You can control time, but you can only do one thing to it.
It works on touch. After you use it on a target (living or otherwise), you canât use the power on that target again for at least one tenth of the time taken. It does not change memories or personalities; only the condition of the body changes if it is used on living things.
What power do you want?
A: Become the best in the entire world at a random thing (such as specific genres of videogames, specific sports, specific types of boardgame, specific skills such as cooking, etc) (you do not decide what, it is chosen at random)
B: Gain the power to manipulate Time at will, but it is extremley difficult to control and will take a century of enormous effort to master
C: Get an absolutley perfect adaptation (for your preferences) of a work of fiction or nonfiction of your choice in the medium of your choice, and be able to control how popular it becomes and the common opinion on it
A/N: An ashamedly looked over piece of classic MPHFPC fandom. Time-Keepers.
Time is precious. It is precise. It takes a great deal of care to mind certain repeating time. Loops were usually looked well after by Ymbrynes. They rarely had need of Loop-Keepers. But Miss Peregrine was a peculiar Peculiar minder. Her loop was made out of desperation, urgency. Her look was not the calm home an Ymbryne wished for. So her loop was permitted... you.
You werenât assigned to her. You were young and clueless, having stumbled upon her loop. She took you under her near-literal wing and taught you everything another Loop-Keeper could. Eventually, she had to report back to the Council about you. You both dreaded the day, having grown so close, you were both elated that you were allowed to stay. You instantly had your own chores, though much less than the children. You had the loop to attend to so she could manage her stress about the bombs and the Hollow to be dealt with.
It was so easy to Alma, to let you in. Trusting her Keeper was built into her as well. Affection and adoration, well that was mostly always there, but intimacy came later. Much later.
It was less easy for the kids. They didnât see how you helped. They only saw you had less chores and were constantly acting like you werenât in love with their Headmistress. They suspected it was under Miss Peregrineâs orders because she was acting just the same, just as badly. They were very disgruntled by you.
But this was a day that would change all that. Not that any of you knew it, possibly baring Horace, youâd later reflect.
The morning was in constant motion. All the kids wanted to be spick and span for the day so they could play immediately after breakfast. Chores would come later. You and Alma moved in unison to make a lovely breakfast with fresh fruits and a few vegetables youâd picked and sliced especially for the kids you knew loved pears and pineapples. It wasnât often they ate something so light, Alma preferring something hearty to help them last until dinner. You reasoned they could have snacks as well, she kept stocked with anything and everything they could want and need. It was remarkable.
You were all settling down for breakfast when Alma did a head count. âChildren, whereâs Emma?â she asked.
Hugh giggled. Enoch smirked. âUhm, Hughâs bath went a little long and Emmaâs time got set off. Sheâll be down shortly,â the necromancer assured his Headmistress.
Appeased, Alma moved onto the next task. âHugh, you must be courteous to other childrenâs morning schedule,â she scolded lightly. She knew he already knew better and wouldnât repeat it for a good time.
âYes, Miss Peregrine,â he mumbled, chagrined anyway.
Nodding, Alma sat down and Emma came down the stairs. Her hair wasnât entirely dry, but Alma had chosen a warm day. She glowered at the bee-keeper. (Youâd made a joke about the similarities of your Peculiarityâs titles, but he hadnât got it.) She took her seat and the tension almost left the room. Breakfast started with a bit of silence, the children excited about an unusual spread.
Claire mumbled something about the pineapple that the mute Fiona picked up on. She turned to her (they were sitting right beside each other), and they shared a mini conversation. Other children broke into simple chatter. You and Alma just watched as they had the closest they would ever get to being a normal kind of happy. That was never a major goal, you both wanting them to be proud of what set them apart, but it was nice to see that they could be... kids.
The eating wound down until only Hugh was sucking on a pineapple. He noticed he was last and chomped down his food, wiping his mouth and hands with his napkin. He was already standing out to Miss P for bad behavior. A few bees escaped his maw, but that was anything but unusual.
Alma stood, reaching for plates. âYou may play until you must begin your chores.â You rose behind her, gathering the other sideâs as the children raced into the yard.
Hugh and Millard went for the football (soccer ball) and Horace went in his own direction, a sketchbook youâd smuggled from the real world under his arm and a pencil in his hand. He looked out with his monocle to deem a decent seating place or inspiration.
Alma set the dishes in the soapy water and you took over the position of washing them. You slowly put suddy flatware and cups in the free sink, aware you hadnât heard Alma walk away. She had a light step, but you could always feel her. You were just aware, in the back of your head, not mind, she was still there. Your intuition was proven correct when she stepped up behind you, arms around your waist. She just watched what you did as if she hadnât done it a million times. Distracting lips plied their way across the expanse of your skin. She got this way sometimes, she was a terrible tease, but wouldnât dare think of taking it further. Youâd only been in her home a month. She was used to the bigger picture needing thinking about.
You had to prove youâd stay by... well, staying. A deep breath kept you centered on washing, rinsing, and racking the dishes from a single position. You didnât dare vary from the task. You wished to stay as you were.
