He also doesn’t notice the phone call you make soon after. 

—

When the truth does come out, it comes fast, like water rushing off a cliff and crashing into Sunwoo sitting unsuspecting at the bottom. It comes in the form of a charity event that he only attends as part of the mission which sent him to Vienna to begin with. The truth arrives, like a rock in his gut, at the same second that Sunwoo sees you across the hall. You, who he last saw at the hotel, and you, who’s supposed to be on a train to Paris right now. And when your eyes finally catch his, there’s something unmistakable swimming in them. You’ve been caught, Sunwoo thinks, finally placing a name to the familiar way you swallow and dart your eyes around the room. Sunwoo recognizes the feeling, vaguely remembers the rush he felt once in Santiago and again in New York. 

“I can explain,” you hiss, quiet and breathless, finding him outside the hall after a few minutes. 

And Sunwoo knows he should be dying for an explanation of what you’re doing here or who you’re really working with. Some small part of Sunwoo knows that he should already be replaying every conversation and trying to determine how much information he’s given you to use against him. But another, larger part of him, that’s poking at his heart and prodding at his brain, chooses to stare at your lying eyes, study the face he’s come to memorize, and lamely ask, “how much of…” his voice tapers off, gesturing to the empty space in between you two, “of this was a lie?”

You don’t respond, but in the silence Sunwoo finds the answer anyways. 

All of it.

—

It’s not long after that night that a new message from the case officer shows up for him.  

You’re on thin ice. New mission: get rid of that Pegasus agent. 

PRESENT TIME  THREE MONTHS AFTER VIENNA

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here?” Sunwoo asks you again, shifting in his plastic red chair and keeping his gaze focused on the street you’re both seated beside. He hadn’t planned on hanging out after crossing paths with you earlier today. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but when you offer him a meal in exchange for a conversation, his rumbling stomach agrees before he can even consider the offer. The scene you lead him to is a busy one, filled with people rushing down the road and bustling behind each of the food stalls. It’s a mosh-posh of neon signs, kicked up dust, and the aroma of food being fried. More importantly, it’s a loud area, one where you and Sunwoo can talk freely without the worry of being heard by someone seated nearby. He takes a bite into his skewer, waiting for your response. 

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t follow through with the mission,” you counter, twirling your lime green straw with the tip of your finger. “The one where you were supposed to kill me.” 

You say it plainly, but something in Sunwoo’s stomach turns hard at the reminder anyways. “We’re spies,” he mutters behind clenched teeth, “not assassins.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking a sip from your coke, “the job description is pretty vague.” 

The words are met with a taut silence, a snap of Sunwoo’s eyes towards yours, and a search for any implication of murder behind the sentence. 

“It’s a joke,” you choke, wiping the coke that slips from your mouth and quickly shaking your head, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Well anyways,” Sunwoo continues, “I tried to finish the mission. Even hired someone to find you.” And as soon as the words leave his mouth, Sunwoo realizes he’s told you too much, realizes he’s let the truth slip too easily--again. Biting his lip, he thinks this must be what people mean when they say ‘old habits die hard’. 

“He didn’t follow through.” You tell him as if to fill him in on how exactly you’re still alive and sitting across from him right here, right now, miles away from Vienna and months after Sunwoo’s hire took his money and ran. “But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

And this you say with a taunting smile, catching his eyes like there’s a private joke concealed behind them. Sunwoo only gulps and pulls his focus back to the busy street.

“So what do you want with me?”

“I left Pegasus.” You answer, clearing your throat.

Sunwoo waits. He waits for you to take it back, for you to laugh at his widened eyes and say it’s a joke. The punchline never comes. “You’re an idiot.” He settles on.

“And I’ve got two agencies who’d prefer me to be dead right about now.” You grimace. “But despite the bounty on my head, I’m still here which means you’re probably not on great terms with Creker either.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both have people who want us dead. We both have next to nothing to lose at this point. So let’s team up.” You pause, checking Sunwoo’s reaction. He watches you intently, body pushing against the creaking plastic table in an attempt to hear you better. With an almost mischievous glint in your eyes and a satisfied quirk, you continue: “Let’s take back what we stole for them.”

There’s a long moment where Sunwoo just stares at you, deciphering what to make of the proposition. You appear genuine, Sunwoo decides leaning away from the table until his back hits the chair, but Sunwoo isn’t exactly sure how much he trusts his own judgement considering the last time he decided you were sincere you had been lying to him left and right.

