#so i'm not going to reread it lol

[sysig]

Permission to headbutt: Granted (Patreon)

[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!"

[liedownquisition]

I'm looking for other stuff rn, but it's really interesting to me to have these panels in the story that introduces Jason in the pre-crisis universe... and then have Jason come from what you'd describe as a "broken home" in post-crisis.

[quatregats]

Thinking a lot of thoughts about Hornblower's relationships with Barbara and Maria as a metaphor for his larger relationship to social mobility and ambition, and I think there's actually a lot there - not sure if it was intentional, but I do think that whether intentionally or inadvertently, Forester did an interesting job with the parallels.

Quick note beforehand that some of this is based on my constant brief paging through C. Northcote Parkinson's Hornblower "biography", which, while I absolutely abhor his interpretation of Hornblower, gives even more food for thought on this point. I'm also leaning more into his interpretation of Hornblower's background and childhood, as opposed to the TV show's, so it might not work if you're coming from the TV show's perspective.

Parkinson takes Forester's comment that Hornblower was a "doctor's son" to mean that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician like in the show. I'm not a historian of the period, so I would be hard-pressed to actually try to fit Hornblower's father within the 18th-century framework of medical practice, but either way, given his awkwardness around upper-class life and that he seems to have grown up in rural Kent, I think that Parkinson's claim that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician, does have some reasonable foundation, or is at least equally plausible (to me) as the show's.

Hornblower struggles with poverty through most of the series, especially the first half, but even when he is barely scraping by, such as at the start of Lieutenant, this does not seem to be an abnormal state; and when he finally arrives at wealth and success, he constantly wishes to go back to the days when he was a penniless lieutenant, so from this we might also surmise that he did not come from wealth. (I'm also comparing especially to Jack Aubrey, who, while he admittedly makes a hash of coming into large amounts of money, and who also lives perfectly happily on very little, is clearly quite comfortable being the "lord of the manor" by comparison.)

One of the biggest changes in the second half of the series (from The Happy Return/Beat to Quarters onward) is that Hornblower's career comes into fruition; he becomes a decorated Captain, a member of the landed gentry, a Knight of Bath, a Peer, and finally an admiral, and marries into an enormously influential family. He's constantly in conflict about this, until he isn't: he wants to become someone powerful and important, except that he doesn't like the role once he gets it, and constantly wishes about the old days, then feels guilty for wishing for them. Most importantly, he seems to become less and less himself, his mental narrative getting more and more distorted as he tries to mold himself into the person he thinks he wants to be.

I don't think this is a particular novel interpretation, but I think that in light of this, the contrast between his marriage to Maria and his marriage to Barbara is very interesting. If he was an apothecary's son, his and Maria's marriage would make a decent amount of sense - they'd be from similar social backgrounds, and probably a reasonable match, if Hornblower's career had continued as expected. Hornblower feels comfortable around Maria at the start of their friendship and the very beginning of their marriage in a way that mirrors his comfort with the life he's living at that point - which is to say that he clearly knows and understands what's expected of him and how to interact, in clear contrast with later books. But on the other hand, for all that he originally does love Maria, Hornblower comes to find her to be coarse, unrefined, and boring, and feel that she is not good enough for the person he wants to become. It's at the point when he starts to feel that he's moved passed Maria that he begins to take on his new, ambitious, performative persona.

On the other hand, Hornblower feels stiff and uncomfortable around Barbara from the beginning of their relationship, notably for reasons of class, and even in later books, consistently sounds intimidated by her poise and upper-class untouchability. With Maria he doesn't feel enough for her; with Barbara he feels too much, an almost uncouth sentimentality. He craves Barbara's status like a man drowning, but can't hold up under the weight of what it would mean. They have very strong intellectual chemistry, but socially they are a disaster of a couple, and yet nonetheless, Hornblower continues with the marriage because it feels to him like the thing he ought to do, just as he ought to become squire of Smallbridge. He's so viscerally uncomfortable with his position in the later books in a way he wasn't even at the height of his earlier miseries, but he refuses to let himself admit that his ambitions might have led him astray.

