#(but nobody love them like you do)

[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!"

[egophiliac]

so on the subject of the "Crowley is secretly Revaan/Laverne/Levin/please Twst give us his name" theory, I think my feelings are best summed up as "I don't really buy it, but it's funny". like, in all seriousness, I'm not opposed to it; I have enjoyed the writing in Twst so far and I'm willing to trust that whatever happens will, you know, make sense and not be terrible. but I'm just not really convinced by the current evidence! maybe that'll change once we learn more, we'll see!

with that said, may I propose a few alternate theories about the possible Crowley/Revaan connection:

[miwtual]

im so fucking tired of the disrespect gifmakers get on the gifmaker website

[introspectivememories]

the funniest possible thing that could happen is if mercedes keeps hiring childhood best friends for their team and everybody's holding their breath waiting for them to tear each other apart like brocedes except it doesn't happen bc everyone else is normal about each other and brocedes is just that fucked up that they would've torn each other apart even if they were on different teams

[uncanny-tranny]

Good news! You aren't required to make your hobbies and passions "marketable." In fact, your crafts, hobbies, and passions don't even need to be public if you so choose. You don't have to spend all of your energy becoming perfect if you aren't enjoying the process. You are not a product, you are a person, a creative, and your work also does not need to be a product.

[b4kuch1n]

pre-marination doobles. dont ask me questions

[chrollohearttags]

y’all won’t be satisfied until you run every black writer off this app and I’m so serious. Yes, I’m being rude to anybody that takes time out of their day to post some dumb ass remarks (a recycled one at that) and uses it to disrespect black writers of any capacity. Sitting up screaming about wanting more representation and the black reader fics being nonexistent but y’all get mad about everything. Yes, I’m cussing y’all out everytime I see it and I’m blocking idc. Free, FREE content that people took time to create, y’all are being nasty about it. We don’t owe y’all grace or kindness. Especially when we can see the hypocrisy. Go to hell with gas undies on and leave us alone. And please write whatever y’all want and fuck these people. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[doki-doki-imagines]

You never show your face to him during intimate moments.

Bachira Meguru:

-No way he is okay with this, he needs to see your eyes to understand what is going on.

-They are also the first trait that pulled him to you, so covering them ruins all the fun.

-“Ohi, what’s wrong?”

-There is no way Bachira will let this topic go, he’ll cage you under him and he’ll stare until you break.

-Bachira can be pretty intimidating when he wants.

-So you break, you tell him you don’t want to see his disgusted face when he’ll look at your body, how you are scared shitless of your low appeal, and…damn you can’t talk anymore between sobs.

-Bachira treats you with the delicacy that only someone in love could have. He is still caging you under him, but his expression is much softer like his embrace.

-“You can be so dumb at times. Don’t know how those thoughts got into that silly head of yours, but I’ll make sure to push them all away”

Rin Itoshi: -Why do you always hide your face, why do you always turn the other way around, why, why, why

-So Rin thinks he is the problem, you don’t want to look at him because you are disgusted by him, maybe you prefer to think of someone else…

- As often happen Rin's green monster crawls under his skin, ready to vomit venom on you at the first sign of hiding.

-But this time, when you cover your eyes for the nth time Rin notices something new; are your lips trembling? Are you gonna cry? Is he so disgusting?

-So with his usual gentlemanly ways, he grips your wrist to push your arms out of the way and whispers “What the hell is wrong with you”

-The atmosphere is so tense you think it is gonna kill you soon if you don’t spill your insecurity and that’s what you do, chest heavy, but trying to maintain at least a bit of dignity

-“Never heard such dumb shit ever in my life”

-If the situation wasn’t so dramatic, you have kneed his kidney.

-So you think to be the problem…this change the entire situation! He doesn’t know how to deal with this situation anyway, but he feels relieved!

-A little less relieved when he looks at your face, eyes watery and ugly pout.

-Rin for sure doesn’t know how to express himself with words, so he’ll do it physically. Will it take more time? Probably, but it is the easiest way for him while trying to make you understand how pure shit those intrusive thoughts are.

Oliver Aiku:

-With a guy like Oliver the issue came out way sooner than with the others guys.

-And for you, the issue got even worse since it was way easier to imagine him going with someone else if you aren’t good enough.

-With someone else, Oliver wouldn’t have given two fucks in all honesty.

