#and i am too tired to deal with it

[trekkele]

theres something very frustrating about fics where bruce keeps reaching out and reaching out and reaching out and his kids refusing to so much as meet him partway

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side

[myautisticpov]

Okay, I think it's time I talked about my Duracell Bunny/Sleepy Time scale for autistic people/people with ADHD...

So, what's the scale:

If you have autism and/or ADHD, every activity exists on a scale from Duracell Bunny to Sleepy Time (with Normal in the middle).

A Duracell Bunny activity is something that you do to an extent that most neurotypical people are exhausted just thinking about. For example, before the joints in my hands got all fucked up, I could consistently write a really high word count per day, and I would regularly see people call it impossible. And as the years have gone on, most of the people I know of who hit similar word counts have all been diagnosed as autistic and/or ADHD.

A Sleepy Time activity is one where just looking a neurotypical doing it a regular amount makes you exhausted. Where the amount of energy required to do the thing wipes you out for the rest of the day.

Different people have different Duracell Bunny and Sleepy Time activities and one thing that I've noticed a lot of autistic and ADHD people do about their Duracell Bunny activities is look at autistic/ADHD people for whom it is a Sleepy Time activity and say "well, I'm autistic/ADHD and I don't have any trouble with it, so clearly you're just making an excuse."

And this is extra annoying because ADHD/autistic Duracell Bunnies have more energy for the thing than neurotypicals, so they can end up in leadership positions and entrenching a really unhealthy environment for everyone. Including themselves - Duracell Bunnies are not always immune to burnout, so you can get a Duracell Bunny who is obviously engaging in dangerous and/or unhealthy coping mechanisms yelling at Sleepy Times who aren't because the Sleepy Times have had to firm about their boundaries from the beginning.

(In fact, sometimes people can end up in crisis because of burnout, and instead of learning anything, go right back to the level of effort that caused burnout and use their crisis as proof that they are actually worse off than the people who set boundaries and didn't end up in crisis, and that those people, therefore, just don't care enough...)

But yeah, TL;DR: Sometimes autistic/adhd people have more energy for certain activities than even neurotypicals, and these people can have a bad habit of pointing at autistic/adhd people with less energy for the activity and saying "well, if I can do it, that must mean every adhd/autistic person can" which leads to people refusing to provide accommodations, or shaming people who cannot show up in the same ways

[crystallizsch]

lil hug from the prefect

[triglycercule]

alright,,,,,is this newyears gift,,,,,, i dont no. but maybe it's late enough that i'll be able to forget that i drew this 😁😁😁😁 mttpoly doodles. whoever sees this sees this

[poppy-s-rampage]

Chapter 2: Welcome to Gotham!

Warnings: A little bit of blood, breakdown and emotional distress.

-------------------------------------

Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

-------------------------------------

After finally closing up the last wound, Clockwork took a moment to look over his work. All of the young Halfa’s wounds have been sealed and treated with diluted ectoplasm. It was only enough to make the injuries look a week old at best but it will have to do.

The Ancient lifted his staff and in one swift movement ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. CW then carefully cradled Danny in his arms. Then both the Ancient and the Halfa stepped into the portal.

On the other side, they were met with an emaciated woman clad in a red and black Victorian dress accompanied by a small rose decorated matching hat. In her hand a small umbrella made of lace and what seemed to be black clouds. 

Her delicate snow white skin furrowed by ink black veins. Her blood red lips striking against the pallor of her face were pursed in worry. Her eyes, even while covered by her laced black veil, didn’t hide her apprehension.

The woman’s dress’s neckline was fashioned in the silhouette of a bat. Pearls scattered like falling stars across the red and black folds of the garment. Her waist encased in a tight bodice was embellished by small golden coins and feathers. The red fishtail spilling on the ground lazily trailing after its mistress.

The woman bowed her head, greeting the Ancient and his charge.

“Lord Clockwork.” Her raspy yet somehow suave voice resonated into the night.

“Lady Gotham.” He responded while slightly dipping his head down.