I think it's also interesting that the relationship which Hornblower arguably finds the most fulfilling (or rather, it was written very poorly if Forester wanted to make it feel fulfilling for the reader, but nonetheless it was clearly meant to be the most fulfilling for Hornblower) is his relationship with Marie, who sits at a similar odd juncture to him. In the text, Forester says outright that Marie fulfills Hornblower's interest in upper-class women (ambition) while not intimidating him, yet still being a satisfying intellectual partner. Nonetheless, just as Marie and Hornblower can never actually end up together, Hornblower can never actually be comfortable with his position, and no matter how many times he tries to find solace in her, he is eventually forced to continue down the path that he began, making up with Barbara and fully taking up the mantle of Admiral and Peer of the Realm.

In short, I think that watching the way in which Hornblower's relationship with Maria evolves over the course of the early books and the way in which his relationship with Barbara takes up after that ends up being a very neat parallel to his own ambitions and class identity. With Maria he is at home, but bored and restless; with Barbara he gets everything that he wants, but feels like a fish out of water. I think that particular parallel is part of the particular tragedy of Hornblower - he can't ever be satisfied with the person he was, or the person he's become. But I think that adding in aspects of extreme class difference - even more class difference than the general trends of social mobility during this period - also helps to elucidate the fundamental tension which drives Hornblower forward as a character. The world he came from was too small for him; the world in which he moves now is far too big; but there's no in-between option. He has to choose what he wants to be, and sacrifice some part of himself in order to do that, and in light of this reading of him, I think that there's a lot of interesting dilemmas to be raised.

[sergle]

cracking my shit up because i've gone back in time into the John Allison Comic Backlog and am instantly being made aware that the guy who made Questionable Content fully scraped his work out of John's

[kawareo]

am realizing with horror and great annoyance that if i don't write a chapter in one go and then post it immediately, i get hit with a huge wave of 'oh i hate this actually' and it becomes almost impossible for me to finish it

i really have to power through that one and i think i will hate it until it's posted but i'm just. so annoyed with myself. I've been writing it on three separate days already it feels shitty and boring and bad but I know it's just cause I haven't finished it already

[deoidesign]

something that makes me sad is when people tell me the healthy communication in my writing is "unrealistic."

like guys this is how me and my partner talk with eachother... I'm writing from personal experience...

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[decaflondonfog]

a week’s worth of reading [apr. 14 - apr. 20]

here’s what i read last week, in case you’re feeling uninspired, overwhelmed by choice or just too tired to scroll through your marked for later/many opened tabs!

[❣️ marks a personal favourite, 💦 a particularly hot one, ⚡ is for when you want your heart kicked, and ☁️ for a soft and gentle hug]

a full feast (over 40k)

if you don't have your own boyfriend, rented is fine by @nyoomerr [svsss, bingqiu, M, 86k]

After being turned away by the nice Shizun of that other world, Luo Binghe finds himself in the modern world where he can find a new nice Shizun for himself. Instead, he finds Shen Yuan, who could not possibly be who he's searching for - he's crass, and inelegant, and looks only vaguely related to Shen Qingqiu. Luckily for both of them, Shen Yuan mistakes Luo Binghe as a cosplayer for hire, and asks to rent him out as his very normal new boyfriend.

a nice long meal (over 10k)

❣️ and when it comes to you by @orionauriga [aftg, katekevaaron, T, 18k]

Kevin Day and the terrible, horrible, no good, incredibly torturous road trip third wheeling the best friends he’s in love with who are probably already in love with each other. …on the bright side, they aren’t making him drive.

💦 meet your heroes by kevjean [aftg, kerejean, E, 20k]

Kevin and Jean share a mutual admiration for Jeremy Knox. Then they share Jeremy.

tea and a handful of biscuits (over 1k)

❣️ a simple exam by @nanatsuyu [aftg, kandreil, E, 8k]

"Tell me if something hurts." The harsh surgical glare of the lamp leaves spots in Neil's eyes when it's abruptly tilted away. Andrew leans over the examination table and into Neil's view. The spots smatter Andrew's face in a sky of twinkling freckles. "I know you won't hurt me," Neil says with more confidence than he expects.

☁️ 12:54 AM by @pumpkinnsoda [aftg, kerejean, G, 1k]

Jean wonders when Kevin was last held. The Nest was a terror they both lived, and they found sanctuary in each other, even though it was never acknowledged. Fingers dragging over wrists, steadying hands on biceps. Hugs where no one could see. Trojans dole out affection so easily. Jean highly doubts the Foxes would do the same. ——— AKA: Kevin spends the night with Jeremy and Jean. Their new home is too cold and Kevin is too tired: they’d end up cuddling one way or another.

