no savior of yours

dylan | 22 | ignis 🔥 God knows no one needs more misguided ghosts

[dylansnotdead-blog]

lolakoenig:

Lola hardly ever drank in public. She preferred enjoying the peacefulness of her own home, and not have to deal with unsavory characters. Whenever she betrayed her own morals and went out though, something always happened. Tonight’s event? Someone asking too many questions. Yes, maybe they had only asked one question, but that was more than enough to slightly annoy Lola. She didn’t like thinking about the circumstances surrounding her arrival to Elswood, and she especially didn’t like discussing it with others. She still decided to reply, though. Maybe if she made things awkward enough, she’d be left alone. That always seemed to do the trick.

“Yes.“ She sneered, only taking her eyes off her glass for a millisecond. “I was kidnapped and made an orphan. Happened when I was twelve.“

Dylan’s brows raise, “Kidnapped and orphaned? That’s a unique two-for-one special.” Part of her is intrigued, the other part of her hopes the deceased parents of her newfound drinking buddy aren’t hanging around to give their dear daughter a frantic message that probably won’t matter within Elswood. “Twelve seems pretty fucking young though,” she continues, unable to stop the stream of irrelevant conversation, “I didn’t get snatched up until I was eighteen. Did you do something that was like ‘aw man, we gotta cover this up’ that got you on their radar? Or just general bad luck?”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

[dylansnotdead-blog]

romanhirano:

“You mean the funky smelling white dudes who wear plaid a lot? No, you have to take it to Cannes then hear about the hipsters laud it for being the best thing they’ve ever seen.” A lopsided grin on his face, he threw back another shot and leaned on the counter, getting a little more drunk than he’d meant to have been. He gives a signal to one of Mickey’s duplicates to cut him off, before he has someone in here burn half the bar again, unintentionally, of course.

Roman laughs at the notion of Wolverine teaching a metal shop class, accompanied with the idea of Iceman dealing with the town’s ice rink and Jean Grey being the resident therapist. Maybe she’s joking, maybe it’s true. In a place like this, he wouldn’t put it past anyone to do anything. “Hey, tequila’s a great coping mechanism.” It wasn’t. Not really, but it was easy to get if you gave someone a good chunk of points. “If you find something else, I’d be happy to take you up on it.”

“I am a one man power factory–for uh, people like us,” he replied, “Or like, the opposite. I can make your powers stronger or just suck them out completely, though that last thing–that last thing’s still got a lotta kinks to work out.”

“Well it’s probably the best drink to go with,” she says with a shrug. “I think I read something about it being the only alcohol that wasn’t a depressant. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s a nice thought.” She leans back on her stool, letting the legs lift off the ground, her hands have a firm grip on the bar. “Buddy if there’s a better coping mechanism out there, I sure haven’t found it.” Well that wasn’t exactly true, but one-night stands were a lot more awkward in a place as small as Elswood. 

The legs of the stool fall back down a bit abruptly and Dylan narrows her eyes at him, trying to tell if he’s joking. But who the fuck jokes about that. “Like completely completely?” Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph. “I wonder what they would do to someone if their powers were completely gone.” Her eyes become unfocused, thinking about what it would be like to not hear or see ghosts when she’s actually sober. It seems too good to be true. “Fuck. That’s kinda shitty for you though, right? You can pump people up or drain them, but it’s dependent on other people. Can you use their powers at least?”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

hcneuls:

Haneul actually laughs. Apparently she still has a sense of humor. “I know, shocking, right? It’s amazing that I didn’t come here thinking Elswood is the answer to all my prayers. You know, if I even prayed.” She pauses, pretending to ponder Dylan’s question. “You never know, they might. Five candles, perfect icing, way too sweet. Maybe they’ll even give you a card. With one of those personalized greetings in fancy font, like, ‘Happy anniversary, you’ll love Elswood even more next year! And for the rest of the your life!’”

