WRETCHED.

. ʞɔɐq ǝɯoɔ ɹǝʌǝu uɐɔ ʇɐɥʍ ǝʌol ʇ,usǝop oɥʍ ǝɯ llǝʇ

[griefpains]

ROT IS ALSO A HEART .

ᴛᴀʟᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙʏꜱꜱ - ᴀɴ ᴀɴᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴏꜰ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴜʟꜱɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʟᴏ (ꜱʜᴇ/ᴛʜᴇʏ). ©

Affiliated with @handspike , @shattcrdglass , @mehrcedita , @rohgue , & @swordluck .

carrd. // prompts.

[spectracle]

“it is not your fault, teds.”

she speaks even when he doesn’t, diffusing the warmth of certainty even when theodore hewett clings to the cold of despair and the unknown. she doesn’t blame him for reacting the way he does, not at all — how can anyone react 'normally' to the loss of yet another home to such damning circumstances?

worse yet, krakoa wasn’t an ordinary island by any means, she was alive, and she wants them; every single person who chose to live there, to start a new chapter of their lives afresh with their loved ones amid her thriving greenery and dream of better days, less and less touched by gore and glory of war. none of them have seen the fall of krakoa this early, when they were still getting to know her.

“and it sure as hell isn’t only your job to oversee everythin’, darlin’. you’re just one person, that sort of responsibility is an unfair burden to place on you. you’re not just your power, teddy, you’re a whole person, and you don’t need to be useful at all to earn anythin’ — you don’t need to be useful, period,” dazzler says as she finally crouches to meet his level, before eventually settling down and sitting on the floor next to her friend, staying close to teddy, resting an arm on his shoulder as she never stops looking at him, wanting to see him and all of him regardless of their surrounding circumstances or the state of the man and his place, teddy hewett is her friend and alison blaire will be damned if she loses him too. “think about the quiet council, teds, we had f*#&in’ sinister in the government — that damn eugenicist who hurt so many of our friends, geez. i know krakoa was for lovers and dreamers and all, but honestly, teddy? the problem isn’t just one person or somethin’ external, teds. it’s all of us; we’re lyin’ to ourselves when we say mutants are united, ‘cause we’re not. we don’t have our $#!& together, we abandon our own friends when they turn out to be evil, or weak, or rebellious, or just not a perfect mutant — we replicate the same harm that the rest of the world does onto us the moment we get the slightest bit of power, teddy. it’s not just you, angel, all of us need to grow the hell up and get therapy or somethin’ and stop holdin’ so many grudges between ourselves and at the world around us. i’m sorry, controversial opinion i know, but mutants should really choose peaceful co-habitation; not assimilation, just us learnin’ to respect the different folks we live alongside. because equality should be about all of us countin’ by the virtue of our existence, not some of us failin’ an arbitrary test and the others bein’ condemned to hell, or exile, or the goddamned chute. why did the council have a punishment chute? what about our rights to a due process? this is a f*#&in’ crisis against our human rights, man; we’re alienatin’ folks from what should be our unalienable rights.”

dazzler sighs; her tangent comes from a towering mountain of unresolved emotions, she is a singer who never joined the x-men after all, but she still has friends in all these places, she just can’t stay ignorant to their plights — which absolutely applies to teddy.

“hey, teddy-bear, look at me,” moving a curl out of his face, dazzler gently cradles theodore’s face, smiling warmly when their eyes meet. “you deserve nothin’ but the best. even if you were somehow responsible for all of this, i still think you deserve nothin’ sort of the best. i know you have that guilt, i do too – but in the end, teddy, all we have now is each other, while we’re still alive. this isn’t the end of the world? nor is it the end of us, pal, you’re my best friend and i love you, teds.”

a soft exhale, then: “can i hug you, darlin’?”

[griefpains]

Teddy Hewett has never been an optimist — at least, not that he can remember, though his parents swear he was a happy baby. At best, he is a realist, but he knows the truth of himself to be much more depressing. How can he try to be positive when tragedy keeps clouding his vision? How can he spend any moment with his guard down when he should be looking for the storm on the horizon?

It almost makes it worse that he had sensed something wrong and said nothing of it. Perhaps if he’d voiced his concern, they might’ve dug up some kind of truth; perhaps if he had clearer visions, he could have stepped in himself and saved even one person, one child, a friend he used to know. He should have known better.

He doesn’t need to be useful; he just needs to be good. He needs to be something instead of nothing.

But he doesn’t know how to say any of that to Alison, who for some reason already thinks he’s whole, even as she sits and wraps an arm around his broken pieces. He doesn’t want to give excuses. Or argue. Grief is radiating from her, too; it’s haunting all of them, those remaining, he knows without checking in. Just like he sees the incoming speech before Ali even gets going.

