#a bit rambly i know

[crowkip]

yeehaw, baby!

[yanderespamton78]

Edit since a lot of people seem confused - your "real" name is the name that you want to be referred to in real life. It doesn't have to be your legal name. So if you're trans and you have a different name to whats on your birth certificate, even if not many people call you by the name, it still counts as your real name.

Edit 2 : Holy shit guys please stop reblogging this post my poor inbox im getting like 20 notifs an hour asjfhkajshdkh /lh /srs

[bluerosefox]

Striking of the Clock

BrainDead or DeadTired idea.

During Tim's BruceQuest he uncovers hidden texts/tombs of a being that controls and watches over the Time Stream and Tim knows this being will have to be his best bet of finding Bruce while also trying to figure out on his own how to get Bruce out of the Time Stream as well.

However the being doesn't have a summoning sigil due to being an Ancient.

He does find the sigil for the Ghost King however, a being that borderlines into Ancients power territory and could in theory grant Tim an audience with the Time being if Tim plays his cards right.

In the end, Tim decides it was worth a shot. He convinces Ra's to 'help' him summon the Ghost King. Ra's wanting to see if such a being could be real and to see how far Tim is willing to go to bring Bruce back, allows League resources to be used.

It takes a few weeks, with Tim also making plans to undermine not just the Council of Spiders but Ra's as well, but eventually the time to summon the Ghost King comes.

Tim honestly was expecting the large eldritch like being that showed up, he just wasn't expecting the being to be basically a formed galaxy mixed with ice and the northern lights itself.

He also really wasn't expecting when he negotiated a deal with the Ghost King, and taken into a place called the Infinite Realms when they shook hands (Tam and Prue is also taken with him, he refused to leave them with Ra's), for the being to shrink down and turn into a white haired, green eyed teen around his age who starts flirting at him.

Nor was he expecting for another being, one that apparently is able to shift aging forms, and a grandfather clock in its chest to appear next to the teen and bonk the white haired teen with a staff and tell him to stop flirting with his future new apprentice....

Wait what?

-x-x-

Danny is rarely, very rarely summoned since taking the mantle of Ghost King. Due to being a new Ancient most old sigils that was once connected to Phantom (mostly teens from Amity tired summoning him a couple of times) no longer worked and the only ones that did were the ones he gave to his friends and family or the Ghost King ones (but again rare due to how rare texts/tombs to the Ghost King is written down)

So when he felt the pull of a summoning he made sure to go in his eldritch form, mostly to see if he could scare them or at least intimidate.

Honestly he was expecting the cult, given the fact they summoned a being known as the (freaking) Ghost King, maybe not them being assassins/ninjas but still a cult.

He wasn't expecting the cute, same age as him too, guy in the room.

(CW totally paused time for a second, gave Danny a file on who and why he was summoned, discussed getting Tim Drake out of Ra's hands (and maybe allowing CW to finally have his own future apprentice because Tim is a smarty smart whose been slowly able to figure out the freaking Time Stream itself.), and then started the timeline again)

Danny decided, after striking a deal, that since he's going to be working with Tim, aka Red Robin (who Danny found out used to be Robin! From Gotham), from now on he might as well shoot his shot and flirt with him and-

"OUCH, CW REALLY?!"

"Stop flirting with my new apprentice for now My King, we have work to do."

[lucabyte]

Different standards

[old-desert]

Inktobertale 2024 Day 5: Camping

Cross doesn't know that the first law of the multiverse is that there's nowhere Ink can't be.

[morganbritton132]

I’m thinking about Steve’s mom in the context of this AU I’m (apparently) creating where Steve is the affair baby that broke up his much older half-siblings’ family.

Put yourself in the shoes that his mother would’ve been in. You’re nineteen. You have no education and you’re working your first real job. You start an affair with your boss - who is the father of the friend that got you the job - because you’re young and you think you’re in love, and you don’t think of the consequences.

Suddenly, you’re pregnant and he’s leaving his wife for you, and you still think you’re in love so you follow his lead. You’re nasty to his first wife because he is and you’re insecure because she nothing but nice to you. Her children hate you but Richard says that they’ll get over it so you believe him. They never do.