Dylan can’t keep the laugh from coming out, even if she covers her mouth. God it would be so fucking depressing if they weren’t joking, but the worst part was she could see it in her head, the pastel candles, the seamless frosting, glowing with false cheer and the reminder that she’ll never get out again. “Fuck, they so would. Just to make sure you didn’t forget. I mean, at least it’ll taste good. Sickly sweet, but probably the best cake you’d get around here. How many years are you coming up on? I have a feeling you’ve been around longer than me. Something about the lack of wide-eyed hope and how easily you can joke about this shit. Some people start sobbing within seconds of talking about it and I have to leave.”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

romanhirano:

“Hell if I know, they’re gone, all the same. Maybe here, but I haven’t seen them around at all.” Gesturing for another tequila shot, he caught it as the bartender slid it towards him, downing it like liquid candy, trying to ignore the burn down his throat. Drinking never got easier for him, but it still felt pretty enjoyable when holed up in a place like this. And with company like hers–but he’s still holding out the jury. “But hey, that movie deal sounds great, just sell it to some indie studio,” he commented, an amused tone to his voice, “Who knows, they might be great. Get you that Cannes award or something.”

“This place is the twisted-ass version of Xavier’s School, but it’s like–a town. Government subsidy, probably.” he replied, shrugging as well, “Found out ‘bout your powers through bugs in the wall, probably. Which just leads me to ask what it even is. Cat tail? Bat wings? The ability to smell things from real far away?”

“Well that’s one hell of a break up.” Dylan mumbles, glad she didn’t actually leave much behind when she was picked up. She’d kept relatively to herself in high school, kind of hard to have a conversation with someone when you kept hearing more than one voice at a time. “Oh I’m sure it’ll do well, maybe take it to Sundance and see how it does, then Cannes. Gotta see how the hipsters deal with it before I take it to the French.”

She laughs, thinking about how this is so not the school she saw in the X-Men cartoons she saw on the weekends as a kid. “All we need is Wolverine to teach a metal shop class. I bet Storm controls our weather.” She means it as a joke, but she has a nagging feeling she’s not quite that far off. “How did you guess? I could smell that drink from over here. What is that? Tequila?” God, that sounds like such a shitty thing to be stuck with. People who had that ability probably didn’t even know it was an Ability until they got kidnapped and thrown in here. For a second she considers telling him to guess, but technically he already did. “I’m stuck in this lovely little Pleasantville remake because dead people like to annoy me, which seems to have more to do with them than it does with me, but whatever. What about you? Super hearing? Can you hear someone drop a pin across the room or do something else entirely useless?”

[k-ill]

[dylansnotdead-blog]

romanhirano:

Roman doesn’t really drink to socialize, but that being said, he really needed to get out of his system-appointed suite. Only passing words with the guys at the radio station, occasional trips to the gym and sulking in his room wasn’t exactly thrilling, which only served to make him want to tear his hair out and drown his sorrows even more. Really, it was a cyclical thing he couldn’t bring himself to stop, so why shouldn’t he have fun with it for once in his life?

“It’s a long story,” he said, downing another tequila shot, facing the girl who was talking to him. “Mostly involved my boyfriends going missing after two months and the subtle realization I put them away. How ‘bout you? Got a sad tale or are you just asking around for other people’s?”

“Shit, that’s... fucked up, dude.” Dylan almost regretted asking him in the first place, but then again, she didn’t really ask him. “Put away like out there, or put away into here?” Okay, yeah, that question was completely on her this time. “Definitely just other people’s,” she answered, he lips loose now that she’s had a few drinks and her ghosts have turned into a soft buzz in the background, barely visible blurs just out of the corner of her eye. “I’m thinking of writing a book. Maybe I can get a movie deal,” her face is serious enough that one might be able to take her seriously if it weren’t for the second she breaks, a small twitch in her lips.

“I don’t even know what I did to end up here, honestly. I wasn’t showy with my... ability? Or whatever? But I guess they found out somehow,” she shrugs, taking a sip of her drink, going slower now that she knows she won’t hear their voices anymore. “That’s just the magical part of Elwood for you.”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

hcneuls:

Haneul finds herself gravitating more towards the bar these days, and it’s so often now that one of the bartenders know her by name at this point. Whether it’s to forget memories that surface far too often, fragments of the time before, of or to drown out the proclamation of the entitled hipster who keeps going how kimchi was the next best thing since ube ice cream (both have been around for ages, thanks, where were you when your precious taste buds were on fire?), it’s nothing a little bit of alcohol can do the trick for. 