She needs to let off steam, he supposes, and he doesn’t mind listening. He never does; they make a good pair in that way, with her filling the silence. It gives him a few moments to breathe around the lump in his throat, swiping his sleeve over damp cheeks and closing his eyes as he listens.

There is love there in her tangent. Not just for him, but for all of them — for people she hasn’t even met, for those that she’s lost, for those that still live but she’s witnessed suffer. Love is a constant current throughout, whether she means it or not, and he appreciates that she’s trying so hard to wash away his guilt. Hell, he appreciates her rant, too, because it’s as familiar as it is stubbornly hopeful; somewhere, at least, she sees the possibility of a happy ending. If existing was enough to prove one’s value. If they all got over their difference and went to a therapist. (Ha. He should tell Dr Gale about that; she isn’t wrong.)

He drags his gaze miserably back to his best friend, and she lifts his chin for him like she can sense how heavy his body feels. She doesn’t comment on how greasy his bangs are when she pushes them out of his face, or how his glasses are crooked and scratched — just grins at him and says the kindest words he’s ever heard.

It doesn’t fix it. It doesn’t stitch the hole in his chest, or the heart that’s still breaking, but she gives him a life raft and lifts him out of the water — and it’s everything. His chin wobbles as more tears fall down his cheeks.

Instead of answering, he tilts forward and wraps his arms around Alison first.

“‘s the - the end of… one world,” he forces himself to whisper, straining voice muffled against her shoulder. His hands shake as he hugs her tight, and he hates the way his tongue sticks to his teeth, despises himself for the tar replacing his saliva.

Use your words, Teddy.

“But. I’m, um.” Shit. I’m glad you’re here. He takes a deep breath, and tries his very best to stop the tears from flowing. “You’re right.” He does not say what she’s right about, but he expects she’ll fill in the blanks for him. She hears what he cannot say. “You’re a good friend.”

He doesn’t have many; less, these days, dwindling with every wave that drags them under. Slipping away in his prolonged bouts of silence.

He isn’t a very good friend, he thinks. But he means what he’s saying.

“… Love you, too.”

[griefpains]

@alphabright said: “the way you observe the horizon... what do you see there?”

． ． ．It's  been  almost  two  years  since  Ryland  found  his  way  back  home,  but  he's  still  getting  used  to  it,  trying  to  piece  together  a  life  in  a  world  that  feels  exactly  as  he  remembers  and  nothing  like  it  at  the  same  time.  No  one  ever  tells  you  how  strange  it  is  to  miss  a  place  you've  never  been  and  a  friend  you  can  never  see  again;  no  one  ever  tells  you  what  it's  like  to  belong  everywhere  and  nowhere  at  once,  forced  again  and  again  to  make  impossible  decisions.

In  fact,  they  never  really  gave  him  a  choice.

The  tide  washes  over  Ryland's  feet  as  he  ditches  his  old  converse  in  the  sand,  letting  the  water  curl  around  his  ankles  like  the  memories  he's  still  getting  back.  He's  so  caught  up  in  thought  that  he  doesn't  realize  he's  not  alone  until  Aurora's  voice  startles  him  out  of  his  reverie  -  shoulders  jerking,  breath  catching  around  an  undignified  yelp.  His  palm  settles  over  his  chest  as  if  he  needs  a  physical  reminder  to  slow  the  frantic  rhythm  beneath  it.

“Aurora,”  he  exhales,  huffing  out  a  self-deprecatory  laugh.  “Jeez  -  I  didn't  see  you  there.”

It  takes  him  a  few  seconds  more  to  process  what  she's  asked.  And  when  she  does,  his  expression  turns  a  little  more  sheepish;  wistful,  almost,  softening  as  he  looks  out  toward  the  ocean  again.

“Oh.  That's  easy:  Earth.”  He  flashes  her  an  awkward  smile,  scratching  at  his  jaw.  “I  know  it  sounds  silly.  Compared  to  the  vastness  of  the  universe,  this  blue  marble  is  nothing  special.”  Like  carbon  and  water,  like  the  building  blocks  of  life,  in  an  infinite  space  there  are  infinite  possibilities;  but  he'd  been  wrong  about  that,  it  turns  out.  Floating  in  a  solar  system  lightyears  away,  he'd  spent  a  lot  of  his  time  watching  videos  of  the  trees.  When  he  glances  back  at  Aurora,  his  glasses  sit  on  the  tip  of  his  nose.  “To  you,  we  must  be  tiny.”