Then you’re married and you have access to more money than you’ve ever had in your life, and you’re in love. And you’re a mother. He sleeps through your delivery but everything is okay when you hold your little boy.

You know that things have changed now. That you’ll do everything in your power to make sure this little boy makes it in the big scary world. You promise yourself that you’ll do anything for him.

The baby cries, and you cry, and you thought things would be different and that you’d know what to do, but you really don’t. You don’t feel a connection with your baby beyond wanting to protect him, and you hate this. You hate being a mother. You hate this constant failing.

Richard is never home. He still works long hours but you’re no longer at the office with him. He seems completely disinterested in being a father and less interested in you playing mother, and you’re not stupid.

You know he left his wife for a younger, more attractive woman. You know he fell in love with you because you’re passionate, you’re fun, and you haven’t been that in a while.

You stood smug and happy by his side while he tried to take everything in the divorce, and you know his first wife has more money and influence than you. You know she has lawyers and you don’t. You don’t know what happens to you if he wants a newer model. You don’t know what happens to your son but you think he’ll try to take him from you.

Richard doesn’t want to be married to a mother, so you stop being one. You have to for the marriage to survive and it feels like guilt to be relieved by that. You’re not his secretary anymore, but his assistant. You travel with him and you join the right committees. You join the walking club and you shed the last of the baby weight, and he loves more than he ever has.

And you’re happy but you’re not in love.

It was too easy to pass motherhood onto Richard’s daughter, onto the nanny. It was easy to sidestep into the role of ‘friend,’ so you befriend your son.

Not a close friend. Not in any way that would make Richard feel like he wasn’t your world, but you’re there. You know the drama currently happening on the basketball team but not that your baby is failing English. You go on spa dates and make a whole day out of getting your hair cut together, but you don’t discipline him. Richard does that.

Then one day, you come home from the Poconos and your son has bruises on his face and bandages on his fingers, and a haunted vacant look in his eyes. He job was a pile of burning rubble when you drove into town. You asks what happened and if he’s alright, and he’s gives you the same smile you’ve been wearing for years, “Everything’s great, ma.”

[madbard]

“You came back wrong.”

Maybe I didn’t want to come back. Maybe you dragged me, kicking and screaming, from a death that while cold and final, was at least my own. When you placed my body on the dissection table, understand that I could not welcome your touch. When you stole back my life for me, understand that you stole it from me as well, because I was not able to choose this.

You chose it for me.

“You came back wrong.”

Maybe I did. Maybe you were desperate to hold on to me and I was desperate to hold on to myself, to keep believing I had any control over my own body, my own soul. Maybe in that moment of struggle between your fear and my will, you pulled too hard and left a part of me behind.

Maybe that was the part of me that you loved.

Maybe that was the part of me that loved you.

“You came back wrong.”

Oh, my love. What makes you think I came back?

[sojourner-between-worlds]

Even if you, personally, don't hate Discord's new UI, I am begging ya'll to still send them the following feedback:

"The changes made to Dark Mode are an accessibility issue due to the lack of a low contrast option for those who need it."

The previous dark gray was never ideal, tbh, but it was still worlds better than what we have now. As someone who can feasibly get by with the new dark mode but vastly prefers low contrast, and as someone who knows people who do need low contrast -- please tell them about this problem.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

RIP Will Campos the only person who was murdered this episode.

[wasyago]

the brainrot won

[tee-dohrnii]

This line is just so silly

---

Silly Gale doodle to make me feel better about my art :")

[lunacias]

(Silence. CARPENTER tries to rally HAYWARD's spirits. She's afraid she's going to lose him.)

"All three of us - we can all go on living, Hayward. Just like you said."

[chalkrub]

thank you for a great art fight! here's some of my final attacks. had a blast, already missing it - see you next year!