The city spirit glanced at the boy in the other’s arm. His bandaged form and torn clothes were not what first captured her attention. What truly horrified her was the state of the young Halfa’s core. Wrapped and cracked, barely a breath away from breaking and ceasing to exist.

Her own aching at the view, screaming at her to take the boy, wrap him in a bundle of blankets and nurse/guard him until at full health.

Being ended was reserved to the lowest of the low. It was a last resort that should only be used should the offender be irredeemable and too dangerous to be contained. To think that this almost happened and still could to her own king and one so young.

It was nauseating.

Lady Gotham forced herself to look away, turning her attention back to Clockwork.

“I assume he is the charge you want to bring into my care.”

“He is.” Clockwork responded.

The woman nodded, the smoke and black clouds in her umbrella spreading around her.

“Then if you will follow me.”

Lady Gotham faded and became one with the smog. The black mass zooming towards Midtown Gotham, the ancient of time on its heels.

They soon arrived in front of a small but clean apartment building. The two ghosts phased through the wall of the top floor only to be greeted by the view of a spacious yet cozy loft.

The unit was furnished with all the necessary furniture, non-ecto-contaminated food already stocked in the fridge. The space was designed in order to facilitate Daniel’s recovery. The boy would already be going through hell with his recovery and grief; it was best not to add insult to injury.

The city spirit having taken back physical form, leads Clockwork towards the bed on the second floor of the loft.

Once inside, the Ancient carefully sets Danny down on the bed and slowly covers him with a soft blanket. He then produced a pen and a neon green notepad from who knows where and started writing.

Lady Gotham approached the ghost.

“Lord ClockWork, pardon my intrusion, but wouldn’t it be best for you to explain the situation to the young king face to face.”

Clockwork paused.

“Young Daniel is too unstable to be dealing with the emotional distress my presence would bring. He has been hurt enough as it is.”

“Those excuses are nothing but the words of a coward.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are not. Are you truly running away in order to protect the boy or are you doing so to save yourself?”

“…”

“Tell me, Lord Clockwork. When the young king awakens, would he prefer to be met with an insincere apology letter from a coward or the genuine words of a man admitting to his mistakes?”

Clockwork couldn’t even utter a word.He didn’t have any excuse to defend himself. The city spirit was right.

“Your words are as sharp as ever, old friend.”

“I speak nothing but the truth, Master of Time. However, it seems to me that you are already set on your decision.”

“I-”

“I hope in your interest that you made the right choice.” The Lady snapped.

The woman turned away but not without leaving a few departing words.

“Or that at least you are prepared to face the consequences.”

Lady Gotham disappeared in a whirlwind of smog.

Clock work turned back to Daniel watching as his face scrunched up when the old ghost brushed a strand of hair away from his face.

His old core flared with parental love.

He looked so peaceful, as if nothing ever went wrong. However, In just a few hours, he would wake up and reality would come crashing down.

His bright and joyous protegee. The one he couldn’t help but adore every version of. The one he subconsciously adopted as his own child.

Clockwork couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to face the hatred and pain his pupil would inevitably direct at him.

Gotham was right.

The Master of Time set down the notepad on the night table

He was a coward.

—-------

*A few hours later*

As the first few rays of sunshine broke through Gotham’s thick smog, a young black and white haired boy slowly woke up from his slumber.

It was comfortable, the soft fluffy blanket brushing against his achy skin. The warmth that comes with being cocooned in the safety of your own bed. Danny didn’t want to open his eyes. But he needed to wake up, in just a few moments Jazz would come knocking at his door to drag him to school.

The soft familiar knock never came, but the memories sure did.

Danny snapped his eyes open. Tears threatening to fall.

Clockwork -LiaR- ,the reveal, the capture -BeTraYaL-, the experiments -PaIN-, Jazz, Sam, Tucker,-PAINPAINPAIN mY FauLT- the wails, blood, explosion, death -MurDEreR!-, pain, Core breaking, burning, melting- PAIN PAIN PAIN! I ShOuLD be DeAD!-.