Yet  his  life  had  been  forfeit  to  save  the  billions  inhabiting  it.  And  yet,  he'd  chosen  to  come  back,  only  to  say  goodbye  a  second  time  to  his  brothers.  Only  to  reunite  with  them  under  the  worst  of  circumstances.  (He's  kind  of  getting  sick  of  all  this  emotional  whiplash.)

Ryland  shrugs  his  shoulders  easily,  as  if  Atlas  doesn't  hold  the  world.  “But  I'm  sorta  fond  of  it,”  he  quips.  “What  can  I  say?  I  missed  the  view.”

[griefpains]

@becry said, ❝ It all began one day without warning... ❞

． ． ．Of  course  it  happened  that  way;  in  Tara's  unfortunate  experience,  everything  always  seems  to  unravel  all  at  once.  Never  something  for  which  she's  ever  been  able  to  prepare,  nothing  leading  up  to  the  red  flags  she  may  or  may  not  have  ignored.

A  missing  bracelet  and  the  curtains  left  open. A  dozen  unopened  security  alerts  and  wet  clumps  of  hair  regurgitated  from  the  bathroom  faucet. Empty eyes staring into hers, not recognizing the mirror shattered between them; every morning there is something different.

Tara's  freshly  manicured  nails  dig  into  her  knees  as  she  leans  forward,  hanging  on  every  word  coming  out  of  the  redhead's  mouth.  "Oh  my  God,  don't  leave  me  hanging!"  she  exclaims. Her curls actually bounce with the force of her earnest enthusiasm. "Tell  me  everything  -  what  happened  next?"

[griefpains]

@handspike said: ❝ is this your way of asking me to stay? ❞

． ． ．The  question  stops  Ryland  in  his  tracks,  hands  frozen  in  front  of  him  mid-gesture;  behind  his  glasses,  his  wide  eyes  blink  back  at  her  as  if  startled  suddenly  back  into  existence.  She  doesn't  usually  interrupt  him.  Maybe  he's  been  going  on  for  a  while,  then  -  or  maybe  it's  something  to  do  with  the  glint  in  her  eyes,  and  the  way  her  teeth  are  digging  into  her  lip,  the  two  of  them  suddenly  much  closer  than  he  remembers.

Great.  Now  he's  blushing.

"Would  you?"  He  always  thought  it  was  just  a  cliche  for  a  heart  to  skip  a  beat,  but  here  he  is,  with  his  pulse  in  his  ears.  "I  mean  -  I  was  actually  curious,  I  do  need  help  with  my  experiment  -  "  Mind  games  aren't  really  his  thing,  always  one  to  be  more  forward  and  put  his  foot  in  his  mouth  later.

"But...  will  you  stay,  Freddie?"  Screw  it.  "I'd  like  you  to  stay."

[griefpains]

@alphafight said: “you’ve seen much, and yet your gaze holds wonder.”

． ． ．Teddy  peers  at  Jean-Paul  with  raised  brows  for  a  long  beat  after  he  speaks,  stunned  to  be  told  he’s  anything  but  a  dark  cloud  -  or  at  least,  shocked  that  it’s  coming  from  someone  other  than  Alison,  who  sees  the  good  in  everything  and  everyone.

 Northstar  holds  no  such  disposition.

“I…  well.  It  is  beautiful,”  Teddy  mumbles,  shrugging  a  shoulder  as  he  turns  back  to  the  scenery.  “The  day,  I  mean.  And  this  place.  Haven’t  seen  anything  like  it.  I  keep  thinking…  she  -  Krakoa.  All  of  this  is  her.”  A  living  island.  His  gaze  traces  the  jagged  patterns  of  bark  all  the  way  up  to  the  canopy.

Talking  had  been  easy  once,  hadn’t  it?  When  he  was  a  child,  and  then  again  in  his  twenties,  standing  at  the  front  of  a  classroom,  teaching  a  sea  of  young  faces  things  that  couldn’t  save  them  from  their  fates.  Now,  he  stands  in  a  place  that  is  meant  to  be  their  oasis,  but  all  he  can  see  are  the  roiling  waves  on  the  horizon.

“Not  every  vision  comes  to  be.”  Hard  to  make  sense  of  the  fractures,  hard  to  predict  a  series  of  events  from  the  mad  scribbles  of  a  fading  dream.  “All  the  bad  stuff…  it  makes  it  hard  to  see.  Sometimes.  Everything  is  foggy  and  dark.”

It’s  taken  him  a  very  long  time  to  crawl  out  of  those  depths;  even  still,  he  finds  himself  stumbling.  Still,  there  is  this  pit  in  his  stomach.

