one thing about thg fanficitons is that they will NOT make the characters happier. never seen a fandom where the canon-compliant tag is so prominent. like what do you mean your first instinct is not a College AU
RMH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
★
Show & Tell

shark vs the universe
Noah Kahan
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
untitled

@theartofmadeline

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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sheepfilms

roma★
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occasionally subtle
Keni
𓃗

Andulka
h
Mike Driver

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seen from United States
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@katherinejewell
one thing about thg fanficitons is that they will NOT make the characters happier. never seen a fandom where the canon-compliant tag is so prominent. like what do you mean your first instinct is not a College AU
the number of times i think about the full body viking skeleton i saw in the museum is ridiculous like when i say it haunts me i mean it actually haunts me
every time i remember the questions are endless — what was his name? what did his mother call him? what sounds did he wake up to? what sounds did he die to? how old was he when he died? how old when he fell in love? how old when he first fell out? who cried with him and laughed with him? who cried for him? how many miles of separation can i draw between my ancestors and him? was he kind, serious, jokey? was he sombre or impulsive? was he chatty and good-humoured or a cantankerous asshole? like…i have never stopped thinking about this.
the fact that at one point in time this was a living breathing person. with memories and petty hates and the dumbest jokes. and friends he loved. and the fact that he probably at some point burst out into drunken song or punched someone in an argument or GOT punched in an argument or tripped into the mud while his friends pissed themselves laughing or or or or…countless or‘s into infinity
and the fact that before all of that this massive skeleton was tiny toddler (was he scared of the dark? did he squabble with his siblings? did he have siblings?) who may or may not have hid behind his mother or probably got hoisted onto an adult’s shoulders and in his little mind thought this person was the strongest human in the world and that he could hold the whole sky up just by standing there like that and as long as he was up there he was king of the world or could be.
like…what am i supposed to do with this? what does ANYONE do with this? how are you supposed to cope with the enormity of this while at the same time realising just how tiny and fleeting our lives are? there is literally more than a THOUSAND years between us & ALL of it has been pinched down to a glass case not even 2 inches thick like…i’m losing my mind.
I got this feeling when I saw some petroglyphs on the side of a cliff like.. a human made those. That human felt all of the emotions I feel they went through the same universal human experience and they each had vivid internal lives and memories. Wild.
ok this is next level and i honestly…i honestly can’t
during my prehistory module we got given Roman pottery and roofing slabs that had thumb prints in the handles and I put my thumb over those thumb marks and cried in the middle of the tutorial
I do pottery, and it’s one of my favorite things about the medium: that you can often see the shape of someone’s fingers in the surface. I love it when someone just shoves a finger somewhere while throwing, and leaves it there as a place for YOU to put your finger. Little thumbrests on top of mug handles is a fave. “How did you make those ridges like that on the outside? How did you make that spiral on the bottom?” “With my fingers.”
All of this.
At Wells Cathedral in England the stairs down from the chapter house have had dips worn into their stone by centuries of human feet taking the most direct route up and down.
Thinking about the immense distances between the stars makes me panic, but looking back into human history gives me peace.
Reminds me of when we got to see this exposition on ancient egypt.
I was like, “Wow a real life papyrus!”
but then my mom said, clearly moved, “Wow, that’s someone’s handwriting.”
That moment when History becomes People.
“Why study History? If you don’t like knowing the models of every airplane and gun ever made for ww2 that’s how history nerds are”
Oh there is so much humanity reaching out to us to take us by the hands and say
“We dreamed of you and hoped you too would be!”
THIS is the bear cave painting i was talking about, the line weight, the proportions, the fine details around the face, and the fact that this all had to be drawn from memory, idk man, it’s incredible to me. if i could meet one person from history it’d be the person that painted this bear 30,000 years ago
oof
I want a relationship like this
The himbo energy here is impeccable
[Transcription: A well-dressed fancy lady and man stand facing each other in an old-fashioned movie*
Woman: “And now you want me to teach you jiu jitsu.”
