#Everybody's human

[pcktknife]

she could stand to be a bit more sharky

[runwhileyoucan]

Jonathan Sims after experiencing the most brutal and dehumanising trauma:guess I had it coming

[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!"

[countess-of-edessa]

the world is so fucked up and i can't help but think the damage is irreparable when i see people talking about how unusual and prudish it is to wait six to ten dates before having sex with someone. ten dates??? roughly like twenty five hours of interaction????? ten old timer burgers and mango iced teas from chilis equals sex?????? the possibility of pregnancy, STDs, emotional devastation, lifelong consequences, not to mention just straight up the possibility of getting murdered, with a STRANGER you have hung out with for maybe like two months???? and that's a LONG TIME???? and if you feel weird about that and don't want to do that that makes you NOT HETEROSEXUAL????? THATS AN ORIENTATION???? BECAUSE ITS SO OUTSIDE OF THE NORM OF HUMAN BEHAVIOR ????? i hate all of you i hate you i hate you i hate you every day i hate and I hate and I hate you

[southpauz]

AI ""artists"": We're the future! Give up!

Real artists:

[xhiale]

Sooo i found out (on tiktok from all places lol) that the fanfic was updated, and after reading it while also revisiting old chapters i felt like drawing for the first time in a long time, so here´s this silly thing of the greens.

[cubbihue]

Does Timmy have any friends in fairy world?

Timmy is more of a socialite than a friend-getter. He can easily make connections with others, and can slip into established groups and create a dynamic with them! The kind of guy who is always invited to events but not related to anyone.

The closest he's gotten so far is Sanderson.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[introspectres]

Low Tide & High Tide || [prints]

[hildegardladyofbones]

One of the best things about Disco Elysium by far is that it does not fear ugly women. The world is full of ugly men, but ugly women are so hard to come by.

[beebfreeb]

There are Gregory Horror Show stories in my head so intricate.

[eamour]

2 ⋮ neville goddard booklist

hello again, babes! for all the people that want to read the original source of the law of assumption, i have prepared two lists that, together, contain all 15 books of neville goddard from 1939 to 1966. this is list two, continuing with 7 books from 1952 to 1966.

the power of awareness ⋮ 1952

1 ⋮ i am

2 ⋮ consciousness

3 ⋮ power of assumption

4 ⋮ desire

5 ⋮ the truth that sets you free

6 ⋮ attention

7 ⋮ attitude

8 ⋮ renunciation

9 ⋮ preparing your place

10 ⋮ creation

11 ⋮ interference 

12 ⋮ subjective control

13 ⋮ acceptance 

14 ⋮ the effortless way 

15 ⋮ the crown of the mysteries 

16 ⋮ personal impotence

17 ⋮ all things are possible 

18 ⋮ be ye doers 

19 ⋮ essentials

20 ⋮ righteousness 

21 ⋮ free will

22 ⋮ persistence 

23 ⋮ case histories

24 ⋮ failure 

25 ⋮ faith 

26 ⋮ destiny 

27 ⋮ reverence

awakened imagination ⋮ 1954

1 ⋮ who is your imagination?

2 ⋮ sealed instructions

3 ⋮ highways of the inner world

4 ⋮ the pruning shears of revision

5 ⋮ the coin of heaven

6 ⋮ it is within

7 ⋮ creation is finished

8 ⋮ the apple of god's

seedtime and harvest ⋮ 1956

1 ⋮ the end of a golden string

2 ⋮ the four mighty ones

3 ⋮ the gift of faith

4 ⋮ the scale of being chapter

5 ⋮ the game of life

6 ⋮ "time, times and an half"

7 ⋮ be ye wise as serpents

8 ⋮ the water and the blood

9 ⋮ a mystical view

i know my father ⋮ 1960

1 ⋮ i am

2 ⋮ i come with a sword

3 ⋮ the foundation stone

4 ⋮ the i'm-pression

5 ⋮ he who has

6 ⋮ circumcision

7 ⋮ crucifixion and resurrection

8 ⋮ no other god

9 ⋮ thy will be done

10 ⋮ be ears that hear

the law and the promise ⋮ 1961

1 ⋮ imagining creates reality

2 ⋮ dwell therein

3 ⋮ turn the wheel backward

4 ⋮ there is no fiction

5 ⋮ subtle threads

6 ⋮ visionary fancy

7 ⋮ moods

8 ⋮ through the looking glass

9 ⋮ enter into

10 ⋮ things which do not appear

11 ⋮ the potter

12 ⋮ attitudes

13 ⋮ all trivia

14 ⋮ the creative moment

15 ⋮ the promise

he breaks the shell ⋮ 1964

1 ⋮ intro and 1st act

2 ⋮ 2nd act

3 ⋮ 3rd act

4 ⋮ 4th act

5 ⋮ conclusion

resurrection · a confession ⋮ 1966

1 ⋮ chapter

2 ⋮ chapter

3 ⋮ chapter

with love, ella.

[kyngsnake]

Over the years the Fallout fandom definitely has slowly crept further into a “moral high ground over suspension of disbelief” space. I see a lot of people discussing their opinions of Fallout through the lens of their own personal morals that they’d apply to their own life, which is… Strange to me. I feel like dystopian media especially is not the sort of thing you should be judging by your own real life standards. Most things in Fallout are extreme. Most of the factions do extreme things. A lot of the things people do in Fallout would be considered inhumane, cruel or uncanny by modern standards. Because it’s a post-apocalyptic dystopia.

This isn’t me saying “everyone in Fallout is evil, stop expecting otherwise,” because I don’t believe that to be the case. Even good-willed people in Fallout do shit that would be considered extreme by modern standards. I just see a lot of people shying away from discussing the “grittier” aspects of the franchise because it might for whatever reason imply you condone those things in real life.

[afraidparade]

this isn't canon i just wanted to practice colored comics + i think this is a cute concept :-)

[moderndaypandora]

Hob is going to come home one day two months into Dream's retirement (and seven weeks into their marriage) and Dream's going to be full Victorian maiden on the chaise lounge, arm covering his eyes.

Hob, who is not a fool: Want to talk about it, or want to be consumed by the agonies for a little while longer while I prepare dinner? You got groceries, right?

Dream: [horrible groaning dirge of assent]

Hob: I'm starting to get a little concerned, dearest

Dream: I went out to. Obtain groceries. And the woman at the till said 'enjoy your food'.

Hob: And you said?
 Dream: "My thanks. you as well."

Hob: My poor love. Have a kiss to ease the sting.

Dream: [accepting the forehead kiss as his due] I can't go back to that grocery store in this lifetime.

Hob: Understandable.

Dream: Can we fake our deaths tomorrow?

Hob: Give me two weeks to wrap everything up, then we can.

Dream: <3

[pinkhysteria]

- “Finally, a familiar feeling. Luke didn’t take me over completely.” 

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [1/5] motifs -> fire

You find the girl wearing that necklace, she's your arsonist. Murderer. Excuse me? Arson happens to property. This girl's a murderer.