“But  the  good  things  are  still  there,  if  you  look.  I  -  I  guess,  uh.  Guess  I  just…  make  space  for  them.  Try  to  find  them.”  Clairvoyance  demands  some  kind  of  anchor.

“You  give  me  a  lot  of  credit.”

[griefpains]

@rohgue said: “ I was counting on it. ”

． ． ．No  one  likes  a  know  it  all  -  and  there  is  even  less  excitement  for  the  harbinger  when  he  is  only  ever  the  bearer  of  bad  news  -  but  if  there  is  one  good  thing  about  Teddy,  it's  that  he's  always  been  reliable.  He's  always  been  a  bleeding  heart.  For  all  his  doom  spiraling,  there  is  a  pattern;  for  every  issue  that  arises,  there  is  a  storm  cloud  that  hovers,  desperate  to  figure  out  a  way  to  help.  Even  if  it  is  something  small,  something  thankless,  or  left  innocently  perched  in  a  window.

And  yet  still,  it  surprises  him  to  hear  the  sentiment  coming  from  somebody  else.

His  brows  tip  upward  as  he  glances  back  at  Rogue,  still  tasting  the  echo  of  his  offered  presence,  and  he  almost  stumbles  over  the  ease  of  her  trust.  A  tiny  smile  quirks  at  the  corner  of  his  lips;  only  a  ghost,  and  then  it's  gone  again,  disappearing  when  he  dips  his  crown.  He's  relieved  to  hear  he  still  has  her  confidence  after  everything  that's  happened.

"Oh,"  he  breathes.  "Well...  okay.  Should  I,  uh  -  bring  anything?  From  the  office?"

[handspike]

This   is   all   achingly   familiar.   The   spider   web   he's   spun   his   way   out   of   finds   its   way   back.   History   has   a   tendency   of   repeating   itself.   She   knows   it   is   hard   to   resist   the   call.   Every   alert   sounds   like   a   siren.   All   the   flags   are   now   red. 

She   only   needs   to   skim   the   headline   to   hear   what   he's   thinking.   It's   been   the   subject   of   conversation   since   last   night.   She   knows   it's   like   picking   at   a   scab.   More   so,   salt   in   the   wound.

When   he   sets   the   phone   down,   she   flips   it.   Face   down.   So   he   won't   notice   any   more   notifications   from   every   news   outlet   taking   over   the   screen.   They   want   his   perspective   -   they   always   do.   They   can   wait.

Digits   curl   around   the   mug   of   coffee,   no   longer   steaming,   and   she   places   it   in   the   microwave   for   a   minute,   before   turning   back   towards   him.

“You're   worried   about   it,”   she   drapes   her   arm   around   his   shoulder   -   the   diner   can   also   wait.   Getting   there   fifteen   minutes   later   won't   make   much   of   a   difference   when   he's   not   settled,   and   when   his   mind's   running   rampant,   it's   hard   to   steer   focus   when   she   knows   this   is   what   he   wants   to   talk   about.

Freddie   doesn't   let   him   evade,   or   talk   around   it.   They   don't   avoid   topics.   He's   not   a   broken   record   to   her,   he's   not   beating   a   dead   horse.   Ryland   can   talk   about   anything,   and   she's   listening.   “My   shower   was   good,”   she   doesn't   allow   deflection,   as   she   settles   onto   his   lap.

The   microwave   beeps,   and   she   reaches   for   it.   Sets   it   on   the   table   before   him,   then   resting   her   palm   on   his   knuckles.   She   traces   his   fingertips   while   she   looks   towards   his   eyes.

Nature   perseveres.   But   the   influence   of   something   external   always   frightens   the   population.   There   is   panic   stirring,   wonder   over   the   endtimes   looming.   But   every   year,   there   is   another   premonition.   Can   this   be   something   big?   Can   this   be   nothing?

“You   think   you   could   be   called   to   go   check   it   out?”

[griefpains]

There’s  something  comforting  about  watching  Freddie  move;  how  gracefully  she  carries  herself  even  in  the  early  morning,  how  her  touch  keeps  him  anchored  to  the  earth,  the  systematic  way  she  goes  about  taking  care  of  him  like  it’s  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  He  doesn’t  have  to  voice  his  thoughts  or  his  worries,  because  she  tends  to  them  all,  everything  from  his  phone  to  his  coffee,  never  missing  a  moment.

The  moment  she  settles  in  his  lap,  he  feels  the  tension  leave  him  all  at  once.  Atlas  wobbles  under  the  weight  of  the  earth;  Ryland  winds  his  arms  around  her  waist  and  rests  their  crowns  together  for  just  a  moment,  closing  his  eyes  not  to  avoid  her  but  because  everything  feels  like  a  little  too  much.  He  keeps  running  through  the  details  of  the  reports,  circling  data  points  and  painful  memories  until  he’s  light  years  away,  catastrophizing.