[lucabyte]

So does anybody else ever think about how Loop felt the need to demonstrate that the party's deaths wouldn't have any effect on the loops. I know I do but that's besides the point. Anyway I don't think Loop actually needs to bathe, they just like to feel included.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap having to emergency fill in for a demo guy on a mission. He wasn't on demo for this one, he was needed on sniper along with Ghost and Gaz to cover price and the ground team and demo team he was leading. The goal was the blow the entire location skyhigh, but it wouldn't be an easy job. Not with the high amount of enemy soldiers, or the sheer mass and density of the building making it so that they would need to plant charges from the inside as well as the outside.

The demo guy goes down inside while soap, gaz, and ghost can't see them. They'd been keeping the outside backup at bay when price's voice fed through the radio.

"Soap. Our demo guy is KIA, need you down here NOW!"

"Aye, Sir. On my way." The urgency in the man's voice told him that they were running low on time (not that he didn't already know that. He was counting seconds. Always was.) He abandoned his sniper with little fineness, Ghost or Gaz would get it for him.

Ghost and Gaz covered him on his way down. He shucked his gloves on the way, throwing them carelessly to the ground, didn't bother going for cover, they were on a very real time limit with the fixed timer on the charges. It wasn't an ideal situation, and ordinarily they wouldn't have such a thing, but just the night before they'd caught someone tampering with the explosives. It had fucked up the wiring, and the closest to good they he could fix it was a fixed timer because he couldn't get them to communicate with the detonator anymore.

The actual inside of the building was large. Much more winding and dense than breifing said it would be. That was a problem. A big, huge, major problem. Because now they didn't have enough power to blow it all.

And it turns out to be an even bigger problem because when he got to price he realizes that the amount of explosives they had brought wasn't going to be enough in the first place.

"Shit." He hadn't been included in the demo planning, it hadn't been necessary. But now he sees that it was, because whatever calculations had been done were wrong. Even being off by .01 of anything was near fatal with the stuff they were working with.

"What? What's wrong?" Price was even more urgent now.

"There's not enough." He said, setting the first one he picked up, it was further from the last one that had been set before him than he'd have liked.

"Can you make it work?" Price says in, what soap always called, his captain voice. Soap pauses for a moment after that, running mental calculations.

"Maybe?" He wasn't entirely confident to be completely honest, "we'd have to go back and re-do all the ones that have already been set." He curses internally, mentally smiting whoever didn't include him in the demo meeting.

Price sent a soldier off to go collect the set charges, but soap only let them off with very clear instructions on how to do so.

Soap sent price and the rest of the soldiers off without him to finish collecting the data they had been looking for. He worked in silence for a while. If he was lucky (he doubts), it the soldier that price sent off came back with more charges than soap expected, he would be able to just barely make it stretch.

He wasn't so lucky. He sent the soldier after price. He flipped his radio on.

"Ghost, go to channel 2." He switches his own radio to channel 2.

"You solid, Johnny?"

"There's not enough." He was not panicking. Soap doesn't panic. And definitely not on the field. If he did it would be in the dead of night where nobody could find him.

"What's not?" Ghost was calm, solid as a rock. Soap liked that, won't deny needing a win, even if it was as small as Ghost being his normal self.

"Charges." He moves up the hall to work on the next one, "whoever did the calculations did a bang up job, there's barely enough to stretch from the original plan, and the inside is a lot bigger than we thought. Fucking bullshit."

"You weren't workin' with demo on this?" Ghost sounded confused, "I was given an optional attendance." Ah, that explained it. And- GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT.

"Nae. At this point it seems more like a big fuckin' joke that I'm nae in on, than it does a tactical operation." Soap was seething, it was like the gods had something personal against him, but he kept his head.

"Seems like they all hate you, Johnny." Ghost hummed cheekily. Soap couldn't help the chuckle he let out. Leave it up to Ghost to still be a bastard despite it all.

"Awh, c'mon, L.T. you'd never let them all hate me now would ya?"

"Well, I don't completely hate you if it make you feel better." He could hear Ghost's smirk even through the radio.

"Aye, sir, gets me all warm and fuzzy inside, I'll buy you a drink to keep in your good graces after this."

"Assuming you live."