Rachel for Leah by x_los [svsss, bingqiu, E, 2k]

Emperor Luo Binghe understands almost immediately that his fifty-second wife's miraculous recovery from the brink of the death is not what it seems. It takes him longer to work out how lucky he's gotten.

Bruised apples by @tartadxfresa [trc, pynch, E, 6k]

The bike rumbles to a halt just before the steps of the main house, and for a moment Ronan thinks maybe he’s hallucinating. Heatstroke. Delusion. One of those weird Barns dreams that still creep in the mornings. But then Adam pulls off the helmet, and he’s real. His hair is dark with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His shirt is damp at the collar. Faded green cotton stretched across his chest. His arms are golden from the sun, freckled like someone painted them by hand. The last time they saw each other was six months ago. Adam kicks down the stand and swings a leg off the bike, helmet tucked under his arm. He carries nothing but a backpack and a look in his eye that says don’t ask. And Ronan doesn’t. He can’t. His tongue feels thick and stupid in his mouth, and his body is suddenly too aware of itself, his sweat, his stink, the way his jeans stick to his thighs. “Parrish,” Ronan says, because it’s the only word that comes out. or: Adam comes back for the summer and stays at The Barns. They’re not dating. They don’t talk about it. Ronan prays and bites into an apple.

bitesized nibbles (ficlets, drabbles and micros)

☁️ Strawberry Bobo Milk by iodhadh [mdzs, songxuexiao, T, 896 words]

“Zichen and I are getting boba after class,” Xiao Xingchen says. “You should come.” Xue Yang squints at him suspiciously. Xingchen beams back, guileless. He is, as near as Xue Yang can tell, entirely sincere. “What do you want me crashing your date for?”

✨ check previous reading lists here ✨

[cupcakewebkinz]

Brotien shake, I finally found time to binge read all your caretaker au fics (which is rn) im so excited 😼

I hope you have fun!! It's a lot, I know, I uh... I think I like writing too much heh-

BUT THAT'S OKAY I'M THRIVING AND I HOPE YOU ARE TOO YAY!!!

(Please excuse any typos on some I sometimes edit when I'm half asleep and I was rereading one before answering asks and realized just how bad my spelling is sometimes I'm so sorry gang 😭)

[pagesofkenna]

Looking for Manga recs!

maybe something under 150 chapters, or especially things that don't have huge tumblr fanbases (though if there's something popular that you think I should actually pay attention to, let me know that too!)

[madin-writes]

i need to get back into writing valdangelo

[seeinganewlight]

apparently i am going to be reading a play a day in june? i got this idea in my head and now it must happen

[liriostigre]

Your description of Catcher in the Rye is so heartfelt and made me emotional. I love that you never come from a place of snobbery, but instead from a genuine place of disappointment at the general discourse short-shrifting thought-provoking art. I’m just as tired of everyone simplifying and over-politicising stories, but I guess it’s in itself symptomatic of the times we live in. Confusion all around making people strip the complexity off behemoth topics such as love, grief, jealousy, nihilism, human nature etc.

Hiii 💌 I felt silly for a moment sharing that I cried reading The Catcher in the Rye hehe, so this is very nice of you! How beautiful that me being emotional made you emotional 🫂

And I agree, it's these times we live in. I'm always reading about how nowadays college students struggle to read entire books 🥴 and I mean good, prestigious colleges (allegedly haha), and about students literacy crisis and social media and its cognitive implications... It's just so bleak! Obviously there's a lot more to it but I think, at least for the last couple of generations, it's because of that damn phone 😔 it really is!

[actuallyrandompersondaily]

He didn't regret his choices, but that didn't make it any less unsettling. Janet had met him with surprise, apparently confused over aspects of the person he'd become since living here, and he found himself equally baffled by her. He'd already been wary enough to warn Cecil, of course, but he was worried now that he'd been underestimating the danger.

He wasn't even sure if she'd changed at all, though. He was sure she had — Cecil hadn't been wrong about the fact that everyone did, whether they realised it or not — but it still felt less like she was a different person, and more like Carlos was reacting differently to her.

[sisterdivinium]

You know, the reason why I'm sceptical over communities on Tumblr is because I think the issue is not how it was lacking in a community feature but how there seems to be a lack of a community mindframe for a lot of the userbase. There's only so much you can do when a lot of people have devolved into only ever using likes rather than actually getting in touch with others -- and there's only so much conversation you can withstand when every new addition equates to reblogging a post in full and potentially annoying your followers with "walls of text" (since, let's be real, this isn't a text-forward website)...