The Halfa now fully awake kicked the blanket enveloping him away and tried to get out of the bed.

His legs still injured and unable to support his weight gave out and he collapsed on the wooden floor in a heap.

The sharp pain of jolting his injuries and face planting further cemented to Danny that he wasn’t dreaming and that the nightmare was fully real.

“...no…NONONONONONO! Please, no! Please! I BEG YOU! PLEASE! JAZZ, TUCK, SAM PLEASE! DONT BE REAL! PLEASE!” Danny tried to say, but the only thing that came out were erratic breaths that could vaguely be associated with words. His damaged throat made it impossible to even breathe without it flaring in pain.

Choked and pained sobs filled the once silent room.

The young Halfa still collapsed on the floor cried , slowly curling up on himself hugging his knees.

---------------------

Chapter 1! | Masterpost | Chapter 3!

----------------------

See you next time!

[ivillpunchyouinthethroat]

Deal(s) with Death

A Ghoap MWIII fix-it based on this tweet:

CW: MCD's but it's not permanent :)

After Soap dies in the tunnel a very distraught Ghost somehow manages to summon death and strike a deal with them. The deal is to swap places, for Death to take Ghost in Soap's place when the time comes. The deal rewinds time too, resets it back to "save ya a seat, Lt."

The catch?

Ghost will remember everything up to Soap’s death and the deal but he won’t be able to change anything leading up to it.

Ghost agrees immediately, time rewinds, and even though Ghost's death is ever approaching, even though he wants nothing more than to finally give in to Soap's blatant flirting, to at least know what Soap's lips feel like against his own before he dies—he can't.

If he alters anything the deal rescinds and Soap will die anyway.

So, Ghost waits for his death and he cherishes the time he has with Soap until then. And even if he can't be anything but Soap's friend, it's worth it.

Soap’s always been worth it.

The day comes, the tunnel comes, and Ghost walks towards his death with a smile on his face.

Ghost is the one who gets shot, a bullet dead center through his forehead, spiderweb cracks fanning all through the mask. He’s dead before his body even hits the concrete.

And this time around Soap is the one who kneels over his body in horrified silence. He's the one who lays a hand on Ghost’s chest and tells him to get up. Whispers it at first and when Ghost continues laying there—blood pooling slowly around his head like a halo—he starts shouting instead, until his voice is hoarse. He's the one Price and Gaz have to drag away because Ghost can't be dead, he can't.

The deal goes through, Soap lives, and all is as it should be.

Except—

Ghost's death is not something Soap will accept. Ever.

So, Soap finds a way to summon death and strike a deal with them. Take Soap in Ghost's place when the time comes.

Death when this angry, depressed Scotsman comes to them and demands the exact same deal that Ghost had demanded:

Death listens to Soap demand for Ghost to be revived, listens as Soap offers his own soul in recompense. Then they explain the deal: time rewinds, Soap won't be able to change anything, he won’t be able to finally tell Ghost he's been in love with him since Las Almas, he'll just get to live with the knowledge of his impending death.

Soap, of course agrees without hesitation.

Death:

So, Death does not grant the deal, what they do instead is summon Ghost's soul up alongside them.

Freshly corporeal Ghost takes one look at Soap standing before Death utters a tiny surprised, "Johnny?" and then assumes that somehow, Death had managed to take Soap anyway.

He rounds on Death angrily, hand reflexively reaching for the a knife that he no longer gets to carry in the underworld and snarls, "This wasn't the deal!"

Soap, who is two seconds away from breaking down over seeing Ghost alive(?), immediately clocks the deal portion of the sentence and his elation immediately turns to suspicion.

"What deal, Ghost?" he asks.

Ghost, who knows that Soap would never be okay with the deal he made:

"What deal, Ghost!" Soap repeats at Ghost’s silence.

