#bitch i lived like this?

[chaichai-draws]

He’s home!!!

I just wanted to leave a close up of the part I started this sketch for.

[inkskinned]

you want them to text back but that's anxious attachment isn't it. it's just that you can feel on the wind when you're not wanted anymore. when they've fallen out of love in any small part of their marrow. you have a hawk's eye for disharmony. you can tell when she has begun packing her things.

don't be annoying. you want to write: i have never experienced unconditional love as an explanation but isn't that pathetic. in adulthood all love is conditional and it should be. you've been to too much therapy. touch grass. how sappy can you be.

but they don't reach for your hand while they're driving. they forget to ask you how you're doing. the call times no longer read 12:34:19. they're 30 minutes and perfunctory before she says baby please, i'm tired. i need to go to sleep. where in her life do you fit. why is it that you never fit into anyone's life very long. oblong creature with so many needs, spilling up and out and over everything. it's a fucking shame the first time she said she loved you it was for your independence. and now look at you.

hollow pit in your stomach, body shaking. fuck, not again. you're not going to ruin another relationship like this, codependent and toxic, spiraling. and in the other half of your brain: if that's your wife, wouldn't she want to hear it? wouldn't it be fine? wouldn't she just comfort you and you can both move on and nobody dies?

but you're crowding her! read another instagram Positive Vibes Only type of post that talks about calming your heart and your brain and your body. try to sit in silence. the thing is that you do have a life outside of her, remember? go back to it.

great news, your parents fucked you up and now you have no idea how to deal with love. you just keep wanting to be chosen. to be real to someone, all the way through. real and kept. held closely. seen as precious to somebody. why even is that? didn't you always swear that people can and should complete themselves? why are you so constantly driven to beg for love, doglike and barking?

it's just the tiny things. it's just that you have to weigh every silence and sentence like bricks on an exposed belly. you have no idea how to shut it off. every alarm bell in your body saying: this isn't safe. start scrambling. she's already going.

[artist-rat]

my sister finished her first bg3 run, here's evil gang reunion photo <333 (withers invented polaroid for the occasion idc)

[classicjdiesandgoestohell]

Has anyone on tumblr started documenting this wreck happening on twitter yet

[dramatic-dolphin]

i'll be honest the "man vs bear" thing is so fucking funny like the only way you've never ran into a man in a forest is if you've never been in a forest. when i'm in a forest and i run into a man (happened so far every time i've been hiking in a forest) what happens is i say "good morning" and he says "good morning" and then we continue on our way. on the other hand if i ran into a bear in the forest i would shit myself.

[artiificiial]

doodles :3

[sophsicle]

here's the thing. whenever u say "eat the rich" the rich automatically make a sad lil face :( :( :( and go "well that's not very nice. what if we turned around and said eat the poor, huh? that wouldn't make you feel very good, would it?" which is. an insane statement to make. because baby, honey, sweetheart. you are eating the poor. every goddamn day you are eating the poor. and worst of all. you aren't even fucking hungry.

[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!"

[bixels]

Why the hell, shit, you damned bastard son of a bitch

[muzsmocsing]

Being friends with Xie Lian would be so weird because this man peppers in bits of his insane life ruining trauma randomly mid sentence. You'd like accidentally step on his toes and he'd go "ah don't worry about it, that foot's been cut off and eaten before anyways" smile, and then never elaborate.

[anthropwashere]

Fuck that VA appointment, being over 30 and disabled means the panic clean speed I'm capable of are not what they used to be. Ow, my back. Still! Improvements made, significant progress even, though I'm resigned to The Dubious Laundry Mountain remaining undiminished because roommates have been doing laundry for like a straight 2 days and I'll be lucky to get even one load in. It's whatever if they splash flea killer or whatever on it, it all needs to get washed anyway. It's just nice to see my entire floor again, even if sweeping has only made me realize how desperately I need to mop in here. No way that's happening today but some spot scrubbing is a must

Roommate who has known me for many years and knows damn well how much I fear and loathe unexpected strangers in my goddamn house has sprung the threat of unexpected strangers in my goddamn house with less than three hours of warning, and these aren't strangers I can hide from! They're fumigation come to deal with the ongoing flea problem, so there is nowhere to hide and every reason to rip my depression nest asunder and then shake like a fucking Chihuahua in a barren corner for a few more hours while loud dudes in loud boots rummage about making everything smell awful and chemical and today is bad now I guess