Man: “If you don’t mind, Miss Plum.”
Plum, loud and excitedly: “IT’LL BE A PLEASURE.”
*She rips his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders, grips him aggressively, and yeets him over her shoulder in a jiu jitsu martial arts fashion*
Man: *Clasping her arms a few seconds later while she looks coyly at him* “Now, let me see. Um. Let me do it to you.”
*He appears very concentrated, the camera shifts to her soft smile and romantic music begins to play, accentuating a mood that he is NOT picking up on*
“Now, let me see first of all I, um,- I pull this down.” *He pulls her cardigan off her shoulders, her collarbone now exposed and she likes it that way, she looks very obviously at his lips, like this lady has absolutely zero chill*
“Now I do this!” *He jilts her shoulders into them so their faces are centimeters away, she looks like she would like to eat his face and he is still very concentrated but in a giddy boy way*
Him: “Then I hold you close!”
Plum: “Closer.”
Him, confuzzled: “I beg your pardon?”
Plum: “Closer!! Close as you can!” *She is mentally having sex already*
Him: “Oh, yes.” *He searches her eyes for direction*
Him: “Now what do I do?”
*Miss Plum is absolutely beaming*
Plum: “Don’t you know?”
*She wants him to do things to her and he stands there mouth agape. You can see his one braincell struggling visibly in his hollow brain as realization of the century is dangling in front of him. He’s about to realize and then*
Him: “Of course! Now I apply the leverage!” *And he yeets her on to the floor*
*The music swells and fades, telling the audience that this man’s one braincell has failed him. Himbo of the century.*
END.]
Reblogging for the trasncript.
My friend Isaac has the most gorgeous hands I have ever seen, and I am completely enamored of them. The day I met him he promised to let me draw them, and I finally got to last weekend.
Vincent & Theo Van Gogh
Hannah Gadsby in Nanette (2018) // At Eternity’s Gate dir. Julian Schnabel (2018) // Loving Vincent dir. Dorota Kobiela & Hugh Welchman (2017) // Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to Theo Van Gogh (1880) // Almond Blossoms by Vincent Van Gogh (1890); painted as a gift for the birth of his brother Theo’s son named after him
“It is not immediately obvious which of Zadkine’s figures is Vincent and which is Theo. Like all who relieve the suffering of others, Theo—in a process that is the exact opposite of a blood transfusion—has taken some of Vincent’s pain into himself. Soon, however, it becomes obvious that while the sky weighs heavily on both figures, one, Vincent, feels gravity as a force so terrible it can drag men beneath the earth. From this moment on you are held by the pathos and beauty of what Zadkine depicts: despair that is inconsolable, comfort that is endless. One figure says, “I can never feel better,” the other, “I will hold you until you are better.”
Geoff Dyer on Ossip Zadkine’s sculpture of Vincent and Theo Van Gogh (from “Blues for Vincent”, Otherwise Known as the Human Condition)
I’m a cis-gender man which basically means that, when I was born, the doctor went “It’s a boy!” and when I was old enough to understand I agreed with him.
The thing is, I don’t know why I feel like a man. I was teased and bullied for it a lot when I was little. I’ve never had stereotypically American male interests. I never cared about sports or cars or guns. I was more interested in music and cooking and the arts. I’ve always been emotionally in tune and sensitive, even when I did my best to suppress my emotions to survive a childhood of abuse from other children.
It’s not physical either. I don’t feel like a man because I have a penis or a beard. If you put my brain in a robot body or any other body, my essence would still feel male (I assume). I literally can’t imagine what being any other gender would feel like, since I feel so acutely male.
I think that’s why the concept of being transgender always made sense to me. I’m a man. I don’t have any bloody clue why I feel like a man, but I don’t feel that it’s tied to my body or my interests or the way that I’ve been treated. I feel like a man because of something beyond that. Something ephemeral. So, why couldn’t others feel the same? Why couldn’t a person who’s been misidentified as a girl feel like a boy for the exact same nebulous reasons that I do?