Sunwoo lifts his hand to the vendor of the food stall you’re sitting by. The previous glint in your eyes is gone, overshadowed by a darker shade of doubt. “What are you doing?” you finally ask, voice lower and less excited than it had been a second ago.

With a tired sigh, he replies, “I’m gonna need more food while you explain your plan.”

Sunwoo has to swallow back the smile that nearly emerges at how happy you get.

--

It’s a simple enough idea. Clear our names, you had explained, wipe ourselves entirely from both agencies. And it’ll work too, Sunwoo realizes when you begin the second explanation on the logistics of the whole operation. The only downside to your plan is you. Because the last person Sunwoo wants to start a new mission with is the same person who broke his heart three months ago. And it’s bothersome, almost, how calm you are and how collected you appear, especially compared to how scattered Sunwoo feels just to be around you again.

“What do you think?” You ask once you’ve explained your plan completely, tapping anxiously on the table.

“I think,” Sunwoo starts, inhaling deeply, “you’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gulping down some more coke, “three months is kind of a long time.”

And yeah, he thinks, it is. But despite the time that’s passed since you’ve last seen each other and despite the way Sunwoo thought he was over you, his stomach still flips each time you look his way. He just prays that the past three months have at least somewhat watered down how he used to feel about you.

“How do I know you won’t ditch me after we clear you?” Sunwoo asks, pushing away the thoughts of lingering heartache to a corner of his mind.

“We’ll do you first.” You state simply. “Steal your file off Creker and get the bounty off your head first. Then we’ll do me.”

“And then how do you know that I won’t ditch you?”

You falter at that, frowning for the smallest of seconds, then say, “I don’t.”

Sunwoo nods, pretending to contemplate your offer. But in all transparency, Sunwoo knew he’d agree to your plan despite the bile that turns up at your name because with the way he’s been hiding in a crappy motel and eating instant ramen every night, it’s kind of hard to refuse any proposition that gives him the slightest chance at an out from Creker. 

“Okay,” he finally utters, wiping the crumbs of his second skewer off his hands, “let’s do it.” You meet his eyes expectantly. Nodding, he says,

“Let’s team up.”

//

You and Sunwoo clash more than anything else on the first day of prepping for the mission, crammed in a corner of Sunwoo’s dingy motel with two half finished cans of red bull sitting forgotten on the table, fighting about even the smallest details.

“I know the building,” Sunwoo argues, pointing to the floor plan you have pulled up on your laptop, “and this is the entrance we should use.”

“But using this entrance,” you refute, dragging your finger across the screen to show him exactly what you mean, “will give us better access to security and admin. And trust me, I know the building better than you do.”

“How do you—” Sunwoo stills. Something seems to register in your eyes at that moment as well, a small recognition of the tiny slip up, a barely audible acknowledgement that comes in the form of a cough. And all at once, Sunwoo’s reminded of the time he spent spilling his heart to you in Vienna under more covers than he was aware of. Sunwoo’s harshly thrown against the realization that you must’ve been watching him, surveying him long before you ever found him in that Austrian pub.

“See, I knew this wouldn’t work.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “You know too much about me. No, actually, you know everything about me. And I--” there’s a dip in his tone, “I know nothing about you.”

“Fine then, ask.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you think will even the playing field between us. Whatever it is you want to know about me,” you shut the laptop and turn your body to face him completely, an action that exudes largely frustration but more faintly, guilt, “just ask.”

--

Sunwoo learns more about you than he had intended to. He learns about the origin of the scar that runs along your spine. A fucked up operation in Shanghai, you tell him, writing over the lie you told him three months ago about it being from your childhood. He learns about your old partner Younghoon and about the shadow falling over your forehead at the sound of his name. He’s told about how you got involved with Pegasus to begin with, a similar story to Sunwoo’s beginning with Creker: an unlucky concoction of desperation and coincidence. You tell him, with reluctance, your most embarrassing story, followed by a long list of firsts and favorites. So by the time night falls, with two empty red bulls at the foot of the bed and the building’s floor plan now forgotten behind the black screen of your laptop, Sunwoo learns enough to rebuild a fraction of the trust he lost.

//

Everything goes smoother after that. You and Sunwoo seem to fall into a rhythm, meeting at a café in the morning and at the motel in the afternoon, planning out the missions with far less difficulty than before. A rather quick adjustment, from both of your ends, and an even faster allocation of responsibilities. He finds himself looking forward to sitting in front of your open laptop each day and conjuring new ways to distract you every hour. 

