#Tailor speaks

[classpect-tailor]

Classpect redesigns

What the hell, why not.

Hello hello everyone! I'm the Tailor. I do sprite edits as a hobby and decided I felt like opening a blog to redesign the glorified kitchen rags that are the godtier outfits.

What I can do:

Do a specific classpect edit at your request

What I can't:

Edit your oc/fan classpect

Take requests on how I design it [eg; "maid of heart with orange accents and a skirt"]

Do a little dance

This blog relies heavily on user requests, so don't be afraid to send one in!

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[detectiveforfree]

Could you maybe do talon dick with wally reaction? P.S I love your art

i certainly freaking can 👀

have a messy doodle! (gonna work on this one later... i really like how it turned out haha)

(i kind of hobbled designs from DC Legends Cobb's outfit + @allineedisonedream's mask design + @vinnybox's golden talon gloves + cape that might be hiding wings underneath hehe ;p )

[jxmey]

actual conversation between me and my bf

convo between me and my bf after i showed him this shitpost

EDITED 5.24.24 BECAUSE I DID INDEED SCUFF THE RUSSIAN AND ALLIGAYTORSWAMP VERY KINDLY CORRECTED ME SO THANK YOUUUU ALKDSFGKLF

[idlesuperstar]

The My-Eyeballs-Are-So-Happy Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy Bluray Watch

Episode 5: Tinker Tailor

- You don't break exactly, you just run out of stories to tell.

[four-birds-in-a-trenchcoat]

Over halfway through the list now, onward to the Tailor Life:

MADAM PURL

SPOOLIE (Shares model with common Plushling)

TAYLOR

ZIPPY (Shares model with Castele Female Shopkeep)

CHIC

LYRA DEL COUTURE LA PORTER (Shares model with Port Puerto Woman)

BOBBIN (Shares model with Starry Plushling)

[dog-violet]

do you think it would be better or worse if nikolai found out that fyodor is actually still alive just for dazai to go and kill him again. do you think it would be more angsty for nikolai to find out fyodor is still alive only to see him taken away again, or for nikolai to learn in the aftermath that fyodor was still alive but nikolai wasn’t there to help him

[bunnyrafe]

quick psa; pretty please do not save the pictures from my moodboards to use for your own content & boards. 😞 i know it may not seem like the biggest deal but it is a little frustrating when i edit all of them to specifically match one another, and it does take me quite some time… i am also always 100% willingly to send the original pictures in a DM if you want / need them... ♥︎

[pebbledrat]

Okay okay okay okay. And hear me out. I’m going to lay out the evidence and you’re all going to correct me

tubbo politely critiqued bbh’s party set up for several minutes (no decorations??)

tubbo tried to give suggestions on how to liven the place up (there was a lot of talk about bunting which bbh completely brushed off)

tubbo stated several times that he was excited to be attending a party (no one has invited him to a party in ages!)

tubbo felt strongly about dressing in an appropriate formal skin for the event (taking time to weigh his options and emphasize that some skins are too casual for a party like this)

tubbo made certain to prepare a gift for the host (he gave some concerns about appearances and rudeness)

tubbo keeps up with the events of parties he didn’t attend (read about the red banquet in the Dream SMP Times, knew enough to discuss it with bbh)

I think it’s abundantly clear that tubbo cares about throwing good parties and being a good guest and keeping up to date with the parties he can’t attend. 

I think. President Underscore. was a socialite. 

[scootkiddo]

the duality of ellie being “I’m less scared I’m with you” and joel contrasting that with “I’m MORE scared when I’m with you.” it’s ellie having this requirement of joel’s security and company whereas joel doesn’t trust himself to allocate her needs and keep her protected. he thinks sticking around with ellie would plant the potential of failing her much like how he perceives he failed sarah only to meet the reality that- leaving her would be the inherent failure. that going their separate ways would only reaffirm this dread ellie has, this dread of drifting through the world alone. joel wants the best for ellie. but joel is the best for her. when she lamented about him abandoning her that’s what he finally recognized. without him she’s just a plant without water. it’s “I can’t be with you to ensure your safety, to stick around would be a disservice” vs “the ultimate disservice would be leaving me”

[krogerkryptid]

I’m sorry (not really) but I’ve always imagined Arthur at a MAX of like 5’9 he’s a short king no way that man touches six foot every time I listen to an episode I just know I wouldn’t have to look up to talk to him I can’t explain it. Man pulls out his 5th fake ID and it says 6’1 and he gets the cops called on him bc John said nothing and knows nothing those are the rules.

[classpect-tailor]

After going off the grid for frankly much too long to be appropriate, I've come to make an announcement.

I'm on hiatus!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊

I've decided to rework many of my current designs. This is both because they're not as cohesive as I'd like, and because I would be able to make many more sprites if everything was laid out beforehand.

Thank you for your patience. May fall break bring upon the sprite edits

[aerowolf]

HI here's another doodle of my Tailor oc Emrys PLUS new art of two other concepts for Purple Team ocs. The Gunsmith has virtually nothing goin on ( no character ideas yet )but The Recordkeeper is a sassy clever girl whom i love. She's deaf, and Tailor is hard-of-hearing hence the hearing aids. I love Reccy to death augh.

Tailor and her almost like polar opposites but also not. They are in love I decided.

They both grew up in the same environment as Kennedy did WOAHHH maybe i should post her full lore to this site i feel like i only posted her bio and not the lore from the doc oops

DISCLAIMER: i am currently and have been learning ASL for a while, but i am hearing and not fluent or a proper teacher or interpreter. If the signs here are wrong please let me know so I can either fix or remove them.

@sybersubu

[cabeswaterdrowned]

two part poll where I ask for help prioritizing what fic to write next

second part will be not yet posted concepts and not all of those are trc although a lot are

[jpg-of-dorian-slay]

and what happens when jesper finds out wylan’s been hiding this big part of his identity even though jesper has been making an effort to be more open about who he is and not hiding his grisha powers and all that? what then? 

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

They didn't keep the camera on Yoongi for too long on the BTS Home Party performance of I Like It pt 2 because he was too fucking nasty with them hip thrusts and body rolls