"Assuming I live." Soap parroted

"Can you make it work?"

"No. Not unless you've got some secret magic powers I dinnae know about, sir." He grumbled.

"Not for you, sergeant." Ghost told him. Bastard.

"Bastard." He huffed, amused.

"You still workin' on it?"

"Aye, I'm gonna blow the supports. If it goes right- better hope that it does- it'll bring the whole top crashin' down." He imitated the well-loved sound of the boom and crash he was hoping for, "if the brass wants it gone though, they'll have to send someone back. Hopefully someone competent this time." He was already halfway through the charges, and that was with a generous amount of spacing that he didn't like too much, but it would do, he had to get around to the other side of the building. He glanced at the timer, seven minutesticking down, he'd have to move fast if he wanted to get out in time, his thumb flipped his comms unit to channel the main channel.

"Price, keep an eye on the time." They all had their watches set to the timer so they could keep track. He switched back to channel 2 as soon as he got an affirmative. "Ghost, mind me at the two minute mark, aye?"

"Copy that." Came the steady manc accented response.

"Ya'know what's on my bucket list, L.T.?"

"What?"

"One day I want an OP that goes smooth start to finish."

"A steep ask."

"I felt inspired." He could hear the shrug in his own voice, and there was a breathy laugh in his ear.

Usually he's excellent at keeping track of his time, but this time he was still running minor calculations to every charge he set, making sure they were in the best spot possible. Which meant that when Ghost interrupted his mutterings with a tense "two minutes, Sargeant.", he had only just started on the last quarter of the explosives he had left.

"Shit." He chewed on his lip, using precious seconds to think. He could see the stairs to the exit at the end of the hallway, maybe 200 yards away, but there was still had 6 charges left. Fuckit, no more time for thinking, his gut's never let him down so far, he trusts that it won't this time either. "You see Price? Is he out?"

He wired the charge in his hands in two paces, placed it in six, started on the next.

"Negative. I've got no visual. I need you out of that building, now, Johnny." Ghost went silent after that, but soap was too busy to worry about that.

Shit.

He was almost halfway down the hall when he placed the next charge. Three charges left. The next charge went on in seven paces. The last two went up on either side of the stairs. His lungs burned as he took the steps two at a time. A glance at his watch showed 48 seconds left. The stairs seemed to go on forever. He would not be making it to a safe distance, he'd be lucky to get out of the building.

"I've got Price, Need eyes on you, now." Ghost sounded in his ear. He had not enough air in his lungs to respond, squeezing every cell of blood of its oxygen to keep himself moving.

10 seconds, he could see the door, it was big, and green, and had one of those push bar handles.

9 seconds, his foot slipped, his knee met the unforgiving corner of concrete, and his ankle twisted.

8 seconds, he caught himself.

7 seconds, pain lit up in his ankle. He kept going

6 seconds, he'd halved the distance to the door

5, he could see himself reaching the door already

4, he had an arm out to catch the push bar

3, he made contact

2, fresh air hit his face

1, he was running. It was like every molecule knew what was coming, like every building block of space was waiting for it. He could feel the charge it in every fiber of his being.

0, he dove for the ground, tucking himself in, harms coming up over his head. He didn't even feel it before it all slammed into him like a freight train. But he knew it was coming, knew it like a sixth sense, knew it like knowing the sky was blue without even looking up.

His ears rang. He hadn't realized before. The ringing in his ears was intense, almost overwhelming. Every thing hurt when he uncurled. His fands were stiff whe he flexed them, it looked like he was piloting a robot instead of his own body, he felt it all but from a distance. The world was bathed in gray. His mouth was dry, it tasted bitter as he smacked his lips together.

Something...