And it’s after meeting up with you one night, not as partners but—perhaps more cruelly—as friends, that a dangerously familiar warmth blooms in his chest and refuses to wilt away when he sees you again the next day. Sunwoo knows that he should be doing something, anything to blow out the flame, but instead he feeds the fire and prays that this time it spreads from his heart to yours.

//

“Where’d you get all of this?” Sunwoo questions one day when you show up at the motel with a suitcase full of equipment. An assortment of laptops, earpieces, weapons, and randomly picked gadgets.

“Took it from Pegasus before I left,” you smirk, pulling out an earpiece and holding it out in front of his ear. “You’re usually on the field, right? The one in action?” He nods. “Good, you can be the agent for this mission then,” you mumble, setting down the earpiece and holding up another. “I’m usually the person behind the computer anyways. Was even a handler for a mission in Seoul once.” You place the earpiece in his palm and begin to pull out the other pieces of equipment from the suitcase.

“What about Vienna?” Sunwoo says, inspecting a certain gadget from the case. “You were on the field then.” And it’s a question that would’ve been asked with malice if it had come up a couple weeks ago, but right now, there’s nothing but curiosity behind Sunwoo’s words.

“Oh,” you hesitate, a small smile appearing briefly, “I guess I do both.”

Sunwoo doesn’t ponder over your answer for long.

It’s later that day, right as you’re about to leave, that you frown at Sunwoo’s head, matter-of-factly saying, “you should change your hair before the mission.” Then, with a laugh bubbling behind your teeth, you add, “again.”

(Sunwoo changed his appearance a lot. One of the tactics that had stuck from his training days. Never really in big ways, but small changes here and there every couple of months. Sometimes it was a new piercing that he’d wear for a year and let close up in the next, and other times the change came in the form of a temporary tattoo imprinted on his neck whilst in Vancouver with Kevin. When Sunwoo met you in Vienna his hair was a light brown that he had gotten done in Tokyo and hadn’t bothered to touch up since. So when the time had come to change something again, he headed to the hair salon.

“When’d you do this?” you asked him that night, running a hand through the new red hair. 

“Just today.” He answered, hoping you wouldn’t ask for a reason. 

“I like it.” 

“More than the brown?”

“Way more.” You whispered, leaning in until he felt the breath of your words on his lips. 

And in the moment before you closed the distance, Sunwoo had made a silent vow to never change his hair again.)

Sunwoo gets his hair done the day after you suggest it, and when he returns to the motel from the salon, he finds you already there.

“Oh good, you’re back.” You mumble, arms full and an extra key card to his room that he had given you out of convenience a while back held between your teeth. “I just came to drop these off because I have to go to—" you stop, straightening yourself and eyes fixated on him. “You got your hair done.”

It’s an observation, a small, stupid thing really. A comment made in passing that should feel routine with as much time as you and Sunwoo spend together and one that should feel even more mundane considering you were the one to suggest it. But there’s something about the way you say the words that makes Sunwoo feel slightly breathless anyways. “Yeah,” he finally affirms, running a hand through his now black hair, “I did.”

You nod in acknowledgement, setting the things in your hands down, then turn to leave. 

“Wait,” he calls out. You do, pausing three paces away from the door and give a long look to the hand he’s placed on your arm to stop you before turning around to face him. And the next words seem to fall off the edge of Sunwoo’s mouth at that moment, tumbling back down his throat and landing heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still…” he hesitates, attempting to smooth over the nervousness folding up in the corners of his mind. 

“What?” 

“Do you still like my hair?”

You consider it for a moment, bringing a hand up to tug at the new black fringe. And there’s something unmistakably domestic about the way you tilt your head in concentration, eyes fixed on Sunwoo’s hair as if there’s nothing more important for you to be doing in this moment. He watches you evaluate his hair closely. 

“Yeah,” you finally say, eyes meeting his and something like a double meaning swimming in them, “I still like it.”

//

The first mission goes smoothly thanks to you sitting back at the motel instructing Sunwoo which turns to take and what files to download. So with a flash drive containing all the information he needs to free himself from the agency stuffed in his pocket, he turns to leave, whispering into his earpiece, “is the exit path clear?”

“Shit.”

He stops walking. “What?”

“It’s blocked. I think I can get you out another way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, go one story below. Take two rights and then a left.” He does as you say, feet hitting the ground as quietly and as quickly as possible. The less time he spends in the building the better. “At the end of the hall, there’s a window.” You say once he’s near the place you directed him too. His stomach drops. “Jump from it.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, studying the drop with grimace. “I really hate heights.”

