#but that changes from time to time lol

[melit0n]

"Let the tides carry you back to me." has always been among one of my favourite lines in Telomeres, and so, having listened to it again recently, a little idea popped into my head. Let me explain:

While ocean tides/currents is a very common metaphor, there's an underlying meaning to it. The ocean is a beautiful, but somewhat cruel place: tides can leave you stranded on a sandbank, or sweap you away before you even know it.

To put it in short, no object or creature that goes into the ocean comes out the same. For the tides to carry something back to you, something you've lost, it will be and always will be changed: eroded.

The cliffside will fall, the cave will crumble, etc etc.

With this in mind, we're yet again greeted with another example of Vessel asking for something he can't truly have. The person he wants will not be the same as they were before; they "collapse" into him, breaking apart, but still, to him, it's "the start of something."

His memory is warped, they are warped, and it'll stay that way.

However, what I would like to add is that, in DYWTYLM, it's theorised that instead of Vessel speaking to a second person, he's instead talking to himself.

Of course, this makes the song itself much more emotional (to me). Finding love for yourself is one of the hardest things you can do, but it has to be done to find love in others.

With that idea (stay with me here), the lyrics "Do you roll with the waves? Or do you duck into deep blue safety?" match up (generally) with Telomeres, which is mostly interpretated as being towards someone else.

So, what if some lines in Telemores are directed to himself as well?

Keep in mind, the tides don't just erode and carry objects (sediment), they also reflect. The Atlantic is one big mirror, and Vessel is staring into it's "deep blue safety" wondering what, or, rather, who, he was before he was Vessel.

Overall, the album name, "This Place Will Become Your Tomb", either being directed at Vessel or Vessel to Sleep (and being a Halo quote lmao), is more metaphorical than literal.

Who he was before Vessel sits in that coffin, not his physical body.

[star-scroll]

Dannymay Day 6: Transformation

Background Reference: S1Ep18 Life Lessons, 11:07

[discodummy]

Roommate’s out of town so I sat in meeting like this

[choccy-milky]

smooth, seb 👍 ((redraw of this scene from the goblet of fire))

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[teaitis]

Secret keeper

[xxplastic-cubexx]

graph

bonus:

[spinji]

'My Hero Academia: You're Next' - OVA Short: 'A Piece of Cake' [English Subtitles]

[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!"

[personishfive]

in which dialogue is exchanged

[numbuh424]

AU where Light never picks up the notebook and goes on to join the NPA, eventually following in his father's footsteps as chief.

The first L has retired (which is a nice way of saying he's disappeared and no one can track him down), forcing his successor Near to take up the mantle.

Years later, the chief of the NPA is summoned by L to help track down a serial killer.

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[bacchuschucklefuck]

sometimes I think abt how the months coming up to and the prom night in freshman year must feel to class swap sklonda. your perfect kid who has literally never gotten a single reprimand for anything does what can only be described as a quad crit crime combo and becomes a nerd punisher by the end of the night

[thimblings]

viago "fashion police" de riva

[venriliz]

Oceane.

[gothamite-rambler]

Bruce's baby (Jason's days in the League of Assassians and part time baby sitter)

I am writing a fanfiction about Jason Todd knowing about Damian Wayne's existence long before Bruce and his brothers did.

He chose not to tell him for a reason. After everything he had been through, he switched from a murderous plan of vengeance to a strategy of long-term revenge. This story chronicles Jason's journey as he navigates his role in Damian's life, aided by Talia, who does care for Jason, at least in her own way.

For the next eight years, Jason is the only Bat son who knows about Damian, helping to take care of him and calling him "akhi" until he eventually makes amends with Bruce. Around that time, Talia decides to introduce them to each other.

This will be fully posted on AO3 May or June, and you can find my other works in my masterlist. I'm posting the w.i.p on here as a continuing series here before moving it to AO3 in a different format. Enjoy it. It's lengthy, but settle in and have fun with it!

word count: 1792

fanfic type: script for now

Jason sipped tea while waiting for Talia, added extra sugar and then took another sip to taste it. Smiling with a nod he continued drinking it. Talia entered the room, cradling a sleeping baby against her hip. Jason tilted his head, eyes wide. Seeing Talia with a baby threw him off balance.

Jason (wide-eyed): Is that a baby?

Talia (nodding): Yes.

Jason (worried, standing out of his seat): Is that… your baby?

Talia (firmly): Yes.

