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confessedlyfannish · 25 days

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 5 months

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you’re watching the maury show on your computer when katsuki marches into your room without a word and flops down next to you on your bed.

“ hello to you, too.” you snort. his words are muffled by your sheets but you’re about 90% sure he told you to shut up, you ignore it.

he lays face down on your bed for a while not saying anything and you know he’s had a long day and wants to be close to you without actually talking. you don’t mind, you’ll give him his space until he reaches out himself.

and he does after a little bit, turning his head around to face you as he looks from you to your computer screen, eyes focusing on the woman screaming that the man she cheated on her husband with was 100% not the father of her baby, mixed with the cheers of the audience.

he looks at you and raises a brow “ what’s happenin ?”

“ lady cheated on her husband with his brother.” you respond.

“ his brother ?” he repeats. his eyebrows furrow and you know he’s hooked. if there’s one thing katsuki loves but will never admit he does, it’s trash tv.

you nod, grinning somewhat evilly “his brother. now they’re trying to find out which one’s the father.”

he hums, scooting himself closer to you so he can see the screen too. he flips himself around so his neck isn’t craned at that awkward angle anymore and settles himself down right next to you. hook, line and sinker.

he wraps his arm around your shoulder and shoves his head in your neck, breathing you in. you both don’t say anything. “do you want me to play it from the beginning for you ?” he shakes his head in your neck. you reach your hand up to scratch at his scalp and you smile when he sighs. he holds you a little tighter, pressing feather light kisses into your neck.

katsuki’s never been good at expressing himself with any other emotion that isn’t anger. it makes him feel stupid and weak and soft. he’s had a long fucking day and he doesn’t wanna talk about it, simply wanting to indulge in you but he can’t tell you that, can’t find the words to, so he tries to find other ways to tell you and he hopes you understand and you do.

katsuki’s thankful for you because sometimes he wants to talk, wants to open up about what’s bothering him but sometimes he doesn’t. he doesn’t and you don’t pry when you know he doesn’t and he’s so thankful for you. he presses kisses on your skin and soft bites at your flesh to convey just how thankful he is, how grateful he is for having you. he hopes every warm press of his lips against your skin can convey how much he loves you loving him. and it does, because you turn your head and kiss the side of his head so sweetly and he knows you’re it for him.

he’ll tell you all of this one day, he promises. he’ll tell you all the thoughts swimming around in his head one day, but he hopes this’ll do for now. and unknowingly to him, it absolutely does.

he pulls his head out of your neck and kisses you hard on the cheek one, two, three times and you giggle. you feel him smile into your cheek when he kisses you a fourth time.

“fuck’re they screamin’ about ?” he says and you turn to look back at the screen. the woman is yelling at her husband’s brother vehemently denying the possibility of him being her baby’s father. you feel a little bad for laughing. “ she says he’s not the dad” you answer.

he clicks his tongue “ why the fuck is she on the show then.” he says, turning his attention back to your computer but his grip on you stays secure. you press yourself a little closer to him.

you’re still smiling lightly when you look back at your screen, simply shrugging. “ she said something about her having more sex with her husband than with him.” you answer and he snorts.

“ ten bucks neither one of them’s the father.”

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moeblob · 1 month

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So does he, Gallagher.

#honkai star rail #hsr blade #gallagher #i based this off of how many times i used funny soda man to help be a healer with his poppin soda pop in SU #and then blade constantly just being blade as usual #its normally him saying unnecessary to my actual healer but #i kept forgetting gallagher heals and i kept healing when i didnt even need to so TECHNICALLY yeah it was unnecessary #but the amount of times blade was the recipient......#i cant use like most of my newer units in story bc i cant ascend or i run out of leveling mats so i just #get them and toss them into simulated universe for funsies cause i can match their levels better #so thats where i tossed gallagher and he is genuinely fun to play as ? like i love his punches and kicks to start the battle #funny soda man is funny (to me) and im really behind in plot still #but last time i tried to play it on my laptop and got a kickass cutscene my laptop lagged and i couldnt even see it RIP to me #so now that its like ... me trying to play it on desktop ?#i mostly get on desktop for comms and if i do much else i feel like im slacking off even if i would take a break anyway #one day i can play more story plot stuff and actually meet the funny guys #also in case you know me for Not Having Boys in HSR i need to point out #i did pull Gallagher however same 10 pull got a 4 star girl copy for someone i never use and she is at e4 now cool #and i didnt even think of the irony as i started this i just like drawing blade and i wanted to draw gallagher #so when i already had the dialogue planned and am drawing i was like OH WAIT haha im funnier than i thought #(no i am not but we can pretend)

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chaiaurchaandni · 5 months

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4 year old Ahmad Shabat - an israeli airstrike hit him, his parents & 4 siblings; he survived, they didn't - then they hit him & his father's relatives; he survived, they didn't - then they hit him & his uncle; he survived, his uncle didn't - both of Ahmed's legs have been amputated because of injuries. He survives.

i hope Ahmad gets to live. i hope he has a beautiful and fulfilling life. i hope he finds love and safety and comfort and success. i hope he finds happiness. i hope he heals. i hope he continues to survive. in spite of the violence, in spite of the trauma, in spite of the horror. in spite of the world.