"Uh—" Ghost smartly replies, trying to avoid answering the question while also trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

"The exact same deal you just asked for, you angry little man," Death interrupts. Then they point a not quite solid thumb at Ghost. "Only he beat you to it, since you were the one who originally died in the tunnel."

"WHAT!" Soap angrily exclaims and then rounds on Ghost, "You're bloody barmy if you think I'm going to let you die for me!

"You're not letting me do anything MacTavish, it's already done," Ghost retorts.

"Then undo it!" Soap shouts at Death. "I was supposed to die anyway, undo the deal and bring Ghost back!"

"Do not undo the deal!" Ghost also shouts at Death. "And you,” he points at Soap, “stand down Sergeant, that's an order!"

Soap if possible, becomes even more incensed, he stomps up to Ghost and shoves a finger partway through Ghost’s semi-solid chest. "You're in no position to be giving me orders, Lt. Did you forget? YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!?”

From there they quickly devolve into more arguing, and then just a barrage of insults, and then more arguing.

And Death just stands there, watching these two idiots scream at each other over who gets to die for who until they're red in the face. It's not until they start throwing punches that Death has finally had Enough.

They're getting a headache, they're a primordial being and these two assholes are giving them a headache.

"ENOUGH!" They boom. "Neither of you is dying!"

Death whisks a hand Ghost’s way and Ghost doubles over, hand clutching at his now solid chest, because he can quite literally feel his heart restarting. He can breathe again.

"What—the—fuck?" Ghost wheezes as he collapses onto Soap, who takes his weight and cups his face worriedly with one hand while the other also reaches for a weapon he's not currently carrying.

Death looms over them both.

"I'm giving you two absolute buffoons a second chance and if I see either of you again within the next four decades, it'll be too fucking soon!" They threaten.

Death snaps their fingers and suddenly Ghost and Soap are back in the bloody tunnel right about where the mission went to shit the first two times. Only this time they both remember everything that's happened before.

Ghost and Gaz make it to Soap and Price before it’s too late, and with the benefit of knowing where Makarov is coming from, Soap doesn't get taken by surprise in the first place. Makarov is the one who dies, two bullets through his head, courtesy of both Ghost and Soap.

Afterwards, when the bomb is defused, when everything is finally calm, Ghost and Soap walk off to a corner and Soap looks at Ghost incredulously.

"Did we...seriously annoy Death into giving us a second chance at living?"

"Only you, Johnny." Ghost replies dryly.

"Oi!" Soap responds with a beaming smile, "I wasn't the only one bickering!"

And it clicks for Ghost as he watches Soap throw his head back and laugh, as he watches those vibrant blue eyes crinkle in joy and Soap’s cheeks flush ruddy red with blood circulated by his still pumping heart.

Everything had reset. Soap is alive. They’re both alive. With no conditions.

Which means—

Ghost is done holding back.

He rips his mask off, drags Soap in by the tac vest, and kisses him.

It only takes a second for a stunned Soap to reciprocate. Very enthusiastically.

Ghost pins Soap to the tunnel wall, they’re making out like teenagers, meanwhile, Price and Gaz off to the side:

[waywardstation]

hi! i havent been on tumblr in a Hot minute but i wanted to come here JUST to tell you that hfbe might be my fave pla fic ive read ao far! the worldbuilding and the characterization of everyone just feels so so right i fall in love

i reread it on ao3 and even tho its not completed its still a joy to reread everytime

Hello hello!! Anon you have no idea how much it meant to me to get to read this. Knowing I put something out there that you wanted to back to and reread means A LOT.

I’m glad you like it so much but man I have been editing the first two chapters (fixing errors, making characters say and do things that are more in line with how I write them now, and just adding scenes in between to help things seem more clear or hit harder), and I’m like man this really isn’t that good haha.

It’s fun to see how much I think I’ve improved since I’ve started trying to write fanfics (I wasn’t aware of how obsessed I had been with commas and run-on sentences at the start lol)

So reading this nice message really gives me such a boost of motivation. I’m so glad you like the worldbuilding, and it makes me excited to get more out because later chapters are when I really introduce specifics on a lot of things. Namely the Pearl Clan’s hunting parties, that has been my favorite.