Temporarily, anyway. Everything is temporary, except for Elswood itself.

Her attention is diverted from her drink when someone appears to be asking her a question. If she’s being quite honest, she thought Dylan was talking to thin air (or to an invisible person or a ghost—you never know with people here), but when an awkward pause hangs in the air for a few beats too long, she decides to answer. 

“Kidnapped. You didn’t even have to guess twice. What about you?”

Dylan gasps, places a hand over her heart, “On the first guess? You mean you didn’t volunteer to live in a town closed off from the rest of the world and go to school all over again? Unfathomable!” What’s actually surprising is Dylan’s ability to say that many syllables without tripping over them. “Wouldn’t you know it? We’re two for two; also kidnapped. Fifth anniversary’s coming up soon. Think they’ll get me a cake?”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

kingcaide:

“People can still pull strings despite being trapped here, huh?” It was amazing really, something that he knew was possible, but he had never really been able to implement before. How did one connect to the outside? Danny didn’t really care about getting out, but the information could prove useful in the future. If someone wanted to try getting out it was something he could sell it away for something good or at least a massive favor. 

“You really hate deliveries?” He opens the box of cupcakes and grabs a green tea cupcake before peeling the wrapping and taking a bite. It was good, not great or amazing, it was just good. “I’ll be sure to give you a bad rating so you’ll never have to do this again.” A full lie. He’d do the opposite just because he could and needed some sort of fun in the midst of the boredom that was his job. “Thanks for delivery. You seem to hate this so you’re more than free to go.”

“As long as you fuck the right people you can,” she mumbles under her breath and the ghost laughs. Well at least that’s what she heard. From the cashier who heard it from the cake decorator who said they heard the boss engaging in some late night activities in her office a day or two before the matcha powder arrived. In a place like this she supposed feeling any semblance of power and superiority was worth it to some people. They were all still equally trapped, if you asked her. 

Dylan’s shoulders relax instantly, even if it wasn’t true, it was nice to hear she might not have to do deliveries again, to let that fantasy live for a short second. But she knows the asshole who’s supposed to do deliveries will call in sick again when he drinks too much and she’ll lose the coin toss with the other baker --again, that bitch had to have some powers that affected luck or something-- and she’d be right back out here with her pink “The Sweet Spot” hat and stray ghosts trying to get her attention. “You’re... no offense or anything, okay? It’s the job. You don’t seem so bad... despite what your waiting room ghost said.” She tips her ridiculous snapback and tells him to have a nice day before she heads towards the door. Now that the ghost knows Dylan can hear her she has a limited time to get out of range before it tries to get her to tell someone some deep dark secret Dylan doesn’t care about. “Oh and, I hope that hits your Sweet Spot,” she says with a nod towards the box. 

[mayahan]

Lifelike ‘Succulent Cakes’ Turn Prickly Plants into Delicious Desserts

[dylansnotdead-blog]

I wish I could drink. God this ghost was whiny, but Dylan was a few drinks in and the piercing voice was starting to get more blurry, softer. What was an under-aged ghost doing in a bar anyway? She doubted a teenager would be able to get sneak in with Elswood’s security, but hey, maybe that’s why they were dead. The ghosts have said things before, about what happened to them, how they were killed, but she ignores them so often she wonders if they’re just exaggerating to get a rise out of her. “How did you end up here?” she asks, only slightly desperate enough for conversation that she’s willing to talk to a ghost. Said ghost, however has become blurry enough to fade away, their eyes wide when Dylan finally addresses them directly, only to disappear completely now that her power has been sufficiently muted. The only problem with that is the person a couple seats down is visible now that the ghost isn’t. Well shit. “You know, like kidnapped or whatever.”

[pargothecat-deactivated20181207]

Visit Original Link

Tegan & Sara- Walking with a Ghost

[dylansnotdead-blog]

kingcaide:

When she started talking about cupcakes he sort of squints and checks his email for anything about an order. He finds it in a matter of seconds, noting that the Terra Elemental wanted to have something to make the office more fun on what would be the last day of their work week. Danny wasn’t huge into sweets, but who he was he to complain? None of the flavors really interest him into she gets to green tea. Then he is more than happy to speak up for the treats. 