“I know.” And there’s a misplaced softness when Sunwoo hears you mutter, “I remember.” You wait a beat. “Do you trust me?” 

“Do I trust you?” He echoes, dread and disbelief coating his words. “I don’t even—”

“Just answer the question, Sunwoo. Do you?”

“I—” he studies the drop again, thinks and overthinks the newfound steadiness in your voice. Quietly, he mumbles, “yeah.”

“Then jump.” You tell him how exactly to do it as well, where to find the rope you packed and which hook is best to use. He does as you say, preparing for a jump he hasn’t decided to take yet. And once everything is prepared, the only thing that passes between you and Sunwoo on the intercom is silence. “Hey,” you mutter after a long while, something like a joke audible in your voice, “you jump; I jump, jack.”

“Except you aren’t jumping.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true but—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up.” Sunwoo inhales deeply, closing his eyes and letting silence fill the intercom again. The silence, however, is interrupted the second he hears a group of voices travelling from somewhere down the hall. His eyes snap open.

“Sunwoo—”

“Fuck it.”

He jumps.

— 

“You’re bleeding.” Is the first thing Sunwoo hears when he walks through the motel room’s door, quickly followed by you rushing to him, tilting his head with a finger against his chin, and inspecting the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Yeah well your little jump stunt didn’t make for the smoothest of landings.” 

He means it as a joke. A bad one he realizes when you pull your hand away, eyes dropping from his face and guilt hanging over your head. “Sorry about that.” 

He shrugs. “It didn’t kill me.” 

“Come on,” you beckon, grabbing the first aid kit and heading to the bathroom, “I’ll help you bandage them.” 

Sunwoo sits on top of the closed toilet lid, folding up his pant leg to examine the gash running across his shin. The cut, he realizes, isn’t nearly as bad as it feels, but you make a small face at the sight of it anyways. It doesn’t take you very long to clean the cut on his leg, quickly finishing it while kneeling on the cold bathroom tile and asking him questions about the mission.

“No stitches?” He wonders when you pat a bandage in place.

You shake your head. “You should be fine. Nothing more than a gloried scrape really.” You add teasingly while rearranging the objects in the first aid kit. And when you laugh at the look he gives you for the comment, Sunwoo does his best to ignore the fluttering that appears in his gut at the sound. 

You move on from the cut on his leg, placing the first aid kid on top of the counter and poking the bruise that’s forming above his knee before getting up yourself. He smacks your hand away.

“How’d you know about my fear of heights by the way?”

“You told me one night in Vienna.” You answer, tearing open an alcohol wipe packet. “Do you not remember?”

He shakes his head.

Frowning, you let out a small, “oh.”

Neither of you say anything after that. And Sunwoo’s so focused on the frown that’s yet to leave your face that he barely registers the way you lean towards him for better access, propping your knee on top of the toilet and between his legs for balance. Although he does notice the warmth that radiates off your body. And a minute after that, he notices how much longer it takes you to clean this, smaller cut than it took to clean the one on his leg.

“Sorry.” You quickly apologize when you press against the cut too harshly. Sunwoo waves you off. “I am sorry though.” You repeat, seriously, lips still turned down in a frown and brows knit together.

“It’s really fine.” He chuckles, amused by the amount of gravity in the apology. 

“No. For Vienna.” The amusement dies in the back of his throat. “I never apologized for…” you falter there, fingers paused against his forehead, “for that. But I am sorry.”

“It was your mission.” Sunwoo gulps. “You were being a good agent.”

“And a shitty person.” You say, no hint of a joke laced in the statement. “In fact, the mission was just to observe you. Make sure you didn’t find out anything too important about Pegasus. Meeting you was mostly on accident. And everything that followed,” you bite your lip, and Sunwoo can’t tell if you’re biting back a smile or a frown, “all those other parts just sort of came naturally.”

The flame in his chest from before bursts into a bonfire, filling his lungs with a hopeful smoke. “Naturally?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you repeat, tongue darting out in concentration while you complete the last step of smoothing out the bandage. You don’t lean away when you finish. You don’t remove your knee from between his legs. Don’t pull away the hand you have holding back his hair or the one resting against the side of his face. Nothing but your eyes move, trailing down until they find his, visibly gulping, then wandering further below. “Naturally.”

And the word is like a spell, lifting his chin and drawing him towards you until his lips are brushing against yours. It’s barely a kiss, a small hesitant press of lips that lasts no longer than a second, but one that has Sunwoo’s heart pounding wildly in a way it never did three months ago. He pauses there, lips unmoving and hovering just below yours, waiting for you.

