#god let them never change

[itbemoonchild]

This picture is everything

[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!"

[torchstelechos]

People be like, how you doing? And I'm like, Loop is never going to see their family again.

[moominpopzz]

no thoughts… only Tide doing Vyncent’s hair…..

that is all..

[deoidesign]

vampire and werewolf sitting in a tree

time trav e l i n g

first comes. trying to kill eachother then comes... learning you're his dead ex-lover then comes marriage!

(you can buy the book this scene is from for $15 it's really good. it's the fan favorite of the series!)

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

I FORGOT TO THROW OUT AFTER THE EPISODE RELEASED NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[quietwingsinthesky]

it ever hit you out of nowhere that castiel is living in a dead guy's body and the show just does not care. it does not care. jimmy novak might as well not exist the moment he or claire is out of sight. cas stole a guy's body and his face and his life, and we can't ever talk about it or discuss it in detail because of how fucking horrifying it is that sam and dean's best friend just walks around in a dead guy suit. there's not even a human soul in there anymore. it's just a corpse. stone-cold body snatcher indeed.

[triglycercule]

idea. since askdusttale answered an ask about where dust got his determination from (because dust has SOME determination just so he can remember the timelines and keep going against the human) and said it was totally up to personal interpretation on how he got his determination. so so so like what if what if dusttale's player did something similar to something new's player and changed dust's code to give him determination??? so dust and killer COULD BOTH had their codes tampered with??? the parallels would be INSANE. they both started off as sans and got their codes tampered with by the player but dust and killer went on two opposite paths. dust out of his own voalition decided to go against the human but killer had to team up with the human no choice at all. the opposite parallels go CRAZY oh god im tweaking

killer doesn't know exactly (since i forgot whether or not he can see codes or something like that. i swear there was an image of him describing fell and swap's code and then his own) but he can SENSE that something's off. something's different about dust that he doesn't quite know about. maybe it gets him to ask a bunch of questions that dust is definitely not open to answering because jesus man mind your own damn business but the question that really sets killer off is the way dust answers when he asks "so if you have determination then how did you get it?" and dust just shrugs his shoulders and said that one day he suddenly remembered the resets and then that's when he got it (and then goes back to mumbling to phantom paps or wtvr) and killer's just like. zomg. a sudden change in behavior or mentality that seemingly has no apparent reason related to the human???? like like like when he suddenly had to agree with the player despite literally never wanting to????? killer is over thinking the implications behind this

meanwhile dust is just annoyed now because killer keeps on following him. he keeps asking him strange questions. wtf why is the guy asking to see his SOUL that's incredibly personal???? he just wants to be left alone man he has no idea what's going on

[distressed-bird]

Kalina is the most interesting character to me because of all she has going on…

she is Cassandra’s familiar, she is simultaneously a pet and a friend and a servant and a family to a goddexx that is simultaneously her owner and friend and creator and parent and her god and reason to be—Kalina’s relationship to Cassandra is hard to put a name or label on (since what does being a familiar even mean?) but the bottomline is that this cat loves her deity enough to put everything and everyone on the line for her…

And adding in that she is a child of divorce. So to speak. I am extremely normal and haven’t been driven mad by the detail that baby itty bitty kitty Kalina was at Cassandra’s wedding to Ankarna and is remembered to have been toddling after her as she walked down the aisle…

Kalina will be the death of me /lh

[nientedal]

Usually I just save stuff like this to my drafts until I calm down but you know what, fuck it, I'm done.

Any so-called leftist who refuses to recognize that our options right now are "genocide abroad, progress at home" and "genocide abroad AND genocide at home" and that there is a significant difference between those two options is cordially invited to eat shit and die. We do not have time to entertain your anti-voting hopeless nonsense. A future in which we are able to move towards less death will always be preferable to the one in which we can't, and if you smug, sneering little clowns sacrifice that future on the altar of your own self-righteousness because you're too high on your own farts to realize how far up your own ass you are, I genuinely hope you fucking drown. Specifically, I hope you drown in the blood of the people who will die all over the world as a result of your bizarre refusal to work towards a future that doesn't include ethnic cleansing.

This is the United States. We sell war, here. I don't know how so many of you are only just now figuring that out, but you better get over your shock like yesterday because we are out of fucking time. We ran out of time when Reagan took office if not long before. You think not voting will improve any of this?

Keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming. Governments everywhere are (slowly) beginning to listen. Democrats are (slowly) beginning to listen. But Republicans never will, and if they seize power again next year (which they will absolutely do their damned to attempt), everything will be so, so much worse for everyone, everywhere. The work is slow and painful and imperfect but it will only get done if we show up and do the work, so keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming-- and when the time comes, you show up and vote for the future that lets us build a better tomorrow instead of just choking to death in the steaming shitpile of today.

[impostorsshow]

I'm actually so obsessed with him it's not even funny if i'm not listening to a TikTok or music directly related to him I can't focus free me free me

This is @/cherubpuppet's OC for a object show [au? pitch? wip show? How do I categorize this] and I've been destroyed by the fact that ruler art is infinitely superior [and 10x longer] and i don't have a good enough grasp on lip gloss's personality to make fanfiction so I am frozen in "want make fanart but fanart takes effort :["

[carlyraejepsans]

i was thinking about that ask i received the other day and how uncharacteristically upset the topic had made me when i usually just think "mh. gross!" and move on, and after mulling it over a while i realized it wasn't about the topic at all, it was the ask itself that freaked me out. i've mentioned sporadically before (for obvious reasons lol) that i used to be involved in fandom discourse when i was younger and that!! fucked me up quite a lot. between exacerbating my ocd and straight up getting cyber stalked (i almost feel guilty using that word, like i don't deserve it but. yeah that is 100% what happened to me), the topic is something I have very complex and personal opinions on but that i hate talking about in public because it still sets off my fight or flight response.

i know some people in the fandom are like "let me know if i ever rb someone who wrote/drew gross stuff" and that's entirely their choice and i respect it. but for the record, i am not one of these people. please, for the love of god, i am asking this genuinely do NOT come into my DMs about this, I don't want to know. assume I'm either living in blissful ignorance or my blacklist already covers me quite nicely & i wanna keep it that way. i vastly prefer the discomfort of stumbling into something unprepared and deciding what to do about it on my own, to the utter pit of dread i get whenever i open a message that starts with "hey just so you know-". i have blocked multiple people in the past over it. i WILL block more. be warned.

[note. this doesn't apply to people who have either hurt or behaved inappropriately with other members of the fandom, or spread bigotry and discrimination like racists and transphobes. please do let me know in those cases]

does this make sense? idk I'm kinda feverish you guys figure it out. I'm going to sleep.

[vaguely-concerned]

just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2

[pergaminaa]

omg hold on i just realized something!!!

the Blackbeak Matron is the ONLY one who knew about Manon's bloodline, like-- Manon is an actual fucking queen by birthright and the Matron is the only person who knew it because Manon never learned about this.

so remember when Asterin was telling Manon what happened to her with her hunter and witchling? The Matron warned Vesta and Sorrel not to bring it up to Manon or there will be dire consequences.

Now hear me out: Manon fucking loves Asterin. If she knew what her grandmother had done, she would have probably done something like take the Thirteen and just leave or something like that.

We all know how the Matron loved threatening Manon that she'd replace her, but while it worked on Manon, her grandmother never really intended to do that.

It's the same reason why she wanted Vesta and Sorrel to remain quiet: she has a literal fucking queen at her beck and call. Manon is ready to do anything for her grandmother just to get some praise, and the Matron isn't going to let go of that. It's why she needed Manon loyal to her (through fear because Manon didn't really trust her but she fears what she'd do)

So at the end of the day, the Matron was after more power. She kept Manon by her side through unorthodox tactics because she loved having so much control over her. And also because of Manon's royal blood, she can have so much.

I think it's also why she wasn't fully against Erawan showing interest in Manon. Because with that union, she will reign supreme.

It's just-- the way she played Manon for her whole life for no other reason than being a shitty person is what irks me the most. She literally used everything that is Manon and twisted it, turning it into something ugly.

I'm sorry but when Manon just killed Rhiannon without even questioning it? Just blindly obeying her grandmother because it's what she's been conditioned to do???

Later on, we see Manon really struggling between doing what is right and doing exactly what her grandmother wants even when she doesn't agree with it. Every time, her grandmother wins (until the part where she was about to execute Asterin) and I honestly think that the Matron was happy with how she has the actual Queen of Witches under her command.

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

not me curling my laptop charger wire the way you curl band equipment cords HAHAHA god i miss it