“Sounds perfect. I didn’t realize green tea cupcakes were a thing until a few months ago.” After a few moments, he stands up and crosses the room to grab the box, trying to decide if he actually wants to leave anything for his co-workers. “You think I should let the other people who work here get any? They come in later and – do they really deserve any since I had to take the eight am shift?”

“Yeah I think the owner had to pull a few strings to get the matcha powder imported so it wasn’t really possible here until then,” she said with a shrug. She could honestly give a fuck about hipsteresque cupcakes, but that was her own fault for working in the town’s cutesy bakery. Dylan’s just glad she’s been relieved of the cardboard box of sugar so she can make her way back to the bakery and away from the town’s many ghosts. Literally. 

He’s such a dick. Dylan wonders if the ghost died with the gum she’s popping, but if she didn’t where the hell do the dead get Ghost Gum from? If she ever acknowledged them, maybe she would find out. Instead she presses on a fake smile, “That’s really up to you, but if you want to eat them all before they get here, feel free to make them think they were never delivered. Oh and make sure to fill out a comment card online and be sure to mention that whoever was supposed to deliver them didn’t and should never do so again.” She paused before for a second, “You have to select one out of five stars because the system doesn’t recognize zero stars as a rating.” She was too good at her job to get fired, but a bad review would do wonders to make sure she never had delivery duty again.

[acrylicbrushstroke]

[nofruitjustcookies-blog]

Info that matters

[angeliezhou-blog]

Angelie does not have a cat.

She has two turtles and some koi fish, all living in pretty ponds in her backyard with shiny rocks and lots of plants, but she does not have a cat. Her brother doesn’t have one either, so the cat that has been following her for the past twenty minutes must be lost. Or something. (As it turns out, she can’t talk to animals. Not even aquatic ones.)

So when she passes by someone, she spins on her heel and calls out, “Hey, uh, is this your cat? Or do you have any idea who it belongs to?” Elswood’s…kind of small. If there’s anything she’s learned from living here for almost her entire life, it’s that people know people.

[dylansnotdead-blog]

She ignores the voice at first. Her rule of thumb is to pretend she can’t hear it if she can’t see the person saying it. But a ghost wouldn’t ask about a cat, right? Unless they were getting smarter... and more desperate. Dylan couldn’t even get mad if a ghost got that smart, it would be better than yelling at her. But this girl wasn’t translucent or floating, her feet were firmly on the ground, light didn’t seem to pass through her. She shrugged. “Not my cat. I’ve seen him wandering around before though. Doesn’t he live in the library or something? I don’t think he has an official owner. Kinda just does what he wants.”

[kingcaide-blog]

The office is spotless in a real eerie sort “all pieces of dust are incinerated on a daily basis” type way. Danny sits beside the desk in the center, scrolling through his phone for something that is more interesting than working a regular nine to five. When the doors slide opens, he places his phone down and offers up a smile. It looks harmless, but there is a strong undertone of “you’re fucking with my schedule” mixed in. “Did you come with a complaint? If so, feel free to slide into the box right over there.” 

He gives it a couple of seconds to sink in because not everyone thinks as fast as he does. “Now, if you’re not here to complain, how can I help you?”

[dylansnotdead-blog]

Working outside of the bakery was ten times worse than working in kitchen, even if the ovens made it hot as fuck because at least there Dylan didn’t run into ghosts giving her annoying tips about posture as she walked and how she would look so much prettier if she smiled more. Shoutout to the delivery dick that called in sick and couldn’t be fucked to carry a box of cupcakes to the building half a block away. Throw in the passive aggressive tone of a desk jockey with a teenage ghost in the waiting room and Dylan was ready to call it a day. “No complaints, just cupcakes.” Lifting the pink box into view in hopes of getting in and out soon. “Four chocolate, four red velvet, four green tea--” What the fuck is a green tea cupcake? “--sound about right?” she asked, ignoring the translucent teenager as she floated closer.

[victoriajusticesource]