You don’t move. Neither leaning in nor away. His gaze flickers up to your eyes, finds them half open, focused on the upper curve of his lip. He captures your lips between his again, a second attempt that is met with response when you lean into it, inhaling him in for a tiny blissful moment and exhaling him out in the next, pushing him back by the shoulders and stepping away yourself.

“I should…”

“Fuck.”

“I should go.”

And you’re gone before he can say anything else. 

// 

The kiss is ignored by both of you while prepping for the second half of the mission. A silent agreement to act like it never even happened and another one to not discuss whatever misplaced feelings led to it. It’s almost sickening how easily you and Sunwoo fall back into being just partners. Especially considering the fact that Sunwoo’s feelings haven’t faded, the bonfire in his chest still burning with the same brightness. So Sunwoo spends his days with you, attempting to put out the fire between his lungs, and he spends his nights alone, replaying the kiss you both pretend to ignore.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” You mutter on the last night, a trail of anxiousness slipping off your tongue. “And then we’ll be done.” 

Sunwoo only nods, watching how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek and mulling over whether you mean done with the mission or done with him.

--

The Pegasus mission doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as the Creker one, complications toppling around Sunwoo from the moment he begins. They start small first: a locked door resulting in a change of entry and a janitor straggling in a hallway that should have been clear. He makes it to his first destination eventually, quickly shuffling through the room of file cabinets until he finds your physical files, slipping them into his bag, and heading to the next room with you whispering directions into his ear. The next room is empty when Sunwoo arrives. He works quick, bypassing the security system and fingers flying across to find your information.

“Faster.” He hears you mutter over the earpiece. A hasty reminder of what you had told him earlier that week: the room never stays empty for long.

“Got it.” He exhales, finally pinpointing your files and beginning the process of downloading and deleting them.

“Sunwoo,” he hears an elevator ding from somewhere outside the room at the same time he hears you, “someone’s coming.”

He doesn’t move. Keeping one eye on the closed door and the other on the still-pending status of your files. “I’m almost done.”

“If you leave now, they won’t see you.” Voices fill the hall. “But you have to leave now.”

“I’m not done yet.”

The voices move closer, louder. “It’s not worth it. Please, just go!”

He hears them behind the door. “It’s you.”

There’s a jingle of keys. “How will you—”

“Hey,” the door unlocks with a click, “you jump; I jump, right?”

“Sunwoo—”

He pulls the earpiece out at the exact moment that the door swings open.

-- 

The rooftop is obscenely pretty at this hour, with the golden sun partly hidden by a high-rise building but still growing in the distance, scattering its light across the sky, and casting a golden shadow on everything it touches. It’s a gorgeous sight, and yet, there’s no one but Sunwoo here to appreciate it.

“You’re okay.”

He whips around only to find you standing on the rooftop with him, body trembling and hands clasped over your mouth. Behind you, the door to the roof is still falling closed. Your eyes are red, dark circles hanging under them that make it look as if you haven’t slept days. Silently, Sunwoo wonders how he’s just now noticing your sudden restlessness, and a small part of him hopes—no prays that whatever’s chasing your sleep away is the same thing chasing his.

“I got it.” He says, pulling out the flash drive he stayed to retrieve. Your eyes never flicker off his. “How’d you find me?”

“How’d you get out?”

Neither of you answer. Instead, you begin to walk towards him, asking if he’s hurt with a voice that’s too soft and too concerned for Sunwoo to make out an answer. You ask it again.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in front of him. Close enough for Sunwoo to see the tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re okay.” You repeat, voice wavering with a sudden gust of wind.

“I am, but I—” he hesitates; you take a step towards him, “I miss you.” He succumbs to the fire in his chest; lets it fill his lungs, burn up his throat, and throw the sentence, “I just miss you so much,” out of his mouth without bothering to hide the crack in it.

He meets your eyes and finds a starling amount of clarity in them. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You laugh at that, nodding your head and stepping closer to him again. “I missed you before we ever met.”

He stares at you. For too long probably. Watches a smile grace your features, spreading like a fire. The flame feels familiar. And for the first time since seeing you after Vienna, Sunwoo doesn’t have to hold back the urge to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He does. Lips crashing into yours, and you meeting the motion halfway, leaning into his lips, his body, him. A fervent want present in the way you pull at his neck and grab onto the collar of his shirt that would’ve probably been surprising if it wasn’t matched completely by him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his and deepening the kiss for a second more.