Jason gasped, covering his mouth in horror as Talia's jaw clenched, aware of the direction this conversation was heading.

Jason (panicking): Oh my god, you did take advantage of me! Is it MY baby?!

Talia (composed): In your mind, maybe! In reality, we never had sex! I’ve said this over a hundred times! You trying to woo me was met with rejection! You were my student, close to my son before I had this one! I sure as hell wasn’t going to do that while you were underage and unhinged. What kind of person do you take me for?

Jason (bluntly): You… swear allegiance to your father at every turn, and I’ve seen how you’ve been with your obsession— oops, I mean, ex-husband. Excuse me for assuming the worst of you.

Talia (raising her voice): He was my ex-husband! Stupid annulment! And for the twenty-thousandth time, I did NOT have sex with you!

Suddenly, the baby sneezed, startling Talia. She turned him side to side, dipping him as if she were checking to see if the batteries in a toy were dead. The baby stretched his tiny hand to touch his mother’s nose.

Talia: Oh my habibi, I thought I scared you.

Returning the baby to her hip, Talia resumed speaking to Jason, who still looked incredibly confused.

Jason (jokingly): Then whose baby is it? Bruce's?

Jason chuckled, but Talia shot him an unamused glare. He tilted his head slightly, puzzled by her lack of laughter or clarification.

Talia (sighing): He is the father.

Jason's eyes widened in surprise, then he shook his head, hesitating to believe it.

Jason (doubtful): No, he’s not.

Talia (serious): He is.

Jason (refusing to believe Bruce folded): No… No, he’s not.

Talia (through gritted teeth): Yes. He. Is.

Jason: Bruce is a lot of things, and I don't care for him at the moment, but there's no way he laid down with you and conceived a child. That's a baby! You would've had to sex— gross thought, with him about a year ago.

Talia (flatly): That’s typically how conceiving a child works.

Jason (shaking his head): You’re serious… He can’t be the father. No way.

Talia held up her index finger, pulled out her phone, and dialed her father.

Talia (when he answers): Father, please confirm for Jason that the DNA test revealed Bruce is the father of our beloved child.

Ra's Al Ghul (sobbing): Stop reminding me of that! I only want to focus on him being an assassin, not related to that man!

Talia ended the call and looked at Jason smugly.

Talia: There you go.

Jason leaned forward, squinting to study the baby’s facial features. After a few seconds, his eyes widened again as he noticed the baby had the same resting angry face as Bruce.

Jason (stunned): You and him…had him? Oh my god. Oh my god, it actually happened! The supposed tough dark knight who never folds, folded for a booty call! Yes!

Jason began to chuckle, which quickly escalated into fits of laughter. He sat down, still laughing, while Talia tapped her foot impatiently.

Talia (offended): It was NOT a booty call! Our night of passion was unforgettable…especially since the condom did, in fact, break. Damn gas station contraceptives!

Jason (between laughs): You used the ones from the gas station? Hahaha! Wait, wait, who had the condom?

Talia: He…did. They were in his wallet.

Jason burst into laughter, throwing his head back in hysteria to the point where he had to cover his mouth. Talia, incensed, could only glare at him.

Jason (enjoying this): You're both relatively smart people; how did you mess up that badly?

Talia let out an exhausted exhale, refusing to respond.

Jason (correctly guessing, having been around these people for a long time): I get it—you don’t want to answer. Mind if I take a guess? No need to respond. I wasn’t around because of traveling and mercenary work, and he was more depressed than usual, and you just happened to be there at the right time. You two did the nasty. Then he had — can’t believe I’m saying this — post-nut clarity and decided this was it. You two would no longer be together, but oh no, you ended up pregnant. Did I miss anything?

Talia (her eyes shifting downward, debating if it was a mistake to bring the baby in): He… was always downtrodden, and we were on good terms at the time. Okay, not… good terms, but that first Robin wasn't around, and he needed consoling. I told him I might be pregnant, and he was excited, but knowing how he views my life, he'd want our child with him, so… I lied about a miscarriage.

Jason: Ah, okay, that makes sense. He seriously had sex with you—like, awake and everything?

Talia nodded, sucking her lips in as her brows furrowed in anger.

Jason: Wow! This is a lot hilarity to take in and— Hold up, you two had sex while I was planning to kill him and Joker? You have got to be kidding me! I- I I should be furious! Yet, I can't stop laughing.