Freddie  sees  that,  too.  She  doesn’t  leave  him  to  it.  She  never  does,  peering  into  the  darkest  corners  of  his  mind  like  sunlight  reflecting  off  the  water,  her  weight  a  comforting  reminder.

Still,  he  has  to  take  a  sip  of  his  (now  steaming  hot)  coffee  before  he  replies.

“They  shouldn’t.  This  isn’t  my  area  of  expertise,”  he  finally  murmurs,  but  the  furrow  in  his  brow  suggests  he  isn’t  buying  his  own  argument.  Then  again,  he’s  never  really  had  much  of  a  poker  face,  his  voice  pitched  a  little  too  high  in  desperation.  Freddie  just  peers  back  at  him  with  those  big  eyes,  a  sympathetic  window  to  the  universe.

“Like  I  told  my  students  before  -  the  best  minds  in  the  entire  world  are  on  it.”  He  just  didn’t  realize  he  might  be  included  in  that  number  until  it  was  far  too  late;  now,  he  knows  exactly  why  they  might  ask  him.  He  just  doesn’t  think  it’s  enough.

Turns  out  "guy  who  spent  years  reverse-engineering  an  alien  microorganism  in  another  star  system"  isn't  a  résumé  many  people  have.

He  slips  off  his  glasses,  leaving  one  arm  hooked  over  his  ear  so  that  they  won’t  smash  into  his  nose  when  he  pulls  her  closer.  “If  they  call…  I’m  going  to  answer,”  he  murmurs.  The  confession  comes  with  a  wobbly  breath.  “I  think  that’s  what’s  scaring  me.”

Does  that  make  him  a  terrible  scientist?

He  doesn’t  want  to  go;  he  doesn’t  want  to  leave  Freddie,  or  Earth,  or  Colt.  Or  his  kids,  who  still  somehow  think  Mr  Grace  knows  everything.  The  thought  alone  might  actually  kill  him.

When  he  speaks  again,  it’s  in  a  strained  whisper,  fingers  absently  twirling  the  ends  of  her  dark  hair.  “…I  hope  the  phone  never  rings.”  It’s  taken  years  for  him  to  convince  himself  that  he  belongs,  testing  every  tether  until  he  was  certain  he  wouldn’t  float  away.  Not  again.

“Thanks  for  the  coffee,  hon.”

[shattcrdglass]

send me 🚫 and i'll make an incorrect quote meme about our muses — @griefpains "any of the lakes and teddy"

[griefpains]

@helraising said, “ you handle that weapon with care. a practitioner, perhaps? ”

． ． ．Jesus  Christ,  has  Drew  ever  gotten  himself  into  a  fucking  pickle.  He’s  in  such  deep  shit,  it’s  not  even  funny;  this  whole  thing  reeks  from  top  to  bottom,  and  he’s  so  far  up  diphtheria  creek  that  he’s  got  manure  coming  out  of  his  goddamn  eyeballs.  If  he  ever  makes  it  to  the  other  side,  he’d  better  start  looking  for  a  shovel  -  and  that’s  a  pretty  big  if,  considering.  Never  mind  the  fact  that  he’s  got  the  nuclear  resilience  of  a  fucking  cockroach.

The  sound  of  a  voice  nearby  almost  startles  him,  but  he  laughs  in  spite  of  himself,  sharp  and  a  little  too  loud  for  this  shitty  little  alleyway.  As  he  turns  on  his  heel,  he  inadvertently  grinds  a  stranger’s  cigarette  butt  into  the  cracked  concrete.

He  flashes  the  masked  vigilante  a  big  smile;  it  comes  pretty  easily,  though  it  doesn’t  meet  his  tired  eyes.

“Sure,”  he  replies  cheerily.  “You  could  say  that.”  Practitioner  of  survival,  master  of  bullshit  -  bow  down  before  he!

“You’re  not  so  bad  yourself,  y’know.  What’re  you,  like,  some  kind  of  fuckin’  black  market  Superman?”  He  can  put  the  weapon  away  now,  he’s  pretty  sure,  but  never  say  never  -  or  whatever  that  punkass  Justin  kid  said.  Drew  doesn’t  really  care  to  remember.

“You  saved  my  ass  back  there.”

[aurora-rph]

Dimension 20: Neverafter Starter

Yes, that's what I said. What did you hear?

I have a list of my 10 best friends, and I want you to know you just bumped up four places.

She's new to having friends.

We're team fuck around and find out.

I always say I hate pickles, but I love pickles.

Good like entertainment wise or good like we're going to win?