You both pull away, just barely, faces still close and bodies pressed against each other.

“Hey,” you begin, breath hot against his lips and a knowing smirk appearing briefly, “was I worth the wait?”

And suddenly Sunwoo’s in Vienna again, sitting on a bench, and asking you the same question.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling, “you were.”

//

a/n: i apologize this request took me forever to get around too. and if the actual spy aspects to this fic make zero sense then my bad i was spit balling here. brownie points if u can find the scene inspired by queens gambit and the other scene inspired by the office lmao

[myriadxofxmuses]

Sydney practically melted when Alejandra wrapped her arms around her. Without any hesitation she returned the gesture. Syd shook her head and dismissed the muffled apologies, gently rubbing her back as she held her. She let Ale unload the stress she could tell she'd been holding in - the one main flaw Sydney tried to help Alejandra break was bottling it all up. She always hated seeing her emotionally constipated and did her best to have her get it out when they were together. And although they weren't anymore, she still hated seeing how heavy her load was. Syd would never not try and help her release what she didn't need to bear alone.

"You look beautiful," she told her before she could stop herself. Heat immediately flushed her cheeks and her chest tightened with worry. "Sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, make it weird with that. I just meant..." she started rambling. She didn't want to push Ale further away than she already seem to have done. "You look fine," she finished, trying to save some of her dignity.

She shook her head or nodded as Alejandra spoke, helping her turn down the sheets. "Like I said, always," she replied with a soft smile as Ale headed to the bathroom.

Now alone she took a second to breath and take it all in. She grabbed her own pajamas, a faded, old concert tee of her mom's and a soft pair of shorts, and let her happy memories of them flood her thoughts. She didn't want to force things, but it felt like this might be a good chance to smooth things over for them. It was after all the closest they'd gotten since the split.

Her attention was pulled to the bathroom when the door opened and a smirk tugged at Sydney's lips. Beautiful. There wasn't much Alejandra could that would make her think otherwise. Even casual as she was, she took Sydney's breath away. "Uh, water is fine," she answered. She took the opportunity to change and ready herself for bed while Ale left for their drinks, sliding under the sheets just as she returned.

When Alejandra asked Sydney to come spend the holidays with her and her family, she had been both overjoyed and anxious. It hadn't been that long since they'd broken up and her mind began to run through the possible reasons why she was calling her now. Her answer came swiftly and learning it was for her mother, Sydney didn't hesitate to say yes. It wouldn't have mattered how long they'd been apart, Syd would always be there for her when she needed. Much like now.

After warm greetings and some light catching up, she was led to Ale's room. She paused just in the doorway, letting all the memories flood back to her - both good and bad. Sydney had missed this place. She'd missed her.

"Don't mention it," she told her with a slight shake of her head, crossing over to the other side of the bed and helping turn down the sheets. "Seriously, Ale, you don't need to apologize. Your family has been nothing but kind to me. I'll always be there for you guys," she told her honestly.

She watched as Alejandra began to gather her bedding, sadness gripping at her heart. "Come on. Alejandra," she started gently. "The floor is not where you belong. If anyone gets the bed it's you. But sharing it doesn't have to be weird unless we make it that way."

She risked switching to the same side as Alejandra and took the pillows from her, tossing them back onto the bed. She took a second risk and softly took hold of her arms, pausing momentarily before making contact. Sydney wasn't sure if she was making the right moves or doing the right thing, but she was tying to calm Alejandra's obvious nerves over her being there. Sydney knew there was already enough on her plate and the last thing she wanted to was add to it. - together or not.

"I know this is hard on you and the fact that we're not together, which I'll admit sucks..." she told her with a nervous chuckle, caressing her arms comfortingly. "...makes it even worse, but we were friends once. And that means something to me. I'll always be there for you." She gave her a soft, reassuring smirk, letting her touch slip from her. "So if sharing the bed is too much, then I'll take the floor."

She desperatey wanted to make some joke about not minding the girlfriend privelage of sharing her bed. Or some comment about her hogging the blanket. Even poking a little fun at how cold Sydney's feet always were. Followed by a kiss through their laughter. Her chest clenched with the reality that she would be forced to swallow her flirtations back.

"It's not fair to kick you out of your bed," she added trying to further lighten the mood, going back to her side and grabbing the pillows.

[five-rivers]

Medium Despair

For @sapphireswimming

.