Now I just gotta get more out! Hoping to put more out for you to read soon kind anon, I really appreciate that you find it’s something you like to reread!

For now, here is a snippet below the cut; I am unsure if I have shared this before, but it’s a scene where Ingo is preparing to advocate for the Clan to use pokeballs to store their pokemon in, so that there is less food consumption (as in HFBE, it’s emphasized that pokeballs put pokemon into a stasis where they don’t need to eat, drink, sleep, etc. for as long as they’re in them. Ingo does it with his pokemon, and he wants the clan to do it too, for their own sakes).

Wording is subject to change (VERY MUCH SO), but enjoy!

—————

“Excuse me Miss Irida, but may we talk for a moment?”

The Pearl Clan leader turned back to see Ingo – he was trailing behind the group, purposefully so. He had been waiting for the right moment to approach her.

“Right now?” Irida’s eyes flickered back over the tops of people’s heads, up towards the communal hall at the top of the hill. “I’m sorry, but can it wait until after the meeting?”

“It is actually about the meeting.” Ingo’s grey eyes were unwavering, waiting — he wanted to ask her something. And Ingo was not one to usually ask for things.

“Ok,” She relented, pausing in the snow both so he could catch up, and they could have their conversation with some privacy. “You have until we reach the hall.”

“Thank you, I assure you it will be quick.” Ingo fell into step beside her, shuffling through the snow as they now both trailed behind the group heading towards the warm hall. He kept his head tilted down just like her, using the brim of his hat to protect against the wind and snowfall. “I, well… I am planning to re-propose a proposition at this meeting tonight. I’d like to make another attempt at advocating for the use of pokeballs.”

“Tonight? Are you serious?” Irida lowered her voice for his sake, looking back between him and the group. How could he possibly think about proposing that when this meeting was for them to discuss how to prepare for this famine? “I’m saying this not as your leader but as your friend, Ingo; now is absolutely not a good time for that. Everyone is already going into this meeting angry. And if you try and start this again, they’re going to-”

Irida took a deep breath; she was already getting stressed over it.

“You know how people are going to react to that. You know who it’s going to upset, Ingo. Especially after last time. And you said you’d let it go.”

“I am well aware of what I said and I intended to stick to it, but these circumstances have changed our tracks, and I believe this may save us from derailing!” Ingo whispered back. He kept throwing quick glances at the nearing hall, gauging how much time he had left to persuade her. “Pokeballs can help us much more than the clan realizes – I’m confident that this can bring us closer to a solution, if not at least be a part of one!”

Irritation and confusion were replaced with genuine curiosity, but a fleck of doubt hesitantly followed after. Irida shook her head, not understanding. “How could they possibly help with all of this?”

“I will explain that in the meeting.” Having conquered the snowy hill, the two reached the warm light that spilled through the hall’s windows to project onto the snow. “But to do that, I need to actually present my proposal, and I’m afraid that will be difficult with the elders tonight. I am trying this for the fourth time now, and I’m aware of how this will most likely be received. I expect they’ll call to send me back to my seat before I even start.”

Ingo paused just outside the doors, waiting for Irida to go in first — she could do so and end the conversation right now if she wanted to, but she didn’t. Instead she stood there, staring at their fading shoeprints in the snow.

Irida could see why he approached her about this now, and a part of her felt sorry for him. “So you want me to vouch for you.”

“Not the proposal itself. Just the time to talk.”

[fedoraspooky]

I truly hope the rumors of tumblr selling its user's artwork and other images to midjourney aren't real, because I am extremely tired of having to uproot and move around on the internet and still haven't fully recovered from the old dA-to-tumblr exodus... But juuuust in case a deal like that does go through, I'mma just leave this linktree post here. Just, y'know, for reasons.

