#what you know it's true

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Comfort

Gale attempts to comfort Agi after Eliminster visits camp, and both end up confessing their feelings. NSFW in the last section.

“You’re seriously considering what Elminster said?” Agneta asked Gale, mouth agape.

He willed himself to remain calm and collected as he explained that this was the most straightforward solution to the Absolute.

That, however, went over like a lead balloon. Tears in her eyes now. No, Agi. Please. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.

“You’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.” She said through gritted teeth. “I won’t.”

He sighed, saying that she should not be such firm declarations about his survival.

We don’t know what lies ahead.

If detonating the orb is the best path forward, then I shall sacrifice myself.

She’ll find someone else, I’m sure.

She’ll be happier without me.

She’ll be…

Gale was taken out of his increasingly melancholic thoughts by the sound of Dandelo’s voice.

“Agi, you can—”

“No, I just need a few minutes and then we can go. A few minutes please!” The human said to Dandelo with tears flowing down her pale cheeks. She stormed away from the tiefling, frowning and shaking his head.

You love her damnit. Comfort her. At least do that.

Despite the halfhearted protest from Dandelo, Gale followed her, heart pounding in his chest. I can do this. I can comfort her. I can care for her. I can…die to save her.

When he reached her, his heart stopped pounding and instead broke.

“My Lord, please light the way for your faithful servant…your favorite Dawnbringer…light the way so I may save him…” Agneta prayed, sobs escaping her. “Light the way…”

Save me? Why is she so set upon—

You know why.

She loves me.

At least, I’m fairly sure she loves me.

Gale cleared his throat, and he swore he saw her jump wearing heavy armor! Impressive, my dear. Very impressive! “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Fucking hells, sorry! I…I just…I…” Her brown eyes were full of no small amount of desperation as she tried valiantly to wipe away the tears. Agneta squeezed them shut and then, suddenly, walked to him, cupping his face in her very pretty hands. “Gale, I love you, and I cannot…I will not…let you kill yourself. There is another way. We’ll find it together. I promise.” She rested her forehead against his, barely muffling another sob. “Please, Gale…please live…”

She does love me.

She wants me to live.

“Oh my love,” Gale whispered the words breathlessly, heart racing and palms very sweaty. “I don’t want to die.”

It was as if all the sadness in her eyes was replaced with hope. “We’ll find a way together. Promise?” She then grinned. “Orb as the last resort obviously, but…”

Gale smiled. “But I want to live. And more importantly, I want to do this.”

In that moment, he decided that kissing Agneta Wildheart was the best choice he made in a long time. Her lips were full and soft just like the rest of her, and she moaned into his mouth so very sweetly. Perfect. She is perfect.

“Gale…”

He struggled to bite back a groan as she said his name and then tugged on his lower lip. “Gods, you’re magnificent.” Brushing the backs of his knuckles against her cheek, he silently reveled at how she leaned into his touch. “I love you, Agi. I love you, and I swear I’ll fight for you. For us.”

She grinned, her brown eyes full of determination. “So will I, love, with everything I have and what blessings my Lord gives me.” She then pulled him into a quite tight, if I’m being honest, but I’m not complaining embrace. Placing delicate kisses on his graying locks, she whispered, “Let’s go out there and kick some ass, Gale.” As quickly as she said the words, she suddenly stepped back and giggled.

Have I mentioned how attractive she is when she’s cutting down monsters? Because goodness me, she is…a delight to behold. Sweat dripping from her brow…how those large breasts of hers are confined in her armor…her luscious ass as she bends over…

Hands on her wide, soft hips, Agneta giggled. “Gale? You coming?”

Don’t say coming right now, darling.

He chuckled nervously. “Right. Yes. Of course. Coming, dearest.”

***

Later that evening, Gale invited my lady love who cut down that fiend Marcus like he was a blade of grass to his tent.

He paced, running a hand through his hair.

I need to tell her about the glamour.

I need to tell her “No darling, we won’t be having sex tonight because I’m planning something spectacular for you.”

BUT!

I’ll offer her pleasure in another way.

He stopped when he saw her silhouette outside his tent. “Knock, knock! Or would it be, flap flap?” Why does she have the cutest giggle known to man?! “Are you decent?”