But, inevitably, she was called away. No rest for an Ymbryne. She was off from the kitchen and you dried off the dishes with a clean rag, focused on the task when a noise distracted you. âMiss Peregrine?â
You looked up to see little Claire, looking ever so shy. You wondered if sheâd ever open up, in any way. âIâm afraid not, sweetheart. Could I help you with something.â
The blonde looked around the room with the intent of not seeing you. âUm... no...â And she slinked from the room.
You frowned after her, stung but more concerned. You finished your task and stepped up the stairs to tidy up Victor. He never took much. You supposed you were a bit mad, you enjoyed talking to him as you cleaned up his room. You told him about Miss Peregrine, how much more sleep she was getting, how low her shoulders set (not drooping, but not as uptight as before). You skirted around the topic of Bronwyn, not wanting to upset him. You ran out of things to clean before you ran out of things to talk about, and you knew you had a schedule to keep so you left his room, making for the front door. You walked out a good ways past the house before turning. You walked the perimeter multiple times a day, one of the things the kids didnât understand. This kept the house being the focal point of the Loop. This made sure the kids remembered the day before. Which was still... the same day- It was confusing, still, after a month.
Your perimeter established the break between morning chores and afternoon chores. Any morning chores not finished by now would be punished, but have no lasting problems. You took the clothes off the line and folded them before dropping them into the basket. This was also a new chore and the children were only recently given permission to wear different clothes everyday. Alma usually saved it for how she measured a weekend or someone got sick or so.
Clothes were redistributed and you made another perimeter before taking to the library and grabbing a book. You heard the tell tale signs of the family leaving for their daily walk and the click-clack of Alma as she found where you hid out. âYouâre certain you want to stay here alone?â she asked for the millionth time, once each day.
You smiled at your routineer. âYes, Alma. I love my alone time.â You frowned. That was more than you usually answered. âNot that I donât love you all-!â you started to babble.
The Ymbryne silenced you with a kiss, one... long... She eased back, pecking your nose as she did in peregrine form before going for the walk.
Rather than a thirty minute trek whichever way they went, it was a whole hour now, allowing the family do whatever they liked. They went to the beach sometimes. You burned ever-so easily. And anyway, Alma never liked being away from her home for very long. Thatâs why she never had such long walks before. Another new development. Youâd volunteered to stay behind a few times, then it became the new norm. You sat in the living room, sensing the edges of the property youâs walked several times. Eventually you grew bored with your choice in literature and you didnât want to start a new book so you put it up and went for another walk. You had made two perimeters before you sensed something off. You hadnât even had time to properly investigate when a sharp pain overtook your senses, submerging them in darkness.
*
Pain erupted in your head, a piercing stabbing feeling cutting through the deep darkness of your sleepy mind. An unwanted groan tumbled over your lips half a second before you were swiftly kicked in the stomach. You bent in half, holding back another groan.
âSilence, bitch,â was your only explanation for your immediate pain.
âIâll not have that language in my house!â Alma was commanding as ever, a rock steadying you in the ocean of your confusion and pain.
You peeled your eyes open to find a single wight in the house, little Claire in his grasp, and Alma standing across from him, with Enoch, Emma, and Bronwyn crowded behind her. You moved very slowly so as not to attract attention. You turned onto your stomach, pushing your weight up with your arms. Claireâs legs moved to the side - she cried briefly as the swift action - as the wightâs leg kicked from the other side of her to clock you under your chin.
As you fell back, you couldnât feel nor sense Enochâs glare. You were too distracted throwing your hands out. The wight froze in his spot and Alma lunged forward, working with you, to take Claire from his hands. You brought one leg underneath him and were on your feet by the time the blondeâs movement knocked him out of your peculiar ability. You needed no hands to slow time, his descent backwards taking so many seconds you got impatient and grabbed the side of his face, shoving him down. He still moved as if in tar and was near the ground before you brought your own foot up under his turned head. He came back into regular time and flew back into the sitting roomâs door, smacking his head into the wood something awful.
Both you and Alma faced the standing, shaking blonde. âAre you okay?â you asked her as Alma addressed the others and Claire: âIs anyone injured?â
Claire nodded at you while the others shook their heads.
The percieved safety nearly took the strength from your knees, but you had more pressing issues. You stood back to your full height, the drop in your legs a figment of your imagination, and turned to the wight. âIs he-?â
Alma took your arms, securing you dangerously. âYes, dearest,â she answered before you could finish. She anticipated the collapse and held you close, lifting you into her arms. âEmma, dispatch of our guest, if you please.â
*
Your head had taken quite a beating this day. You pulsed and throbbed, though you didnât dare make a sound. Wherever you were smelled better than any torture chamber so that was a plus. Your skull was trying to IKEA itself back into its original packaging, not you. You turned your head, squeezing your eyes tight before sighing at the unchanged migraine. A gentle touch to your cheek startled your eyes wide.
But it was just Alma. Your Alma. Seated beside the bed you often shared, leaned over the gap between you to rest only a few inches away. You could feel her breath on your face, smell the mint.