-But he is serious about you?? So he at least wants to try, he doesn’t want to give up so easily.

-It was during a normal indoor date that Oliver asked you about this.

-You were watching a film together, your head lying on his chest, his arm around your waist, so it was easy to stop your probable runaway.

-And he was so good at making you relax. It’s not like it was easy to talk about the topic, but at least Oliver put you at ease.

-But his ass is burnt. Do you trust him so little? Damn it hurts. He jokes about it with you, laughs even, but the pain is real.

-Oliver will try anything in his capabilities to make you understand that more often than not brains can come out with fucked up shit that aren’t true.

-But now you also have to demonstrate you trust him; it still stings you know?

[obihoe]

naruto in that waterfall scene truly was like. the villagers have shunned me all my life and now they love me but its all fake cuz they just love me for what i have done to protect the village i HATE those fuckers, they can shove their autograph requests up their dumb asses and then he is like. well i got the solution. to solve all this hatred. to dissolve it and cure it. i'll just keep trying to become who they want me to be, if i manage to be the person THEY want me to be, they will love me and i'll keep their approval. this is the solution to all my problems ^_^ and then he like, hugs his dark self and it dissolves and the whole thing is done its like sfdfdgdgfs. okay, way to repress ur own feelings and do the exact same thing that youve already Been doing all ur life so far LOL. literally victim-blaming ur own self for what others have put u thru but alright. 👍

[druidonity2]

My last two brain cells being investigated for identity theft and corruption.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

oh my god i just. remembered this. sorry. one of the things people do in the saiki k fandom (cough cough specifically tiktok cough cough) is that people call every terusai moment "fanservice.." FANSERVICE..? WHATTTTT ?

as if you guys get to make the choices in what the anime SHOULD be like, and which duos get better moments.. thats so funny oh my GOD.

and im saying the anime specifically because none of these people read the manga.. there was this one pretty fucking viral tiktok i saw a few months ago where this person was talking about this and saying that the anime "tried to set up teruhashi and saiki as a couple" when it "wasnt like that in the manga" and then proceeded to talk about scenes that WERE in the manga and did NOT get changed for the anime.. mf why are you just LYING. AND WHY ARE THE MASSES BELIEVING YOU. THATS CRAZY.

[letthestorieslive]

Stalia for @maliagf

[wi1dshxpe]

it's funny because durge and gortash started at very similar places, wanting so badly to be "good kids" their entire childhoods. gortash to avoid further abuse at the hoh and durge because they were, excluding their one little huge thing where they had an uncontrollable bloodlust.

but then they also ended up at the same place but on opposite sides of the spectrum. druge is still trying(technically succeeding) to be a "good kid," just now for their insane dad instead of a conventional family. conversely gortash has thrown out any idea of "goodness,” he never wants to feel that way again and he doesn’t care if he makes others feel that way to avoid it. he’ll do whatever he wants to you and if you’re anything like him, powerful, resourceful, deserving, you’ll pull yourself up from your bootstraps like he did. it’s interesting to wonder the ways they might’ve clashed in their motivations

[thejasontoddarchives]

52/WW III Part One: A Call to Arms #1 (2007)

You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you’re standing naked in front of a monument meant to honor a dead version of yourself while you’re alive, holding the Nightwing suit in one hand and the pill helmet in the other

[youngpettyqueen]

my ideal Kira and Julian dynamic is the dynamic between an older sister and a younger brother in a 90s teen movie. Julian is the annoying nerdy little brother and Kira is the teen older sister going "get out of my room you little dweeb" and shoving him into lockers

[puppyeared]

Hey I’m new to the LMK fandom, why do so many people ship Sun Wukong and Macaque??

A lot of people like the hurt/comfort potential because of their backstory and because they’re just really good counterparts lol. Macaque even makes a whole play about their past relationship, which is where a lot of that fuel for the ship comes from and the whole “the hero and the warrior were like the sun and the moon” spiel that people love using for shits and giggles. There’s also a really strong enemies to lovers sentiment and i think it’s kinda sweet

Personally, I just really like riffing off the divorced energy. To me, these idiots would rather beat the shit out of each other than make up and I really really eat that up. Not just as a joke, maybe as a way to cope with their feelings like “I want things to go back the way they were but this is all I can do”