The worst part is, you can't even delete or go back and edit your posts to opt out if this happens, because reblogs are unaffected. If anyone has ever reblogged your work there will be no way to opt out of this unless we can get a class action suit for tumblr going, or I guess report our own artwork and hope they nuke it themselves.

Just... Really didn't fuckin need this. Tumblr has been my internet home since 2011. I may not have a lot of followers, but I've made a lot of friends here over the years, and i don't wanna start all over from scratch AGAIN because some pissbaby CEO decided to have a transphobic breakdown and sell out all of the site's artists to theft machine robber barons for a shiny nickel.

I'm hesitant to post on insta too because zuck's vacuuming up everything for his AI too. Same with musk. Like, where the hell can we even go now?

All I can think of rn is just... Bluesky, cohost, sheezyart (which is as of this post still in closed beta), and newgrounds. There's furaffinity and stuff too but idk if I draw enough furries to be on a furry site, y'know? Idk, maybe my werecreature and nonhuman character stuff counts but just ughhh if we gotta move, can we all just agree on a place and move together and not scatter to the winds again? That would be great.

[gobblinhours]

am i normal for not being able to sleep while my roommate plays warzone (no volume except for xbox controller clicking which sounds rlly loud for some reason) 10 feet away from my head until 3 am or am i a pwissy wittwe baby who can't handle a little bit of flashing lights and talking. leaning towards the latter

figured it out sleep on side with headphones to block noise they might break so that's ba but worth it

never mind talking now pillow on head not enough

[kaiserkisser]

can someone nice (!!) please please please adopt me im begging you im requesting you (huge word vomit and vent in tags, pls dont read if u dont want to!! and if you don't want this stuff on this blog PLS lmk!! i dont wanna make anyone uncomfy! )

[squeakadeeks]

moodboard for this past week ❤️

[belleandsaintsebastian]

trying to be kind to my brain but it’s really really hard bc i hate it. soooo much at the moment

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

This work week was just... 😵‍💫 😵 😓

How this week left me:

[jrueships]

A HEAARRRRT IS A HOUSE FOR LOOVE AND IVE LEARRNNED THAT IT DONT TAKE MUCH TO BREAK A HEAARTT

sorry I just had to get that out lol I love that damn movie. That film, the temptations film (Paul and Cornbread my loves) and the little richard biopic will always have Leon as one of my fav actors idc idcccc also it took me way too long to find out the five heartbeats weren't a real group 🤣

IS A HOUSE ! FOR LOVE !

And I've LEARNED ( ive leaarnnned!!) 🗣‼️‼️

NO NO, DONT SAY SRRY FOR HAVING GOOD TASTE. NEVER BE SRRY FOR HAVING GOOD TASTE !!!!

ALL ur takes are MWAH. Just MWAH.

PAUL AND CORNBREAD LOL!! THE LOVES!. OUR BEAUTIFUL LOVES!!!. UGH. UGH. IM SO OBSESSED WITH THESE MOVIES. BOTH!! OF THESE GROUPS ARE REAL AS LONG AS U BELIEVE!!!

& i know dresser ran to that limo once he heard Eddie begging for his job back (our poor softie gentleman baritone baby..) but i think somebody should be jt's moral compass bcs duck is just 😭 sick of him

Leon deserved SO MANY MORE major movie roles just by being beautiful and bitchy like . His 50 cent movie cameo was so fucking funny.. TY FOR SAYING THIS. GENUINELY. I AM SO GLAD SOMEONE ELSE LOVES THESE MOVIES TOO. The characters are hilarious and tragic and I am. Infatuated with them all. They all have their lil moments to solidify them as real or to reflect them being real and it's just. Mwah.

Eddie almost at rock bttm begging for his job back bcs he loves music. He Loves. Music. But he has trauma so much trauma but he's Trying. He's trying so hard and then he opens his coat to reveal he still has their old performance uniform but makes a funny noise:

JT:

[ukulelegodparent]

Just went to uni and instead of doing anything spent 3h agonising about ending my relationship. I'm sure this is good and normal