Danny woke up gasping for air and fighting against his sheets. By the time he’d recognized his surroundings, he’d already rolled off his bed. He dragged in ragged, shuddering breaths. He could breathe. He could breathe. He wasn’t suffocating. He wasn’t at school, in his locker or otherwise. He could move he could stand. He did stand, skin prickling with the memory of electricity.

“Sydney?” he called, softly. “Is that you?” He could see a glowing form in the corner behind his dresser, and with that dream there weren’t a whole lot of other people it could have been, but it was polite to ask. At least in Danny’s opinion.

The ghost slid out, slowly, flickering. “Sorry, Danny,” he said, and he really did sound remorseful.

Danny might believe it more if it wasn’t 2:20 in the morning on a school night, and this wasn’t the third time Sydney had done this. Still, Sydney was something like a friend.

“What is it, Sydney?” he asked. “Did something happen at the school?” Casper High was one of the most haunted buildings in Amity Park, which honestly didn’t make sense.

Danny had done his research. The school was old, sure, but Sydney was the only person who had ever actually died there. That didn’t stop the Lunch Lady, Technus, and a whole host of others from hanging around the place, although most of those others were pretty weak. Hardly strong enough to even interact with Danny or other ghosts.

Sydney shrugged.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Sydney looked down at the ground. The puddle of not-light he cast on the ground – visible only to only Danny and other ghosts – rippled and glimmered.

Danny frowned. “I have fun talking to you during the day, Syd, but I do have to sleep. I’m human, you know?”

“I know,” said Sydney.

“So why are you here?” asked Danny, briefly spreading his arms in exasperation and the dropping them to his sides again. He was still unsettled by the dream he’d just had.

Being close to ghosts while he was sleeping was just a recipe for nightmares. They weren’t always about their deaths, but more often than not…

Sydney’s death was a particularly unpleasant one. Danny did not expect to get back to sleep. Not tonight. Hence his annoyance.

“I need to…” started Sydney, before trailing off. “I need…”

“Sydney?”

“Warn you.”

“About what?”

“Not what they seem,” whispered the ghost. He looked away and phased out through the wall.

Danny’s frown deepened. Usually, Sydney was much clearer than that. Sometimes, talking to Sydney, Danny forgot he was talking to a ghost.

Danny sat down at the edge of the bed and tried to work a kink out of his neck. He caught himself scratching at his skin as if he wanted to pull it off a minute later.

It was always like this since the accident. Especially after he had a dying dream.

Forcibly, he stopped himself. His skin was fine. There was no electricity flickering under his skin. He was alive. He was safe. His body was his body. His body.

(He was not floating above it, light as air, staring at its waxy pallor, at the glassy, empty eyes.)

He was alive, alive, alive.

Awake.

Not dead.

Slowly, he laid back down on the bed. He was alive, awake. A medium, yes, associated with more ghosts than could possibly be healthy, either physically or mentally, yes, but alive. Definitely, clearly, alive.

He didn’t like it when ghosts woke him up. Especially when they came with ominous warnings about the future.

Maybe Sydney would let Danny track him down tomorrow, but Danny doubted it.

.

“Something’s off,” said Danny, staring up at the tall front of the school.

“Yeah,” agreed Sam, “it’s Spirit Week. When the teachers participate in medieval rituals to brainwash us into supporting the troglodytes that ‘represent’ our school in sports.”

“I was going to argue,” said Tucker, “but that is about what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “I don’t think it’s that. Probably. Unless there’s a ghost that appreciate the pun?”

“You appreciate puns.”

“I’m not a ghost,” said Danny, frowning at Sam.

“That’s true.”

Danny sighed. “I just have a bad feeling about this. I know you can’t see like I can, but… be careful. If you do see anything weird, let me know.”

“Hey, Danny!”

“Oh, I changed my mind. Kill me now, I want to be a ghost.”

Jazz ran up and threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You left so early!” she said. “Are you excited about Spirit Week, too?”

“No,” said Danny.

Jazz paused, looked at Danny more closely. “You look terrible,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to the counselor?”

“Pass,” said Danny.

“You know, you’ll have to talk to me in more than monosyllables at some point.”

“Do I?”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to talk to Mr. Lancer about my speech! Have a great Spirit Week, guys!”

She ran off.

“I will never understand her,” declared Sam. “But I think she does have a point about the counselor. Maybe they’d be able to help with the nightmares? At least the non-ghost-caused ones.”

“All my nightmares are caused by ghosts.”

“Eh,” said Tucker, giving a half-shrug.

“Will it make you feel better if I agree to go?”

“Yes,” said both Sam and Tucker.

