DID IT TAKE ME 10 DAYS TO WATCH THE GOLDEN COURTYARD EPISODES? YES. AM I LATE TO THE PARTY? YES, WHATS NEW. AM I MAKING AN ABSURDLY LONG POST ABOUT IT? YES, W H A T S N E W.
here's the play by play
I hate kosma without horns but the fact that he has a poster of Kalpas in his room is making up for it
the absolute cackle I gave when Kevin goes "yeah what part are they responsible for?" and Kalpas is beating the shit out of the dough 😭😭😭😭😭
I would die for griseo
aponia scares the shit outta me
I love Sakura 😭💖
I love vill-v 🧡🧡
why are aponia boobs so big?
I love vill-v 🧡
oh they're making kalpas face away from the camera to hide his fa-- IS HE CARRYING A PLATE OF FIRE??
I would die for this man
NOT THE FACE MASK
do you think Eden knows he has the face mask on
the little bonk Griseo gives kosmas dumpling
aponia really scares me ahahahahahah
100% Kevin went out an bought those
YEAH OF FUCKING COURSE HE DID
SUFFER
why is can so larg?
all the pillows 😭 and vill-v's hat 😭😭
also Kalpas doing The Squat (TM)
why is he playing on mobile oh my gosh I'm so concerned
kinda sad Rin isn't here 😔
not to be horny on main but vill-v pretty
all the little details they put into the background are so good and I love it
MEI with the 👍👍👍 and Kevin smiling...hhhh I know this man is whipped but like oof
do not let Kevin in the kitchen
they really did pardo dirty huh
THEY DONT EVEN GIVE THE KALPAS SNOWMAN A FACE REVEAL D A M N THEY ARE STINGY
I draw smiley faces like :> so the fact that Griseo painted on just made me so happy lmao
I started episode 2 which was a mistake I'm sorry
KALPAS BEING STRONGER THAN KOSMA AND KEVIN IS GIVING ME LIFE
NOT SU'S TREEEEEE
I am definitely not paused and trying not to cry on the hot spring picture. nope.
NOT THE SNOW
soldering isn't that hard, 100% trust vill-v with that. but uhhh. that hole is a little large to solder...
I love su. and hua too 😭🧡🧡🧡
your honor I think I'm in love with all the flame chasers except Kevin. fuck kevin
t tHe PHOTO ALBUM?!?!!?
MHY. DO YOU KNOW. HOW MUCH. I WOULD PAY????? like 2 cents because I'm a broke college kid but please I am begging you😭😭😭😭😭😭
Kevin's fucking haunted face lmao if I didn't hate him so much I would be tempted to make this a profile pic lol
why does Kevin stick his ass out like that?
what is THAT
SU OPENED HIS EYES OH FUCK
oh no poor baby griseo
oop. there she goes
OH NO THERE THE COMICS GO 😭
p pardo?
OH NO PARDO
please do not eat the very very old cup noodles. not only are they definitely expired, Kevin made them. you're going to get food poisoning
why is kalpas sitting in a corner alone 😭😭
the fucking Squat lmao
is he just staring at a magazine full of pictures of himself? because like I would tok but damn
we are only 6 minutes in oh dear
oh?! Eden finally makes an appearance? what is the deal with her helmet tho
also how is she not freezing with her boobs out like that? I am here to tell you, when it is cold, you cover that shit up
AND HER STOMACH?! EDEN HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD
didn't they ask you to pick up flour Eden??
Kevin is already thinking of other places to live and he's just moved in lmao
APONIA MAKING A VERY GOOD POINT I TOLD YOU THEY WOULD KILL YOU
kalpas with his face in the floor 😭 su fucking meditating 😭 I am dying
AND THE BOOK ON HIS FACE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH
pardo: I had this really horrible dream!
kalpas: ok, and? I'm fucking tired
the fact that they're all so supportive is gonna make me cry oh my gosh
where are the subtitles oh no
the scar 😭 please just give us the face reveal I am dying
kosmas little horns on his hat lol
"it's just a sunrise" hold on real quick I gotta take a pic for my gf
IN THE DREAM WE WERE HEROES. BUT WE WERE ALSO LOSERS
my friend quotes this to me daily but oh my gosh oooof
I just want them to be happy PLEASE
Griseo asking kosma his wish is 😭😭 she does so much to make him happy and it makes me so sad
THE ACTION FIGURES ME FUCKING TO KOSMA
Eden and Ely kinda gay ngl👀👀
why does Kevin get 3 wishes damn
I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE SAKURA'S EARS OH MY GOSH 🧡🧡
basically. I'm dying. why did you let me do this 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
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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!"
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soon it'll be dawn again
transcript under the cut ⏬
page 01
Fig: no way? - you're still up?
Riz: Wh– yes?
Riz: Why'd I not be.
page 02
Fig: I me~~ean - that took.
Fig: whole day.
Riz: Yeah?
Fig: 'm beat.
Riz: you should sleep.
page 03
Fig: nah. my guy's still up
Fig: I wanna hang out.
page 04
Riz: That's really nice.
Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.
Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.
page 05
Fig: yeah, but you do it…
Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.
Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.
page 06
Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.
Riz: … - mm.
page 07
Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.
Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.
page 08
Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.
Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now…
page 09
Fig: Hey.
Riz: ?
Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.
page 10
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)
Fig: o yea.
Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.
page 11
Fig: here u go
page 12
Riz: uh
Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.
Fig: I'll show u
page 13
Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try
Riz: uh - What. do I carve?
Fig: anything!!!
page 14
Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?
Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?
Fig: haha - watch this.
(sound effect text): FWOO—MP
page 15
Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???
Fig: Now it's fired!
Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE
Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)
Fig: ok catch!
Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!
Fig: dw no need haha
page 16
Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…
Fig: now I want you to throw this.
page 17
Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon
page 18
Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now
Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise
Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?
Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u
Riz: but
page 19
Fig (off screen): RIz.
page 20
Fig: I've done all this before.
Fig: Can you trust that at least?
page 21
Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.
page 23
Riz: okay what happens now
(sound effect text): glob
page 24
Fig: we do it again!
page 25
Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)
Fig: see! you're already learning
Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.
Fig: Things change.
page 26
Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist
Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.
page 27
Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.
page 28
Fig: So?
page 29
Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.
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