There was something... wrong? Or- he needed to do something? He flexed his fingers again. The world looked frozen. Like even the trees were looking at him, whispering that he was dead. Maybe he was, he couldn't be sure. Uncoordinated movements managed to wobble himself to standing. His back. Something on his back. It hurt. But he couldn't feel it. A hand went to his throbbing, and he stumbled a few step before he collapsed. He was tired. He was breathing but he couldn't feel it in his lungs, knew his chest was moving with it though. Maybe he wasn't breathing. He couldn't feel it. He should breathe, he focused on that. But he was so tired. Maybe too tired. Maybe he didn't need to breathe all that bad. He could just.. he was.. everything hurt. He wasn't breathing, except for his moving chest. It's okay. He'll just.. close his eyes. He'll try breathing again when he woke up again. When everything hurt less. It'll hurt less.

---

It didn't hurt less when he woke up again. It hurt more. A lot more actually. He felt his mouth open with out his command, sound left but he didn't hear it. And he couldn't tell if the incessant, ear-blinding ringing was him or if the world around him had gobe silent in lieu of the ringing.

It was a moment before he realized his eyes were open. The world was still covered in gray powder. Ghost's mask comes into view, it moves like he's speaking, but he's not making any sound. Soap thinks about telling him as much, to turn on his voice, but the world hurts, or maybe he hurts, and either way, it's easier to just close his eyes.

---

A hand smacks his face, he see brown eyes first, gaz's mouth is moving.

A glimpse of green rushing past, but black invades and he lets it happen.

The next thing he blinks and there's white, swishing, lots of it. Coats he realizes. Doctor's. A lot of them. He turns his head, it saps his strength, and the last thing he sees before his eyes close are mouths moving in muted shouts.

He blinks again and he's greeted with blinding white. He's moving. Not with his own two legs. It's fast. It makes him sick. He feels frantic hands on him and then his mouth opens, he feels contents leave him. And then he's being rolled back over. It's too much. He welcomes the dark of unconsciousness again.

---

He wakes slowly, there's a thin stream of air that chills his nose, he can feel cords on him but it would take more effort than it's worth to rip them off, uncomfortable as they were. So a hospital. If it wasn't obvious that was here he was, then it could be the plastic guard rails, or that he could see the edge of a very hospital-esq desk right outside the cracked open hospital-esq door where white flourenscent hospital-esq light leaked through.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. Not terribly so, there's a window that lets in moonlight, but dark enough that his eyes don't burn. There's a figure in the corner of his eye, and when he turns it's Ghost. Slumped down, arms crossed, sleeping. He's wearing one of the balaclavas with the narly faded skull, and the eye black he usually wears looks rubbed off, but not washed off, he can still see evidence of its remains. He looks tired, sporting a twin pair of eye bags the size of a small island, and the line of his shoulders is tenser than usual. He wonders when he got familiar enough with the man to notice his "regular tenseness", but he doesn't dwell.

His throat itches with dryness like he's swallowed a bunch of cotton balls. He's fairly certain he did not do that. There's a glass of what looks like water (or some mysterious other clear liquid) on the swinging side table, he reaches for it, but his movements are uncoordinated, limbs reluctant to listen to his demands. His hand swings a little too far and it knocks the glass to the floor. He watches it shatter, cringing in anticipation of the loud sound, but the sound is muted and far away, like he's listening through a pane of plexiglass. Ghost shoots up in a panic, looking for the danger. He does a quick double take when he sees soap's eyes open, then he notices the shattered reamins of his would-be drink.

Soap can only give him an apologetic look for disturbing his sleep that he looked like he desperately needed. Ghost walks over to him, and it looks like he's talking, but it sounds muffled, again like listening through plexiglass, or like he poured thick ink into his ears. That's not good. He can feel his mouth split into a displeased look. This is very not good. Bad, even.

Ghost leans over him, one of his big hands rests on his chest, he puts a little pressure then lets off. He does it again. And again. In a steady rhythm that soap can't help but follow.

A nurse walks in, and Ghost backs off leaving soap feel a little unteathered, but he's nolonger panicking. The nurse talks but everything is underwater, and someone's poured glue in his ears. He can't help the nervous look at ghost while the nurse keeps on, ghost holds his gaze steady. And then she's gone.

Ghost tries to speak, then he pauses, holds up a finger as if to tell him to wait, and then slips out of the room.