You think I can't sew a beautiful dress for a ball?

Well…we've killed a lot of them.

Hopefully everybody else did okay.

If it turns out I was helpful, tell them to sing songs of me.

I saw everything that just happened.

I give you something now which will break you, because you have asked for it. And let this be a lesson to be careful what you ask for.

Everyone's being a bit rude, I didn't want to say anything, but everyone's being a bit rude.

Okay so you gotta get out of here or I will kill you.

This isn't your fight, it never was your fight.

Uh, she's been dead for a while.

You know, I bravely fled when things got dodgy.

With a gift it is the thought that counts, and I like for a gift to hurt to give.

We all have to take a group vote before anyone sacrifices their souls.

I'm going to say it, I think we should stop.

I'm not going to make an observation about you right to your face, that would be rude.

Am I always supposed to be scared?

Sometimes I think you have to be a little bit scary, in scary times.

DON'T LEARN LESSONS FROM MY TORMENT!

Did you all sit down to a nice dinner while you presumed I was dead? if I was so dead, where was my funeral?!

Things have been fucked up, and a lot of it's your fault.

You know, quests going well…not a guarantee.

Could you do me a favor and walk me to the edge of the path?

I'm glad for your strength, this is a long journey to make on my own.

Do you promise not to be mad at me?

[amortttage]

𝓟ULSE.ᐟ

compilation of phrases taken from pulse, 2001's film directed by kiyoshi kurosawa. please, adjust as needed.

it all began one day without warning...

It shouldn't take a whole week to work on that disk.

i don't know, i just feel like something's wrong.

what am i supposed to do? we haven't heard a thing.

time to put it behind us.

something about meeting ghosts?

are you eating this junk again?

you're so trusting and get carried away...

i wouldn't suggest staring at it for too long.

wanted to connect with other people?

people don't really connect, you know.

it might be a waste of time.

a courageous choice in itself.

everyone dies, therefore there's no logical reason for ghosts not to exist.

you'll have to catch him to find out.

it's got to overflow somehow, somewhere.

i always wondered what it's like to die...

can we stop talking about this?

the idea was so terrifying.

what have ghosts got to do with us?

ghosts and people are the same...

you want to live forever?

they'll try to make people immortal.

am i just going to die like this?

i'm scared to be alone.

promise you'll wait right here.

we'll balance each other out.

my head's all messed up.

even if you see a door sealed with red tape, don't go near it, ok?

i refuse to acknowledge death!

if that's what you want, i'll go with you.

we're still getting signals there.

have i done the right thing?

i'm alone with my last friend in the world.

[aurora-rph]

Things Zac Oyama Said Starter Sentences

Has anyone seen my juicebox?

That's the most 「insert name」 shit I can think of.

What you have to understand is the train was very late.

Do you ever wish you were somewhere else?

I can't see you, but you know what I can see? Your fucking true colors.

They all had knives and they were all trying to drop them on your head in the loopdeloop.

What a large goon you are.

I'm sorry I sang earlier.

Are you 「insert name」's dog?

Yes that's what I said, what did you hear?

If the teacher is your dad, they have to tell you, right?

I didn't press record.

I like this plan.

You were my brother, and now you're a bother.

「insert name」 has to leave in four minutes.

I have to eliminate biscuits and gravy from my conversations

Get me in there, let me have a shot at this.

You’ve been very bad and the robots are coming.

We need you to lock it in a little bit.

You all got to shut the fuck up.

We saw a hole, had to check it out.

My last conversation with my grandfather, I called him a coward.

Don't you feel good? Don't you feel better?

That dragon, forget about him.

It sounds like a joke, but it's kinda real.

Water's bad for you by the way.

I turned 100,000 dollars into 16 THOUSAND DOLLARS

This is a huge moment for everyone but me.

The train blew up.

Give me your teeth

I killed him, yeah.

That's relaxing to some people.

[rpclefairy]

strangers beneath the same sky starters.

dialogue starters for first time meetings in historical or fantasy settings.

“forgive my intrusion. have we met before?”

“you walk as one accustomed to long roads.”

“it is rare to find another soul in this place.”

“you bear the air of someone with purpose. may i ask your name?”

“the wind carries your scent of distant lands.”

“you seem far from home, stranger.”

“your robes speak of refinement, yet your eyes tell another story.”

“may i share your fire for a while?”

“it seems fate has led our paths to cross.”

“you handle that weapon with care. a practitioner, perhaps?”

“have you come seeking fortune, or fleeing something?”

“i did not expect company in such a lonely place.”

“you carry a heavy heart. the road must have been unkind.”

“are you a wanderer, or one with a destination in mind?”