“Yes! Please, come inside!” NO. That’s what I want to do to you when my surprise is ready, of course. He strode to the entrance and opened the flaps, revealing Agneta Wildheart in her camp clothes. Her too tight camp clothes. Focus, man! He offered her a hand, which she gladly took with a smile and flushed cheeks. She’s so beautiful and sweet and kind and thoughtful and fuck, I must tell her!!! “Right this way, my dear. Please have a seat. May I get you something to drink? Eat? Did you have enough at supper?” Stop rambling, Dekarios!

The paladin laughed as she sat in one of two chairs Gale had at a small table to one side. “I’m fine, love.”

She’s fine.

She’s fine.

She won’t be fine after I tell her.

She may smite me.

Still standing, Gale nodded. “Yes. Yes. Very good. Um, Agi…” Shit, I’m pacing again. Shit. Shit. Shit. “What do you know about glamours?”

Clearly confused, her eyes followed Gale. “Not much? Why? Are you alright?’

Don’t worry her, damn you! She worries enough. She’s got enough on her proverbial plate without any more nonsense from you! He flashed a quick fake smile before explaining. “I, well…you see…this earring isn’t just a frankly impressive piece of jewelry, darling.”

Three.

Two.

One.

Breathe.

Gale touched his earring and squeezed his eyes shut as the illusion faded away.

There. Now she’ll you for what you really are---a fat, middle-aged washed-up wizard with a bomb in his chest and a parasite—

“Oh Gale…”

He felt her hand on his cheek.

What? No, this can’t be. She can’t…can she?

He opened his brown eyes to find her standing in front of him, brushing his tears with her thumb. “I-I can—” He began but was silenced with what he least expected.

A hug.

Rubbing his back, she murmured, “Gale, you don’t need to use that silly thing. You’re gorgeous. You’re so handsome. I love you as you are…any way you are…you’re perfect, love. To me you’re perfect.” Agneta then giggled. “Did it even occur to you that I might like how you look? Even without the glamour?”

He buried his face in her shoulder, laughing and crying because this is mad. This cannot be real. She…she… “No, my sweet. You continue to surprise and astound me as always.” Gale lifted his head to meet her gaze and quite rueful smile. Oh dear. “I simply wish to apologize for misleading you—”

A finger touched his lips.

“I’m not upset. Now please,” she kissed his forehead. “Let’s enjoy our first night together as a couple.”

Gale hummed softly. “Speaking of that, I’m planning something very special for you. Something that will take your breath away, my love, but I need time to prepare.” The most impressive illusionary sky you’ll ever see, sweetheart. You’ll be amazed. “However, that being said, I’m not opposed to other forms of pleasure…” That’s it, Dekarios. Wow her. Make her swoon. Make her feel like the most beautiful woman…no, the most beautiful person to ever exist. His voice lowered, and he guided them both to his bedroll.

Brown eyes twinkling, she grinned. “What sort of pleasure, love?”

Bringing one of her hands to his lips to kiss, he smirked. “Why, you coming on my tongue of course.”

“Oh!”

That’s a delightful shade of red on her cheeks. Oh, and she’s breathing heavily as well. Practically moaning for me already.

I’m a lucky man, aren’t I?

“Is that something you want, my dear? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He reassured her, still holding her hand and squeezing it.

She sighed ruefully. “Please don’t misunderstand---I really do want this. I, um, I don’t shave down there.”

As if that matters to me?!?!?!?

“What was it you said? To me you are perfect?” After almost zero thought because all I think about is tasting her, he winked. “Well, right back at you, darling.”

Agneta stifled a laugh and nodded. “You’re so cute. Alright, I do have one request.”

“Name it.”

And it is yours.

She wrinkled her nose and pointed to his shirt before untying her trousers. “I’d like to see you. Shirt off please.”

Ooooh that teasing little smirk on her pretty face.

I wonder what will happen if I do this…

He raised an eyebrow. “And do I get to see you without your top, my lady?”

“Gale, you get to see my cunt! Oh alright, might as well.” She laughed heartily and then removed her top and bra. She lay down on his bedroll COMPLETELY NAKED! AGI IS NAKED ON MY BEDROLL! Goodness me. He found it sweet that she crossed her long arms over her big fluffy pillowy breasts that I long worship.

If she is brave enough to bare herself to me, then I can do the same for her.

Taking what he hoped was a steadying breath, he slowly pulled his now infamous purple pajama top over his head.

Fat.

Middle-aged.

Past my prime.

A chosen no more.

Not the wizard I was.

“Gods, Gale. Come here.” She breathed; her modesty now gone as she reached for him.