Great. Absolutely perfect. He's gone deaf. Well, that definitely seems like that would be the sort of thing that gets labled as "career ending", a cateer that he was damn good at. Did they even complete the mission he was on? He didn't even know if it was a success. Or even if he'd gotten any one killed. He hoped not. And to top it all off, Ghost had gone. He rationalized that Ghost had clearly meant that he was coming back. And when he did, he'd explain everything. It would be fine. So fine. Completely fine. Aside from the fact that he's probably kicked from the military.

Ghost slipped back into the room, carrying a small whiteboard, and a marker. He'd wrote something on it before turning it to face soap. It was nothing long, just two words. Quick and lethal. "Burst eardrums" oh...

"Recovery?" He felt the words in his chest when he said them, but he wasn't sure how loud he was being.

"Full recovery. Few weeks" he wrote. Soap found he likes the way he wrote. It was a simple scribble.

"The mission?"

"Success. Few casualties. Demo was KIA. Few others"

It was a bitter win, but it was often best not to dwell on it.

"You look like you got run over by a minivan three times." He says with a cheeky smile. One that always gets him a long-suffering sigh. One that he could see but not hear this time.

"Not the one in the bed." Ghost scribbled, and gave him a pointed look. It only served to make his smile toothier before a yawn broke it. Either exhaustion, or pain medication, or a combination of the two wanted to make him sleep, and he wasn't inclined to agree until ghost pushed him down gently, and scribbled "sleep" in black ink.

The morning after was better. Still inky and underwater, but less panicked. Ghost had stayed as well. Gave him a long list of injuries ontop of his missing hearing.

By the end of the week his hearing had improved a bit, words no longer blended into a blur of tv static. And he's told by Ghost that the doctor said it looked like he'd be back a full hearing in the next three weeks or so.

The second week was when the boredom really hit. It he concentrated hard enough he could parse out syllables, some distinct sounds. Nothing very quiet. But the world made sound again. And he'd taken to pestering ghost to wheeling him around the halls since he wasn't allowed to leave. Not until his hearing was back, and he started on PT.

The third week wqs much the same, aside from starting physical therapy. PT sessions weren'tanythingnew to any of them, but it was always a pain in the ass. But the fourth week, he had full sign off that his hearing was back up to 100%, and he's successfully made good progress on his PT sessions, so he was getting discharged, and sent home on medical leave.

Apparently Ghost had followed right behind him, taking leave of his own. And he declared that he was taking soap to his own flat. Soap didn't much and to protest, but he did to hear the amused tone in Ghost's voice when he bickered with the man.

[laurrelise]

tragic that even with how lackluster the umbrella academy’s final season was, we never got to see five’s house.

i want to see where the old man lives. how does he decorate? does he live in an apartment or was he able to figure out a cute little home for himself? does he have roommates? did he ever learn how to cook for himself, or does he just eat fluffernutters whenever he’s hungry? does he ever get a mr. pennycrumb of his own? (i know he doesn’t, but a girl can dream) does he ever discover a cafe near his home where a decent cup of coffee can be found?

what coffee maker does he have? where does he buy his coffee grounds? how many coffee mugs does he have? i just KNOW he collects them.

he absolutely goes into little shops downtown and finds one that says some stupid shit like “if my coffee isn’t as black as my soul, i’m not drinking it” and giggles to himself in the corner and then spends way too much money on it because it’s just too good to pass up. he’ll smile to himself on the way home and then put on a pot of coffee to try it out for the first time. he hand-washes his mugs even though they’re all dishwasher safe because he wants to make sure they’re going to be completely untarnished when he wants to use them again. he has an entire cabinet for all of his mugs and one other cabinet for the rest of his glasses and bowls and plates because he doesn’t own a whole lot but he does like mugs. and someone will ask him about his mugs and he’ll properly tell them where he got each and every one, down to exact dates and times because he remembers everything and thinking about when he found his favorite mugs makes him feel less stressed. and whoever asked will not get a single word in and they won’t try to because five is talking about his mugs and he doesn’t get a whole lot of joy from material things but it is the simple things that matter. and five likes the simple things. and five likes his mugs.