“you move with discipline. do you belong to a sect?”

“the way you observe the horizon... what do you see there?”

“i could not help but notice your talisman. a charm for protection?”

“you seem unafraid, even here. that is uncommon.”

“your presence disturbs the silence yet i do not mind it.”

“do you often travel alone, or am i witnessing a rare moment?”

“you look as though you’ve seen ghosts.”

“the stars are kind tonight. perhaps that is why we meet.”

“a name has power. would you share yours?”

“i sense a story behind those eyes.”

“the tea is still warm, if you would sit and rest.”

“do you always meet strangers so fearlessly?”

“you wear no crest or banner, are you unaffiliated?”

“your aura feels… unfamiliar. what manner of cultivation is that?”

“there’s something about you the heavens seem to favor.”

“the world is wide, and yet we cross paths here. curious, isn’t it?”

“your silence speaks louder than words.”

“you carry an old wound. is it battle, or memory?”

“do you seek shelter, or solitude?”

“you’ve seen much, and yet your gaze holds wonder.”

“your voice carries conviction. you must believe in something deeply.”

“even the moon seems to follow you.”

“if i did not know better, i’d say destiny enjoys such meetings.”

“you seem out of place, or perhaps the place is out of time.”

“tell me, stranger. what is it you’re searching for?”

“the night is long. shall we pass it in conversation?”

“your weapon hums faintly. is it bound to your spirit?”

“you don’t avert your gaze. most would.”

“that pendant... it resembles one i once saw in the capital.”

“has the road been kind to you, or cruel?”

“you seem weary, but your steps haven’t faltered.”

“do you believe in omens?”

“you have the bearing of someone who’s seen battle.”

“tell me truthfully, do you trust me?”

“your presence feels... familiar, like a dream i’ve forgotten.”

“you stand as though waiting for someone.”

“if i asked what you’ve lost, would you answer?”

“your hands are steady. a healer’s, perhaps?”

“the forest seems quieter since you arrived.”

“you remind me of someone... though i cannot say who.”

“do you always travel under the moon’s light?”

“you seem untouched by fear. is that wisdom, or recklessness?”

“if we had met under gentler skies, would you still look at me this way?”

“the scent of rain follows you. were you caught in a storm?”

“i wonder, what kind of person leaves footprints like yours?”

“if fate is kind, perhaps our paths will cross again.”

[velvetandverse]

─ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ Injury/injured starters

a mix of injury/injured starters (stab wounds, broken bones/limbs, bruises, other general injuries) from both the whumpee and the bystander/caretaker cw: mentions of blood and injury

𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝/𝐖𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐞

“I’m not dying.”

“That is a lot more blood than I was expecting.”

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

“I wasn’t prepared for that level of pain.”

“Oh… that’s definitely worse than I thought.”

“If I pass out, don’t panic.”

“It’s just blood. Stop panicking.”

“I’m trying really hard not to freak out.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little broken. I’ve had worse.”

“I swear if you draw a penis on my cast—”

“Nobody else needs to know about this.”

“I didn’t realize how many things require two hands.”

“Can we skip the part where you tell me ‘I told you so?’”

“That’s probably not supposed to bend like that.”

“Please tell me you brought painkillers.”

“On the bright side, I don’t have to go to work.”

“I’m sitting down because I want to, not because you told me to.”

𝐁𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

“What the hell happened to you?”

“You look like you’ve been run over.”

“Tell me where it hurts.”

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Can you walk?”

“Next time you throw yourself into danger, I’m breaking the other arm myself.”

“Just hang on for me. You can do that, yeah?”

“Don’t thank me for helping. Just stop getting injured.”

“You call this ‘not that bad?’”

“I need you to stay awake.”

“If you ever pull something this reckless again, I’m dragging you straight back home.”

“You broke your arm making toast?”

“Can I sign your cast?”

“You were supposed to stay behind me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“Don’t scare me like that.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” *using their middle finger* 

“Your face is turning purple.”

“You’re supposed to be using the crutches.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t wander off and break the other/another arm/leg/body part.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with that limp.”

“Sit down before I make you sit down.”

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

“You’re bleeding.” “That’s usually what happens when someone gets stabbed.”

“Why is your eye black?” “Long story.” “I have time.”

“Don’t touch it.” “I wasn’t going to.” “Yes, you were.”

“Please tell me this happened while fighting something cool.” “A door.”

“Leave it.” “Leave it? It’s sticking out of you.”

“How bad is it?” “Do you want the honest answer or the comforting one?”

“I said I’m fine.” “And I said you’re bleeding through your shirt.”

“You should’ve left me.” “Don’t ever ask me to do that again.”