Jason laughed harder, leaning back in his chair and covering his eyes, doubled over at the humorous situation.

Talia: Go ahead, let it out.

Jason nodded and threw his head back, laughing until he fell back in his chair. His feet kicked as he guffawed at the revelation. The little baby giggled for a moment, mostly at seeing someone else laugh. Talia held the baby, who had been quietly observing their banter, close to her face.

Talia: Big Brother Jacy doesn’t understand that you are the love child of a perfect pair.

Jason laughed harder, covering his eyes. The "perfect pair" description was deeply ironic, given everything he knew about both parents. After a minute, he finally composed himself, letting out a happy sigh at the new material to mock Bruce with.

Talia (seriously): Do not tell Bruce. He’s not ready to meet him yet.

Jason stood up and pushed in his chair but decided to stand instead. He wiped his brow; he hadn't laughed that hard in years.

Jason (grinning): Ah, yes, the miscarriage lie. You didn’t tell him about his son yet. That’s another smart choice from you. He's totally going to want to be with you after he finds that out you loon. Whew, I needed that. And no worries, I won’t tell him a thing.

Talia (deadpan): Jason, as much amusement as you find in this, I’m serious about keeping your mouth shut. If you tell him in any way, I have men who can make your death look like a suicide or render you a vegetable.

Jason patted Talia on the shoulder, unfazed by her threats to his second life. Talia's brows furrowed annoyed.

Jason (sincerely): Chill, Talia. The secret is safe with me until you’re ready to tell him. It’s the perfect revenge plan, and I could use some hush money.

He crossed his arms with a smirk. Talia glared at Jason, but after a few seconds, she knew he wasn't afraid of her in this situation.

Talia (rolling her eyes while cradling the baby): You’re going to find a way to tell him to get back at me regardless of the threats?

Jason: Oh yeah. I will meet God or Satan and have them send a message if I have to. I stopped fearing you a few years ago. I take cash payments and direct deposits. And when you do tell him, send me pictures or a video of his reaction.

Talia (aggravated sigh): You’re so unserious.

Jason: Thanks for the compliment. What’s the kid’s name, by the way?

Talia (pondering): I’ve been debating different names. Father wanted me to name him…Ra's Jr.? I would rather die than name him that. I eventually decided on a more american name, Damian. Damian Wayne for my cute wittle habibi.

She softly rubbed her son's cheeks with a fist, eliciting a giggle from the infant. Talia took a moment to stare at her son with something she rarely showed: motherly happiness. That stopped when she heard Jason chuckle again.

She ignored his judgmental smirk, returning to the present topic.

Talia (defensively): No judgment! I’ve always wanted a baby with Bruce. Never tell my father I showed that type of affection. He hasn't demonstrated it for a long time, and his head might explode seeing me give it to my child.

Jason (teasing): I might bring it up one day to piss him off.

Talia (warning): If you do—

Jason (interrupting): Yes, yes, you'll toss me into the river or whatever.

Talia: I- My word, I wanted to introduce you to Damian because technically you're brothers, yet you aggravated me. Be happy I see you as family regardless of your incorrected ill will toward Bruce. You're the only one I can say is his brother— unlike that…Nightwing.

Talia spat on the ground as if she had poison on her tongue. Jason coughed, wanting to alert Talia that he was actually on good terms with Dick, but her sneering lip displayed her animosity toward the hero.

Talia: Would you like to visit more and spend time with him? I need help raising him until I tell Bruce; my father isn't the best at parenting anymore.

Jason glanced at the baby resting his head against Talia's chest. The baby was cute, and unlike his parents, Jason didn’t have a vendetta or indifference toward him.

Jason: I’ve always wanted a younger brother. You are paying me, so sure, I’ll spend time with him. I can rub that in Bruce's face later.

Talia (raising her eyebrow): Not the healthiest mindset, but okay.

Jason: Oh right, because you're in a position to judge me. The woman who had sex with her ex-husband who hasn't had a stable relationship with a woman since I was a kid and then sired a child due to a broken gas station condom. Priceless!

Jason walked off, leaving Talia alone with her son. She groaned, raising an eyebrow in annoyance, but when she heard her baby yawn, she looked down at him and nuzzled her nose against his cheek.

Talia (softly): I don't care what he or anyone else has to say; you're my baby, and you’re so precious.

End of part 1

Jason's days in the league with baby Damian (pt. 2)

Jason's days in the league with baby Damian (pt. 3)

Part 4