Luckily for me, before he could sob like a child, he moved to lay on top of her and kissed her passionately. He felt her hands move all over his sides and back, and then untying his bun. “You…truly…” Gale panted as her hands gently rubbed his shoulders. “Like this? Like me? Like me like…this?”

An impatient and frankly adorable whine escaped her. “Yes! More gray hair and a sexy paunch are very hot to me okay!” She tucked some hair behind his ear and smiled. “I meant what I said. I love you, Gale---all of you. All of this. And maybe by loving you…loving this…” Good gods, she jiggled my fat, hairy belly! “I could learn to love this a bit more.” And now she’s jiggling her own.

Oh my gods.

How is she this perfect?

How?

Lathander, how is she not your chosen?! She’s perfect?!?!!? In every possible way?!?!? And trust me, Morninglord, I did the calculations!

“How are you real?” he murmured, littering kisses down her neck. “How?”

Agneta bit back a moan. “I could ask the same of you.” One of her pretty, perfect hands stayed on his belly while the other cupped his bearded cheek. “Gale…”

He chuckled. “Yes, my love? What would you have of me?” Nuzzling the valley between her quite generous breasts, he grinned when he felt her exhale a whine.

“Touch me. Please.”

Oh. Should I tease her?

A little, my love. Only a little, I promise.

Gale nipped at the underside of a breast while his other hand squeezed her waist. “Touch you where, darling? Be specific for me.”

To his shock and delight and arousal, she growled, “You know where!”

Hmm, tease her slightly more and elicit a more delicious reaction, or—

Before he could decide, Agneta tried to rub her thighs together, to no avail. “Gale…love, please…”

His expression softened, and then he began to kiss down her belly, kneading and moaning as he went. So, so soft…hells, she’s going to be the death of me. “It’s alright, sweetness. Shhhh, it’s okay. I’ll give you what you want. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, my love.” He cooed, the hand on her waist making its way to the apex of her exceedingly sexy thighs. “No one has ever touched here, have they?” Upon seeing her shake her head, he chuckled. “Aren’t I lucky?”

Gale then dove into her curls and began to devour her.

Fuck, she tastes better than I ever could’ve imagined.

DO I?!?!?!

Sweetheart, of course you do!

Gods, I—

It’s alright. Just relax, dearest. Relax. You’re so tense, my love.

He slowed his pace and caressed her thighs.

Stay with me, Agi. Focus on my voice…do you know how good you feel? How good you taste? You’re wonderful, simply by being you. So good for me…

Her reaction to that made his cock stiffen more than it already is---moaning his name wantonly and rolling her hips.

That’s it, my love. That’s it. So good. You’re so good…I only want you to feel pleasure…

What about you?

Sweetness, my pleasure is giving pleasure. Seeing you like this is more than enough for me…for now. Tonight, relax and let go, my darling…be good and come for me…

Agneta reached for one of his hands and squeezed. Quite hard! She’s very strong. Very, very strong. “Gale…” A few more small gasps escaped her before she moaned and eventually slackened.

By the gods, you’re going to be the death of me if you do this every time I eat you out, Agi.

She laughed softly, releasing his hand to ruffle his hair. “Considering the events of today, maybe not the best turn of phrase right now, love.”

Oh.

Oh right.

Yes, yes. Right.

He lifted his head slowly and cast Presidigitation to clean them. “So sorry about that! I, erm—”

She smiled ruefully. “Gale, come here and cuddle with me.”

“Yes. Yes, my love.” He settled against her ample side, head on her chest. Their fingers were entwined on her belly, and Gale, for the first time in a very long time, was content.

Even though I have a bomb in my chest…and a mindflayer tadpole in my head.

With her, I’m happy.

He conjured a mage hand to pull a blanket over them, humming contentedly against her. “You know, I love you very much.” He whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“I love you too, sexy man.” She wrinkled nose and giggled. “I’m going to call you ‘sexy man’ every day until you believe it.”

Two can play this game, my dear.

Smirking, he responded, “Then I reserve the right to call you ‘my voluptuous goddess’ until you believe it, darling.”

To his complete and utter delight, gods my heart is bursting with joy, she laughed. “Lathander take me, we’re going to be insufferable!”

“There’s no one I’d rather be insufferable with than you, my love.”

There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.

There’s no one I’d rather love than you.

There’s no one I’d rather cherish than you.

There’s no one I’d rather kiss than you.