And, since gender really doesn’t make any sense to me anyway, why couldn’t there also be people who feel as if they don’t have one? Or who flow across genders like a ship on a map?
Are there people out there whose sense of their own gender is inseparable from their physical form? If you put those people into robot bodies or, simply, other physically different bodies, would their gender identity also swap? If so, why? Are they actually more lost in their gender identity than I am and they need to hone in on the physical in order to anchor themselves?
Why do people feel like they are the gender that they are?
This is very soul filling to read. Thank you
My grandfather, who had a difficult time coming to terms with it when I came out, has been working very hard to understand me and my experience. About 5 weeks ago, he asked me, almost offhand, “why are you so sure that you’re a man?”
And I replied, “well, I could ask you the same thing.” And I moved on, continued, tried to explain why I feel the way that I do, but I don’t think he heard any of those things that I said afterward.
Because six days later, we talked about it again, and this is what he told me:
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said last week. Because all my life I identified it as ‘these are the parts that I have, and so I am a man’. But you’re living proof that gender is not limited to what is attached to your body, so I asked myself, why am I a man? And all I can say is ‘because I have no idea what it feels like to be anything else’. I cannot imagine what it’s like to be a woman. Or neither, or both, or any other gender. I have always been a man.”
And I replied, “that’s exactly what it feels like for me.”
So, shoutout to my cisgender grandfather, for stumbling upon the essence of being trans accidentally, with very little help from me. I love you, grandpa.
watching cis folks suddenly and comprehensively grasp the inessential nature of gender is always a joy
Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me?
This is humanity put to good use. Screw all the stuff that’s happening these days, this is basically the only reason I like us stupid ape people. Little things like this, designed to keep us all happy and busy
i love this!!!
Now this is good design. Pay attention, tech companies - it’s not about looking shiny, it’s about understanding the end user’s needs and working with them.
So many wonderful ideas ❤️⭐️
Always a reblog for me. I don’t care how many times I see it.
Delicious, finally some good fucking food ____ Kitchen nightmares / Ratatouille crossover we all deserve
I’ve been waiting a year to post this
I’m afraid of Americans
This is super real.
Completely accurate.
@pre-successful America exposed.
It’s hilarious watching non-Americans react to this with fear because I read it just nodding along like “yes, in fact this is How Things Are, there you go”
If you ask an American how they are and they respond “Super.” that means they want to die
ACCURATE
If they say they’re peachy it means they’re tired of existence
If they say “Living the dream,” it means “please kill me, I hate my job so, so much.”
also “that’s a great question” means “I have no freaking idea”
if asked “how are things going?” and they reply “its going” it means theyre in the middle of a mental breakdown
this is all accurate and i hate it
My Best Friend reblogged this.
No no no, it’s
Friend - Someone I know
Good Friend - Someone I know and like
Best Friend - Actually best friend
Terrifyingly accurate
Lmao we do this in Ireland too 😂🇮🇪
So Imagine…
A world where Bruce Wayne died as a child in that alley that day, Martha and Thomas Wayne grieve as normal parents. They DO NOT BECOME BATMAN AND JOKER.
Nothing ever remains the same after losing their little boy. So, Thomas buries himself in his work and Martha drowns herself in depression and pain. They do therapy and it works a little and life becomes bearable but…not happy.
One day, Alfred badgers the couple to go out and relax a little and buys them tickets for a circus - Haly’s circus. Everything was going nice and dandy and Martha was in awe of this little acrobat as much as the rest of the crowd when suddenly the rope snaps and the boy’s parents fall to their deaths - right in front of him and the gathering. Thomas is quick to jump in to see if he could help them in any way but Martha can see it in his eyes that they are as dead as they can be.
They return to home with heavy hearts and Martha can’t get the image of the little boy out of her head. His skin was a light shade of bronze but his dark hair and bright cerulean blue eyes reminded her so much of Bruce that her heart wouldn’t rest. So a few days later she uses her connections to know if the child is safe and well cared for, when to her immense horror, she is replied that he was shipped to Gotham Juvie due to the lack of foster homes. She is enraged.