“Ugh. Fine,” said Danny.

.

Danny walked though the deserted hallway, pass in hand, study hall abandoned behind him as he looked for the counselor’s office. He’d never been there before, but it should be around here somewhere, right?

A cold hand settled on his shoulder.

“You must be Danny Fenton! Your sister told me all about you.”

Danny turned to look up at a tall woman. She was dressed a lot more flamboyantly than Danny would have expected.

“Yeah? That’s me. Who are you?”

“I’m Penelope Spectra. Your counselor! Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?”

“Uh,” said Danny. There was something unpleasantly an unexpectedly pejorative and assumptive about that statement. Weren’t counselors supposed to tell you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you? That your feelings were valid.

He shrugged. He couldn’t put his feelings into words.

(Couldn’t open his mouth for fear of cold leaking out past his teeth, his soul exhaled with his breath.)

(Why did he feel this way?)

“Why don’t you step into my office?”

The room was… not what he expected.

“Sorry about the dust,” said Spectra. “I’m just moving in. They upgraded me.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “So… like I said, your sister told me a lot about you, and I have a few things I’d like to try for your laz—Excuse me. Your difficulty with staying focused. It happens sometimes with traumatic brain injuries, that a promising young mind can be—Well. In any case. I am here to support you and find a way for you to succeed. What’s troubling you?”

Danny’s ginger perch on the dusty chair turned into a frustrated slump. “Nothing,” he said. He pushed himself back up. “I should go—”

“Oh, just humor me,” said Spectra. “There has to be some reason you came. Anxiety? Stress? Social pressures?”

Danny shook his head and stood up.

“Nightmares?”

He sat back down.

.

Danny leaned over the table to whisper to Tucker during English, when they were supposed to be reviewing vocabulary words.

“Have either of you seen the counselor before?” asked Danny, after what was easily the worst week of his life. He was starting to have suspicions, but…

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “When you were in the hospital. He was pretty cool.”

“He?” asked Danny. “He?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been seeing a ghost for the past week.”

“Ghost therapist? Well, if it’s working…”

“It isn’t. She’s from hell. I swear. A literal demon from hell.”

“Exorcism?”

“Exorcism.”

.

Jazz didn’t often come to school after hours, but she’d left several important things and she was the student body activity director, voted for and everything.

Important thing #1, her speech, which she had to practice.

Important thing #2, the—what was that?

Already spooked by the late-night atmosphere, she ducked into a doorway and peeked at the place she’d seen movement. There weren’t many classes held down that hallway, and she didn’t come down this way often, so maybe she was just—

No. That was her little brother and his friends conducting some kind of satanic ritual over a wastepaper basket.

Their parents were terrible influences. She was going to give them a stern talking to when—what what what what WHAT—

What had she just seen?

She looked back around the corner to see the… whatever it was dissolve in smoke and fire and shadows. Then Danny and his friends started cleaning up as if this was a perfectly normal Thursday night.

Jazz… Jazz was going to process this. Later.

She turned around and walked straight back out to her car. There was, after all, nothing that important.

.

“So,” said Danny, leaning towards Sam on the bleachers as he watched his sister give her speech. “Looks like we saved Spirit Week.”

“Never say that to me again,” said Sam.

“But we did. Look at all this spirit-filled people.”

“You were literally the only victim.”

“But Sam~”

“It does seem less grim, though, doesn’t it?” asked Tucker, contemplatively. “You are no longer the goth bird of happiness.”

“Maybe a bit,” allowed Sam. “I think that’s just because everyone’s glad this week is over, though. No offense, Danny.”

“None taken. I’m glad it’s over, too.”

[myriadxofxmuses]

Are there any physical items that make your muse happy?

Is there a particular place that makes your muse feel at home? (for Sydney)

From X

She has a necklace of her mom's that she wears and a knife Daryl gave her when they were kids. It is pretty useless in the apocalypse aside from cutting into packages, but the pocket knife was meant for a different kind of protection back then - the gift given after a near call for Syd leaving a party one night.

No. People are what her feel like she is at home. She moved so much, there isn't one spot that she can honestly say was home.

[myriadxofxmuses]

"If you want me to shut up, then I guess you better just go ahead and do it because I'm not stopping," she told her flirtatiously with a bit of challenge to her voice.

open to: f, 25+ muse: jordan robinson. 28. she/they. lesbian. tattoo artist/musician. kehlani fc. connection/plot: ex-girlfriend, current or ex-fwb, fling, situationship, etc., or up to player!

"Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you."