#it feels like my heart is breaking over and over and over again #i hope this kid gets to live. i hope he has a beautiful and fulfilling life.#i hope he finds love and safety and comfort and success #i hope he finds happiness #i hope he heals #i hope he continues to survive in spite of everything #no child should have to go through even a fraction of this #never forget and never ever forgive #i remember seeing a video of him and his uncle. his uncle was speaking ab how they only have each other left. then they killed his uncle to #i am losing my mind every day #i spit on this world and everyone that has the power to stop this but wont #free palestine #palestine #gaza #long live palestine #death to israel #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #glory to the martyrs #long live the resistance

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sleepis4theweak · 2 months

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This comic is based off my little brother- who I adore to bits- but who also struggles saying "I love you", "I miss you" or "I'm worried about you". Instead of saying those things he tends to do random acts to get my attention and/or cheer me up. When I left for college he brought up a ton of stuff that he had stolen from me over the years and it was honestly very cute. <3

(This is actually months and months old- but I found it the other day and I don't think I ever posted it (maybe???), which is a shame 'cause I remember being really proud of it. If I did post it and I forgot... uhhhh happy repost? Idk)

#I love my brother so much <3 #Im better at saying it then him #but I don't really need him to say it back; its okay I understand what he means when he does random acts to get my attention #also side note: all of the stuff he stole I knew about and was letting him keep lmao #they were all little trinkets that he had stolen to get attention haha #hes such a little brat I MISS HIMMMMMMMMM #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #i never draw this duo this was so fun #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #raph 2018 #donnie 2018 #brains and brawns duo #I forget their duo name #<3 <3 <3 #sleepy art

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cuddleswinchester · 3 months

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DOS discussing Charles’ accent.

#aka dos voice reveal #he’s so delightful to me idk if I’ve mentioned that before 🤔#DOSposting #mashposting #David Ogden Stiers #I was surprised he had to push for the accent! that seems like it would’ve been on the blueprint #they loved him so much just the way he was :)#but I’m glad Charles is distinctly Charles #I am full of emotions #never forget he had a stutter 💜

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ghostlywhiskey · 4 months

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based off this tiktok and how the cod men would cuddle (simon is at the end). simon’s really did something to me and made me all warm and fuzzy inside. kinda wrote this with the idea that reader & simon haven’t been sexually intimate yet too. no anatomy mentioned for reader so can be read as gn!reader :)

it’s you and simon early in your relationship. somewhere between the lines of you both have feelings for each other, trying to rationalize it and seeing how it could work with his job. ‘i love you’ hasn’t been spoken yet, the words confirmed in different sayings to show you both care for each other. physical intimacy early on consists of quick kisses here and there; whether it's on the lips, the top of your head or cheek. it’s the hand that rests gently on your lower back while he guides you through crowds before taking your hand securely in his so he doesn’t lose you. but, that wasn’t ever possible. even if you lost him in a crowd, he’d stick out like a sore thumb from his frame alone.

but it’s one night before he’s supposed to leave for a mission. the day earlier spent running errands with him while he grabbed small necessities followed by lunch. after all of that it was take out for dinner until the both of you retreated to his room; originally you didn’t plan on staying the night, but by the time you realize how late it was he just convinced you it was no problem to stay.

he dug through the drawers for a change of clothes for you, a pair of boxers to act as shorts and a t-shirt that might as well be a dress on you the way it came down just above your knees. you waited until he got into bed first, cautiously slipping under the covers on the side you’d sleep on once he was settled.

it was new territory in your relationship. there were times where he would have his arm around you while you both were sat on the couch and you’d lean into him. but now, being in bed with him, it felt like your body tensed as you pulled the covers up and snuggled them as you turned on your side to face him. laying on his back, eyes fixated on the ceiling until he felt your gaze and turned his head to look at you.

“what is it?” it wasn’t a harsh question, nor did it sound like it was. it was gentle despite the usual gruffness of his tone.

shaking your head slightly as it rested on the pillow, you held your gaze with him as you answered, “nothing, just saying good night.”

there was a brief pause and the air felt heavy around the two of you, or at least it did for you. and before you could speak the words good night to him, his body rolled onto his side and grabbed for yours. an arm snaked under you as the other hand pulled you against him and secured itself around your waist; both of your legs found their way to interlock comfortably.

“si–” eyes glancing up to see what you could of his face. his eyes closed while he pressed his lips against your forehead gently.

“gon’ miss you,” lips move against your forehead as he speaks, the arm around your waist moving slightly so he can scratch at your back while your one arm that wasn’t buried under your weight could reach to cup his cheek. a small space breaks between both of your heads so you can clearly glance up at him as he lowers his own to meet your eyes again.

“i’ll be here when you come back, yeah?” your voice is soft and reassuring, because you know his brain well enough to know where his thoughts are wandering off to.

“i wouldn’t ask you to–” his words are cut off by your own.

“i’ll be here,” you repeat the words, this time it sounds more confident, but still assured. there’s no hesitation.

slipping his arm away from your body, it comes to cup your face as well. both of you laying there, your thumb brushing against his scar covered cheek. simon’s hand rests so that your ear sits between his pointer and middle finger, thumb just by your hairline. both of your breaths steady and hitting each other's faces until he tugs you closer to his, lips pressing against your lips this time.

and you swear the words ‘i love you’ are spoken by him, mumbled against your lips as he kisses you. in return, your hand tugs his face closer as if it wasn’t already, your body pressing against his as both of your body heat exchange between each other, more so his.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #nic talks ghost #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x gn reader #i love him so bad i will never forget my roots let my username show it

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