She calls Thomas and Alfred and lets them know about the little acrobat’s situation and declares that she was going to adopt him. They hesitate a little but she is not to be deterred as she goes ahead and brings the little boy home.
Richard John Grayson - Wayne. Or Dick, as he likes to call himself.
He is adamant that he wants no parents and Martha is fine because not only that she is old enough to be not his mother but also because no child can ever be her Bruce.
“You can just call me Grandma then.” She tells him.
His eyes are wide but he nods and then smiles and Martha, in a long while, has never felt this happy.
Her new Grandson, despite losing his parents, is a ray of sunshine with unlimited supply of energy and the cold and empty manor is warm and happy again.
Dick is a little charmer and even after Thomas and Alfred’s initial reluctance, they immediately fall in love with the boy and one day, when Martha comes down to the morning breakfast, she hears a happy, deep rumble - one she has not heard in many years. Thomas is laughing.
There on the dining table, seated beside Dick, was Thomas laughing. Her eyes water at the scene and Alfred, who is standing beside her offers her a handkerchief. None of them mention how his own eyes are wet too.
…
Dick is sixteen, a brilliant boy in academics as much as they disinterest him but an invincible athlete. Martha has been told time and time again that her grandson is undoubtedly a international level gymnast. But he is a teenager.
And teenagers steal their grandparent’s ‘coolest’ car and rush off into the night. But they don’t come back with a little battered and bruised, homeless kid tucked under their arm.
“He had jacked three tires off your car. When I confronted him, he tried to hit me with a tire iron.” He says, amused, as Thomas tries to convince the child to show him his injuries.
“I didn’t do nothin’! He’s a fuckin’ big boob liar!” They boy screams, his blue green eyes glaring daggers at Dick.
“Language.” Both her and Alfred warn simultaneously.
After hours of struggle, interrogation and fuck you’s, Martha learns that the child’s name is Jason. He is twelve. Mother died form drug overdosing and Dad is a petty henchman of some crime lord. He ran away from multiple foster homes because they are so abusive that the child feels safer on streets.
Martha goes on a rampage over Gotham’s foster care after that. She did not donate millions of dollars annually for children to feel safer on streets. After of lot of talks and reassurances and promises, Martha acquires her second grandchild.
Jason Peter Todd - Wayne.
Jason is tiny. Malnourished like Leslie said. But he is sharp, observant and hungry for knowledge. Martha and Alfred joke that Jason is Thomas’ soul child. Where Dick had loved activity and movement, Jason liked quiet and stability - Martha thinks that running and fighting for survival on streets every single day does that you. So evenings often found her and Dick in the garden but Thomas and Jason in the library pouring over as many books as they can.
And to nobody’s surprise, despite their rocky start, the boys become inseparable. They are outwardly different, with clashing interests and behaviors but Martha can see that they both carry the same cores of light.
When the morning of Dick’s Parent’s death anniversary comes around, both her and Thomas find Jason on Dick’s bed, arms curled protectively around his big brother. For the first time in so many years, Dick wakes up to warmth surrounding him, not nightmares.
…
Both her grandsons attend Gotham Academy so when she receives a phone call from the Principal, she is half surprised and half not. When she enters the Principal’s office, both her boys are standing on one side, Jason with his head hung in shame and Dick glaring daggers at the other side. The boy who seems to be injured is being coddled by his mother who is shooting nasty glares at her grandchildren periodically.
Then she notices another small boy standing beside her boys, trying to melt into the wall.
Tim Drake. The only son of Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries.
She arches a questioning eyebrow at Dick who shakes his head and then she turns to the Principal.
“What happened here?”
“Glad to see you’re here Mrs. Wayne.” The Principal says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I regret to inform you that your ward Jason Peter Todd attacked this young man here.” He gestures to the other boy.
“Madam, Gotham Academy is a prestigious school and we do not encourage physical violence here. Yes, it might have been acceptable from where he came from but it won’t be, here. I hope you give us the right to punish Mr. Todd here appropriately.”