There’s no one…no one…I’d rather share my life with than you, dearest lady.

For the first time in over a year, Gale Dekarios slept peacefully and dreamed.

Of her.

Always of her.

[greykolla-art]

Unstoppable villain, meet immovable agent of friendship!

I was wondering in what circumstances Charlie would just OFFER her soul to Al.

And he would short circuit as all his manipulation plans become unnecessary.

Cause Charlie cares about her friends and if they need help she won’t hesitate.

[akanemnon]

We didn't even get an answer, and we never will (at least it's not determination)

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

I love how on Tumblr, "media literacy" has become "Um, just because someone writes about this doesn't mean they're endorsing this. I hate all these media puritans ruining everything."

I'm sad to inform you that knowing when and whether an author is endorsing something, implying something, saying something, is also part of media literacy. Knowing when they are doing this and when they're not is part of media literacy. Assuming that no author has ever endorsed a bad thing is how you fall for proper gander. It's not media literacy to always assume that nobody ever has agreed with the morally reprehensible ideas in their work.

Sometimes, authors are endorsing something, and you need to be aware when that happens, and you also need to be aware when you're doing it as an author. All media isn't horny dubcon fanfic where you and the author know it's problematic IRL but you get off to it in the privacy of your brain. Sometimes very smart people can convince you of something that'll hurt others in the real world. Sometimes very dumb people will romanticize something without realizing they're doing it and you'll be caught up in it without realizing that you are.

Being aware of this is also media literacy. Being aware of the narrative tools used to affect your thinking is media literacy. Deciding on your own whether you agree with an author or not is media literacy. Enjoying characters doing bad things and allowing authors to create flawed or cruel characters for the sake of a story is perfectly fine, but it is not the same as being media literate. Being smug about how you never think an author has bad intentions tells me you're edgy, not that you're media literate. You can't use one rule to apply to all media. That's not how media literacy works. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Aheem heem. Anyway.

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[possiblyawesometmblr]

i'm allowing myself exactly one (1) moment of pure delusion:

jon martin jonah. thanks for your time.

[everythingwasnormalhere]

There's so much wrong with "everyone is a little bit autistic"

Yes, allistic people might know a lot of facts about the things they like. Yes, allistic people might get a bit overwhelmed or underwhelmed sometimes. Yes, allistic people might not get an expression sometimes, mostly if it's the first time they hear it.

That doesn't make them autistic.

Those traits only make someone autistic when they become disabling. Because, big shock, autism is a disability. Yeah, even if someone is low support needs, because that doesn't mean they don't need any support at all.

Saying "everyone is a little bit autistic" is like saying "everyone struggles with this, so suck it up, you have no right to need help". Which is just pure ableist bullshit. It denies the fact that autistic people have higher support needs than NTs, no matter where in the autistic spectrum they are. We're not "neurospicy", we're disabled, and denying this fact is denying us the right to get the help we need, we deserve, to have a good life.

(yes, this rant is just because I made the awful decision of listening to "neurospicy (interlude)" by Jax. honestly I'd rather be called a slur than listen to that shit again.)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I've never been more normal in my life.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[stompandhollar]

reminding everyone that the in-universe problem with The Doctor and The Master isn’t “ooo horrible nasty enemies who hate each other and don’t get along and fight all the time but are also in love”

the problem is that they get along. the problem is that they can’t stop themselves from falling naturally into a rhythm of riffing off one another and enjoying the other’s company. THAT is the problem. the problem is that it works and that’s the thing that caused all their issues. they like one another. they just click.

[mocking-the-bird]

If Tim and Steph decide that 7am is time for sibling bonding activities, it'll be so, even if the sibling they're bonding with is trying to get some goddamn sleep

[bamsara]

more trod au stuff specifcially: dreams

IDK if i want dream!narinder to be canon in the AU yet but it's certainly a concept to play around with because I think it's funny if Lamb's dreams are just kinda bittersweet while Narinder's is just that one audio going NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTM

[greelin]

“actually the term you’re looking for is pansexual” actually i’m dying right now. i am dying right now before your very eyes and those are the last words i had to read before my soul vacates this plane of existence forever. Are you proud of yourself

[technically-human]

Ooh, now that we’ve seen N!Edwin and DP!Edwin talk about Feelings could we see the same with N!Charles and DP!Charles?

As simple as that.

Edwins version

ko-fi

[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!"

[didyougaming]