You mumbled her name, reaching for her with the hand closer to her. She closed that still short distance, pressing her forehead against yours. You disapproved of the action with a small whimper and she moved back automatically. But you still wanted her, even if her touch spread fire, let it have you. You reached still, getting a hold on her clothes. You attempted to pull and pull, hoping sheâd get the message. Oh, unless she had other things to be doing.
âOne of my little darlings stole my spot, my darling.â
You turned back to what youâd been smelling when you first woke up. Claire tucked into your side, your not free arm wrapped around her securely. Her head rested on your shoulder. You moved back into the position youâd been in when you awoke and took a whiff. She smelled like candy and sunlight. You laughed under your breath, crying at the moment you never expected.
âShe wouldnât be budged once you were settled.â
You faced your love again, tears leaking from the sides of your eyes.
Alma leaned forward, ever so concerned. âOh, donât do that. Youâll make your headache worst.â
You laughed again, shaking your head even as it pounded worse than ever. This was the first time you felt truly at home here.
*
You loved your Alma. But she was driving you insane. You werenât permitted to move from your spot. The first few days, she had alarmingly strong medication to keep you safe and healing. After the necessity wore off, you were restless, always trying to sneak off. Millard had taken up constant watch in your room. Creepy, and he refused to wear clothes. You suspected it was so he could leave and you wouldnât know.
Well, you more than knew. You had snuck out a few times when he had and heâd pulled you back to bed even fewer times. Unfortunately, Alma mightâve been right. While not needing constant, debilitating pain medication, you were far from healed. And Miss Peregrine didnât truly know the extent of your injuries. So, a week and a half of half-tag with Millard and being carried back to bed by Alma, you took a downturn. Because, even in paradise, not everything is perfect sunshine and rainbows. Well, it couldâve been... if Alma had chosen a few days before the 3rd. Maybe some day in August.
You were distracting yourself, mostly on purpose, mostly from the all-consuming cold overtaking you. Alma said very delayed shock and something about PTSD. You thought she was exaggerating or just plain scared. But you didnât have time for bitter thoughts on your love who left you for a whole minute to make you a cup of tea. And Heaven forfend if you tried to deny it. You burrowed further into your covers which had been piled about as high as the ceiling. You wondered where sheâd gotten them all from, but knew she wasnât above robbing the entire island and then some. So long as the kids had theirs, you were fine.
Alma wasnât sleeping again. You werenât okay with it. It took a great deal of concentration to be truly upset, but she could bet sheâd be getting a lecture of her own when you were better, warmer. Another wave of shivers wracked you, goosebumps from nowhere taking over.
Why was Alma gone still? It mustâve been years. You were going to be in this bed forever, like Victor. Trapped by her sentimentality, imprisoned by her pretty smiles, distracted by her kind heart until you had no choice but to stay.
Thankfully, footsteps drew you from your delirious ramblings. You turned to find a blonde you recognized. You felt immensely better at the presence of Emma.Â
Though, she looked very cautious. She kept looking out the door to make sure it was just you two. Another shiver wracked your suffocated form. She frowned down at you in concern. She could hardly peel back any of the blankets, her hand sliding under the covers before taking your forearm. The warmth emanating from her touch nearly made you fall asleep. It gave you good goosebumps. âWhat you did was very brave,â she whispered. âNone of us blame you. And if we did, you more than made up for it.âÂ
The comfort of no longer being alone with your thoughts chased away the mean ramblings and echoes from before. You slowly melted into the bedspread, drifting to a realm of peaceful sleep.Â
âWelcome to the family,â Emma bade, moving to gently kiss your forehead.Â
Hi Ginger please could I have some prompts about heroes and villains who can stop or slow down time?
"But you can- you can stop anything?" It came out like more of a question than they wanted it to. Made them sound junior, inexperienced. Like they didn't know the ins and outs of their inherited nemesis' powers. "You could- you could fix this."
"Stop things, yeah. Reverse?" They shook their head. "I'm afraid turning back time is beyond even me."
-----
"And this is what the world looks like to me."
Their nemesis stared out at the unmoving scenery. There was amazement in their eyes, but. But. "You're meant to be showing me the frozen view. Not staring at me."
"I've never got to see anyone moving against a still world before. Just let me...look. Please."
-----
"Go on then. Freeze me."
The superhero watched them. Cautious. Bordering on wary. "You don't want that. You- you make it seem like it would be a violation. You..." They paused, chewed on their lip. "You sound like someone else has done it to you before, and you hated it."
They shrugged, sharp enough to be jagged. "Who likes being frozen?"
"Who else is even capable of it? As far as I know, there's just me. And I've never met you before." They paused, and then slowly added, "That I know of."
-----
"You need to unfreeze them. You need t- you need to let them go."
"They're fine, they're going to be fine, we just need a doctor, a hospital-"
"They're dead. [Villain], they're dead. They've been dead for hours."
-----
thank you for commissioning these! if anyone else would like to commission a prompt set my kofi is here <3
As a general rule, I tend to find this kind of post-millennium noodling jazz fusion stuff quite flatly unenjoyable; Hiromiâs Time Control is a technically competent, slightly acid-tinged and frequently cheeky effort, but remains totally untesting.