Martha inwardly bristles at the jab at her grandson and says crisply, “Mr. Wayne.”
“What?”
“He’s not just Todd. He is a Wayne. Please remember that.”
“Principal Sir.” Dick cuts in and Martha is confused because as hyperactive as Dick is, he is a mannerly child and knows better than to cut in a conversation like this but what draws her attention is the chilling tone which Dick almost never uses. Dick continues, “Why don’t you tell our grandmother more of your regrets? Or the prestigious Gotham Academy believes that bullying is acceptable.”
Martha has been told what she needs to know.
“Jason?” she calls out to her youngest grandson softly, “What happened?”
Jason is quiet when suddenly Tim Drake moves forward. She can see he is scared the way his hands shake but determination shines in his blue eyes. She likes him.
“I want to say something.”
He narrates the tale of how he was being bullied and how the boy on the other side with his mother threw his science project model away and broke it and physically tried to attack him when Jason stepped in to save him. Martha felt nothing but pride at Jason’s righteous indignation.
Tim also explained that Jason exercised immense control even after these bullies called him ‘street rat’, but the verbal spar intensified after Dick was insulted for his Romani heritage, but it came to fist fight after Thomas and Martha were insulted, and Bruce’s death was made fun of.
Her gaze snaps to the other three occupants of the room and they are all in various shades of pale. Apparently, the Principal had not done his homework.
“Principal” She says icily, “Yes, I give you the authority to punish Jason appropriately but only when this young man here”, she gestures to the boy who was now cowering behind his mother, “Is dealt with in the same way.”
After threatening the Principal in soft words but harsh tone about not tolerating to having her grandsons bullied the next time, she grabs Jason’s hand to drag him away from these people who don’t deserve his company, when her eyes fall on the little trembling Tim.
She offers him her hand.
He stares at it, shocked but after an encouraging smile from Dick and a small shove from Jason, he takes it shyly.
And since that day, Tim becomes a member of Martha’s family. The boys stay together so much that even Thomas forgets that Tim is not theirs.
Tim’s upbringing sends Martha’s grandmother instincts on a haywire and she resents the Drakes for their criminal neglect towards Tim.
It is rewarding that Tim flourishes in their attention.
She learns that his hobby is Photography and he is excellent at it. And he is a genius when it comes to science, computers and gadgets. He likes crime thrillers movies and books and often picks them apart with his scarily good knowledge about forensics that leave the rest of the family in awe and slightly disturbed.
The dam breaks when one day Jason and Dick return back from school telling her that Tim was absent today and they are worried about him. When they later sneak into the Drake mansion in the evening, Thomas receives a frantic call from their oldest grandchild that Tim was burning with fever. Because Thomas is a doctor, they save Tim before anything serious happens.
This time, it is Thomas who sues the Drakes for Tim’s custody after him and Jason had, had enough of ‘Timbo’s shitty parents’.
“Timothy?” Martha brushes his sweat soaked forehead gently. “Would you like to be a member of our family legally?“
Tim is hesitant about this but he admits that he likes Wayne manor much better than he ever liked Drake mansion. He confesses that he loves Jason and Dick as brothers and sees Martha, Thomas and Alfred as his grandparents as well.
The long custody battle ends with both Jack and Janet Drake dying at the hands of two different tragedies, leaving Tim an orphan, but also with a loving family consisting of three grandparents and two brothers by his side.
Timothy Jackson Drake - Wayne is adopted into the Wayne family as her and Thomas’ third grandson.
…
A year after they adopt Tim, Thomas comes home with a small girl on his side. She is clearly an east Asian in heritage with dark hair and dark eyes and is speech deprived. Thomas is clearly distressed after Cassandra - her name is Cassandra - is safely secured in warm bed in a nice room across Jason’s. He calls her, the three boys and Alfred to his study to explain about the small girl.