“Need help with that?” “No.” *pause* “Yes.”

“How bad is it?” “[Name] carried me here.” “...That bad, huh?”

divider by: strangergraphics

[griefpains]

@spectracle said, “ You deserve to be held with love and not such contempt. ”

． ． ． It's  not  that  Teddy's  hiding,  per  se,  but  he  hasn't  exactly  been...  available,  either.  He  tells  himself  it's  better  this  way;  it's  safer,  keeping  most  of  the  vitriol  away,  leaving  his  family  in  peace  the  way  he  should  have  when  he  saw  the  first  wave  coming.  They  don't  need  the  burden,  anyway,  and  if  he's  drowning,  he  doesn't  want  to  pull  anyone  else  under  the  water.  He's  certainly  not  going  to  bother  any  of  his  remaining  friends.

After  all  -  it's  his  fault  their  world  is  struggling  to  recover,  that  so  many  bear  new  scars  and  grief,  that  even  more  of  them  never  came  back  from  this  at  all.  They'd  barely  started  to  recover  from  the  last  disaster;  a  catastrophe  he  also  failed  to  prevent,  standing  useless  as  the  kids  he'd  taught  were  hunted  down,  as  their  kind  was  stripped  of  all  that  made  them.  He  knew  something  bad  was  going  to  happen  then,  but  he  wasn't  fast  enough  to  stop  it.

He  knew  something  was  wrong  with  Krakoa,  too.  He  could  have  saved  them.  He  could  have  saved  them.

How  can  Alison  stand  in  front  of  him  now  and  tell  him  he's  worthy  of  anything  at  all?

The  lump  in  his  throat  is  strangling  his  vocal  chords,  making  his  breath  stutter  and  tremble  even  as  he  stifles  it  in  his  palm,  even  as  he  tries  to  pull  himself  together.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  chaos  and  pain,  his  friend  had  sought  him  out;  she  chose  to  linger  in  his  apartment,  seeing  the  dishes  piling  up  and  the  blinds  pulled  shut.  The  faint  glow  that  emanates  from  her  feels  like  the  first  light  he's  seen  in  a  very  long  time.

After  a  beat,  he  forces  his  limbs  to  move,  signing  slow  and  close  to  his  chest.  <  What  is  the  point  of  being  clairvoyant  if  I  can't  be  helpful?  >  His  eyes  glimmer  with  unshed  tears,  and  he  bites  his  tongue  as  if  to  spite  it.  The  hairline  crack  spiderwebbing  through  his  lens  makes  the  image  of  her  fracture.

<  I  deserve  contempt.  It's  okay.  >

He  isn't  bitter;  he  is  resigned,  he  is  miserable,  and  he  is  trying  his  best  to  reassure  her.  If  no  one  ever  wanted  to  see  him  again,  he  would  understand.  It  wouldn't  make  a  difference.  <  I  don't  know  how  to  face  them.  I...  I  can't.  >  Just  like  he  feels  awful  now,  and  every  time  Alison  has  to  clean  up  his  messes,  as  if  he's  dimming  a  shining  star.

<  I  don't  know  how  you  can  be  so  nice  to  me.  >

[griefpains]

@topshelfperverts said: “ you were out for quite some time. ”

． ． ． The  effects  of  social  isolation  on  the  human  brain  can  begin  surprisingly  quickly.  It  only  takes  eight  hours  for  cognitive  function  and  emotional  regulation  to  be  measurably  affected  -  comparable,  in  some  studies,  to  going  without  food.  And  once  the  hours  start  turning  into  days,  things  can  get  even  worse;  if  the  data's  right,  hallucinations  can  start  to  occur  at  around  the  seventy  hour  mark.  Lack  of  sensory  input  does  that  to  a  brain.

Which  leads  to  the  obvious  conclusion:  he's  losing  it.  Grace  is  completely,  one  hundred  percent  certain  that  the  last  time  he  checked,  he  was  the  only  living  person  aboard  this  ship  -  so  why  in  the  heck  is  there  a  strange  man  slouching  on  a  chair  in  the  lab,  commenting  on  how  long  Grace  may  or  may  not  have  been  unconscious?

Is  he  supposed  to  know  who  they  are?  He  can't  remember.  It's  all  a  fog.

"Nope.  That's  not...  this  isn't  right."  He  tugs  his  glasses  off  to  rub  his  eyes,  scrubbing  his  entire  face  for  good  measure  like  it  might  help  him  get  it  together.  But  when  he  puts  his  glasses  back  on,  the  man  is  still  there.

Great.  So  either  he's  not  alone,  or  he's  not  well.  Both  seem  bad.

"Okay,  start  over.  Who  are  you?"