I also have a VA phone appointment at the same time

:)

[skidcd-megamix]

DAY 13 guys her room would be ATROCIOUS

[kozmicmizuu]

a silly lil thing i had in my brain…. more uzurengiyuu… and wives cause they’re pretty

in honors of the newest demon slayer ep frfr

————————————————————————

shinobu, noticing giyuu’s wearing a ring: oh? what’s with the rings??

giyuu; i’m married

shinobu: what-

giyuu: i’m still processing it myself

shinobu: to who?? help me process this…

giyuu: tengen and rengoku

shinobu: WHAT

giyuu: rengoku proposed to me with a half eaten ringpop, tengen had an actual ring, and hina, suma and makio just grabbed me and told me im their husband now

shinobu: … oh my god

giyuu: my bloodline is now secure and i got myself some babes, life is good

shinobu: i can’t believe this

————————————————————————

i’m so sane about them i promise,,, giyuu went from being lonely to having two husbands and three wives, he has that autistic rizz dont fuck with him

sigh…. i love them all

[cometblaster2070]

madame morrible has the worst fucking luck ever and I CAN'T because first of all after decades and decades of waiting she finally gets her most promising student yet right; she finally gets someone who actually has magic and who might actually be able to read the grimmerie and help further her and the wizard's plans and COINCIDENTALLY this student (bless her heart) is shunned and ostracized by literally EVERYONE including her own family and is desperately craving some form of parental love and affection and validation and acceptance and so madame morrible is like 'ooh this is fucking PERFECT this girl is going to be SO easy to manipulate into doing what I want what could possibly go wrong wow.'

and in comes the fucking pink lesbian.

because elphaba is shunned and hated and all of her peers avoid and detest her because she's weird and green BUT then all of a sudden?? out of nowhere??? she and her pink roommate who, mind you, had a choreographed song and dance routine which involved the entire student body in which they detailed how much they really really hate each other, got really fucking close??? now they go everywhere and do everything together??? they are attached at the hip and looking longingly into each other's eyes WHAT IS HAPPENING????

you are madame morrible and you think galinda upland is in love with your student and what is worse is that your student might be in love with galinda upland and that fucking SUCKS because how the fuck are you supposed to properly emotionally manipulate her now. and it makes absolutely zero sense to you because WHY is galinda upland, the most popular girl at shiz taking an interest in your student??? WHY IS SHE HERE, WHY IS THE FRUITY BITCH RUINING YOUR PLANS???

glinda's very EXISTENCE is a thorn in your side; her simply being herself and interacting with elphaba is probably the reason why you feel a headache coming every time you see them together and is perhaps the reason why you scream into your pillow at night because this absolute loser lesbian just being there might upend a huge fucking chunk of what you've been planning for years.

and then the fucking cherry on top of all of this your student decides to play vigilante and flies off into the sunset and then that leaves you stuck WITH her situationship who you hate more than anyone in the world and you're forced to sort of team up with her for a bit except she doesn't really know magic and she's just being sad and gay and moping about missing her girlfriend and you're sitting there FUMING thinking about how all these fucking witches are fruitier than fuck and all of them are useless to you at this point.

like this is just madame morrible at shiz after elphaba asks her to include glinda in their study sessions just realizing 'dear god I am going to be ping-ponging between these lesbians for the rest of my fucking life aren't I.'

ik she needed elphaba for the plot and for her dastardly plans but in all honesty if I was her and elphaba came up to me at 1am and was like yes please I need you to include my roommate with whom I have a homoerotic relationship in our study sessions or else I will quit right now. also, you have to go down to our party this very instant and tell her in person yourself bye and thanks, I would've just handed in my resignation letter right then and there and cut my losses.

[balleater]

it's pretty funny actually how ludinus uses his age as proof that he knows what he's talking about when the bright queen is older than him by at least a few centuries and that doesn't seem to change the fact he has absolutely no respect for her and her experiences

[wtftaylr]

some 'on the boat back from fortification hill' goofs. This looks like the beginning of a beautiful one-sided friendship