He talks about how Gordon brought the girl to him and after hours of wordless, signed and clumsily sketched on paper conversations with the little girl they were able to determine that Cassandra was hiding from her father who was an assassin and wanted to drag the little girl down the same path before she ran away. The more he talks about the damage and abuse the girl had experienced at the hands on her own father, the more furious Martha becomes. When Thomas’ explanations ends, Jason slams a punch into the wall making a dent but no one has the heart to reprimand him for that.
The following morning, Martha can see that her three boys have unanimously decided that they are adopting Cassandra as their sister. She is treated like a Princess, and given the nick name ‘Cass’.
Slowly but surely, Cass learns what it means to love through Dick’s bright kindness, Jason’s quiet protection and Tim’s infinite patience. After her father is finally apprehended, the family celebrates.
Cassandra Wayne, soon after, becomes the beloved Wayne Princess of Gotham.
Martha and Thomas often accompany their only granddaughter to her speech therapy lessons, so after six months of her adoption, at dinner, she places a kiss on everyone’s forehead - her three brothers and three grandparents, stands at the head of the table and croaks out, slowly, “Thank…thank you.” All of them stare at her flabbergasted, but it appears that she was planning to shock them even more.
“You…Love. Love you…”
The silence that follows her broken but sure words is deafening. Surprisingly it is Tim who breaks it as he scrambles out of his chair and launches himself at Cass, wrapping his arms around her and both Jason and Dick follow him, grabbing both their youngest siblings fiercely.
A quiet sob breaks her out of the trance and she smiles when she watches Thomas furiously wiping his tears from the sleeve of his shirt. The last time he had cried was at Bruce’s funeral. And Martha is infinitely grateful that this time these are happy tears.
…
Sometimes Martha wonders what would have happened if Bruce had lived. If these children are her grandchildren then does that mean they are Bruce’s kids? Had Bruce lived, would he have accepted these gaggle of kids that her and Thomas have collected over the years as his own? Would he have kids of his own?
Her questions are answered when one day she hears a slight commotion in the entrance is surprised to see a young woman with a sword threatening Alfred.
“I want to meet the Master of this house. Let them know immediately.” She demands in an authoritative but silky voice, and Martha suddenly sees the Toddler clutched in her arm.
“What is it?” Martha speaks as soon as she can when the woman notices her. She looks surprised for a second but immediately schools her features as the baby fusses.
“You’re alive.” She whispers and before any of them could make an indignant comment about her wordings, she says, “It appears that I might have traveled in to the wrong universe.”
Now that is interesting. Martha lives in a world where they are protected by aliens…so, it is certainly worth hearing for.
Martha offers the young lady an invitation for tea which she accepts. She notices how the woman carries herself with lethal grace and dignity as if she was a Princess but much more. As they sit and Alfred leaves to bring the promised team Martha notices how the woman’s eyes sweep over the place.
“How may I help you?”
Her voice attracts the attention of the toddler and this time, he is not clutched tightly enough to his mother’s chest to turn his small head and look at her. Martha gasps. Because the child looks too much like Toddler Bruce. But instead of the blue eyes like her son, this child has glowing green ones, like his mother. But still, the resemblance is uncanny.
“Yes, he is your son’s.” The woman answers the unasked question.
She is explained the existence of Multiverse, and it’s workings and how Bruce survived instead of them in that world, met Talia (the woman’s name is Talia Al Ghul) and had a child but had to leave. Talia mentions the reason she came here was because her son’s life was in danger and Talia’s father wanted to raise her son as an assassin Prince and a tool for him to use. Talia’s solution to protect her son was for her to give her son to the Bruce of this world to raise, since the Bruce of that world had gone missing.
“I can raise him.” Martha suddenly declares and the woman looks at him shocked. “I will not raise him into a life of violence but I can certainly protect him and give him a happy civilian life.”
Talia looks unsure, hesitant, but says, “I…have been a warrior since the day I can remember. Never once have I ever thought of my son not being a warrior. He was…born to be one.”
Martha smiles. “He doesn’t have to be one. Yes, his life will be infinitely different than the one you imagined but…he will be well loved and protected. I can assure you of that.”
“Damian.” Talia whispers as he deposits the baby in her arms after a lot of consideration. “His name is Damian.”
She looks at her son tenderly one last time and places a kiss on his forehead and Martha’s heart breaks a little for the young mother.
“Will you return back for him?” Martha asks as she follows the Talia to the door.
“No.” Talia whispers, her voice strained. “I will not. Any action taken by me is monitored by my father closely. If I return back, then he might know that I have left Damian here and I cannot let that happen. He is yours, forever.”
Martha gives her a sad smile. “You’re a brave and good mother Talia. Thank you for doing what is best for your son.”
She nods, not turning to look at Damian one last time as she leaves the manor grounds, never to return.
Martha looks at the baby secure in her arms and her lips quirk up into a grin at the sight of two curious green eyes watching her with interest.
“Welcome to the family, little Damian.”
When she introduces the new addition to the family, Thomas is dumbfounded. Dick is ecstatic at the prospect of having a new baby brother, Jason is secretly pleased, Cass is happiest and Tim looks unsure.
That’s how Damian Wayne - Al Ghul joins the family.
Damian fits in their home spectacularly. After few days of hesitation, like he had with Dick, Thomas takes to Damian quickly. He has an epic competition going on with their eldest grandson to become the baby’s favorite. Damian refuses to sleep without Thomas but his tantrums are only controlled and won over by Dick. Damian loves Jason manhandling him and giggles happily when the older boy throws him in the air or swings him around. Damian loves Cassandra because she knows what he wants before any of them do. And Cass loves to carry her little brother around to watch birds and animals in the manor grounds.
The only person Damian seems to not get along with is Tim and the older boy seems not be fond of him either. Because Damian wants everything Tim does and the older brother has to compromise for Damian every time. But Martha has to bite laughs a lot now a days because almost everytime Damian falls asleep, it is with Tim in vicinity. And she has caught the older boy tenderly covering Damian in his favorite blanket more often than not. Martha thinks that this is kind of cute but keeps her opinion to herself.
Her little grandson is quite protective of his siblings though. Anytime someone upsets any of his siblings, they are threatened with scowls, growls and even bites and stabbings in extreme cases.
Like last time when Mrs. Park made fun of Cassandra’s speech impairment, Damian almost bit her finger off. Damian hates one of Dick’s racist colleague (they all do) so much that anytime the man enters his field of vision, the first thing Damian gets his hand on is thrown at the guy’s head. With deadly precision. And last time when Mr. Link had called Jason ‘street rat’ for personally volunteering charity work for poor and homeless, Damian had smeared his juice and drool covered hands on the Man’s thousand dollars suit. And when one time, a reporter had infiltrated a Gala and chased Tim around to ask uncomfortable questions about his parent’s death and the Wayne’s involvement in it, Damian, noticing Tim’s distress had stabbed the reporter with a fork with no hesitation.
Martha is still not sure if she should encourage or reprimand Damian for that.
…
As she sits on the head of the table with Thomas on her side and Alfred on the other end, she wonders how miraculous it is for her to have all these children in her life.
Dick is engaged in an animated conversation with Stephanie who was introduced to the family as Tim’s girlfriend. Barbara, the daughter of James Gordon and Dick’s girlfirend/or not was helping Cass pile up food on her plate. Damian and Tim were bickering over something as usual but Jason trying to hide his snickers in guise of drinking water which made Martha sure that the something was Jason’s doing.
These people were her family. The ones she had gained after losing Bruce. She wonders, if there was a universe where Bruce got to meet her grandchildren.
Would he accept them? As family?
Would he love them? As family?
She brightly smiles when the multiple sets of eyes turn to her waiting for her to blow the candle.
“Happy Birthday Martha.”
Thomas says warmly, his voice thick with emotion and she meets his gaze and sees the love, affection and thankfulness in his eyes for this family that they had created after their earth shattering loss. She knows what she wants as she blows the candle on the cake flickering in front of her.
I wish for us to be family in every universe.
The world is small enough to reach out and take.
I would like to see it
the unexpected joy of the worst summer of our lives by christine mi for vox