Give me a story where one of Bruce’s children has a kid (it doesn’t matter who, but Jason would be so sweet as a father) and Bruce is blown away by the fact that he is a grandfather. Where he’s standing there holding this tiny baby in his arms and he’s completely lost for words. He’s never been good with words, but now he can’t even begin to form them.
Because this is something he never expected. Not in a million years did he imagine himself as a grandfather. He had seen his life going down a very specific path when he was young. A very specific, very lonely path. Long term attachments had been outlawed to him by his choice of lifestyle, and children were even more out of the question.
He’d always known what the cape and cowl meant: an end to the Wayne family line. He had no siblings, and no close relatives. No one to continue the historical name, and he’d been ok with it. Or at least he thought he had. So when Dick, then Jason, Cass, Tim, and Damian had come they’d each been a surprise. A happy surprise, a surprise that was to Bruce always fleeting. Especially when he lost them, especially when he got them back.
So no, he hadn’t expected a grandchild. Not when everyone of his own kids had followed his footsteps. They’d all done it in their own unique way, but Bruce still saw what they did as a road with one outcome. That outcome was never settling down, never finding ‘the one’, and never starting their own family.
Yet. Here he stood, holding, not just the next generation, but the third generation of the Wayne name after his parents. Bright and bubbly, in his arms there was life, and with life hope for the future. Not just the future of his family, but the future in general. Because if a man like him could be so lucky to have made it to becoming a grandfather, then the world was better than he’d thought it was.
Believe me. It took much more than seeing Oliver do the salmon ladder for me to trust him. I’ve seen first hand what this life can do to people. It’s a lonely path. Don’t make it any lonelier than it has to be.
… at least, it’s a feasible birthday for them! as it happens, chara could have been born on 9/9/99 and still remain a child in 201X. coupled with chara’s love for nines, it seems like the perfect date to celebrate a wonderful character!
whether they’re a lonely child on the path to redemption, a stoic and calculated killer, or anything in between, show chara you care by dedicating one day to creating fanworks starring them! music, pictures, prose – you name it – of anything that involves canon, AU, or whatever topics you can think of.
we’ll be pumping out some original content, too! if you’d like to join us, just post some birthday fanworks and we’ll reblog it on sept 9.
The Lone Wolf is a majestic creature
It stands independent of any pack
It does not need an Alpha to guide its path
The Lone Wolf is not afraid of other wolves
It even visits other packs from time to time
Lingers for a little while, until they move on to another location
And the Lone Wolf is on its own once more
The Lone Wolf does not mind
In fact, it prefers its own company
Where there is found peace and quiet
But the Lone Wolf does not always want to be alone
Even a Lone Wolf desires a pack that won’t leave it behind, even a pack of one or two
Even a Lone Wolf desires the company of a mate, but it will search very long until the right one is found
The other wolves do not know these things
They admire the Lone Wolf who is so brave and independent
They wish they too could be lone wolves
But alas they are too afraid to venture far from the pack
Some of them pretend
They will say “Look at me, I am a Lone Wolf!”
To their friends who only shake their heads
The Lone Wolf does not seek attention for being what it is
The Lone Wolf seeks recognition for what it does
The Lone Wolf also desires praise for a job well done
Sometimes the Lone Wolf is sad
And it will stand in the rain
So the other wolves cannot see its tears
This is the Lone Wolf’s greatest disadvantage
The other wolves are so busy believing in it’s courage
They do not realize that Lone Wolf’s heart can also be broken
And they will never know
The Lone Wolf will stand in the rain
Until the storm passes
And the tears have run dry
It will pick up the pieces of its own broken heart
And put them back together one by one
Perhaps it will even learn to be happy again
That Lone Wolf will again roam the fields and forests
The Alpha of a pack of one
Content with its own company
Under the light of the moon
The Lone Wolf sings
Beneath the blanket of stars
It makes its bed
The summer wind caresses its fur
The grass tickles its whiskers
Sleep, Lone Wolf
The Suikoden (Tales of the Water Margin)
is the Japanese translation of a Chinese novel about a band of brigands
fighting against the corruption of their rulers. The story became
popular in Japan in the nineteenth century. Sanbushō (Chinese: Wu Song)
thought he had killed a man in his village, so went into hiding for a
year in a nearby province. He was evicted from his lodgings for drunken
behaviour and was returning home at night along a lonely mountain path
when he was attacked by a tiger. Despite being inebriated, he fought the
animal and eventually managed to kill it with one blow of his huge
Cole: You didn’t want me to become more human. Why?
Lavellan: Being a person is complicated. *glances at Solas* And painful. We’re a riot of emotions, all snot and tears. We’re lost and selfish and flawed. You don’t want that.
Cole: But the riot is beautiful. Like the paint when Solas mixes it. Swirling. Whirling. No telling where one color ends and the other begins. You and Solas were like that once. Now the light is separated.
Lavellan: And that seperation … that was the painful part. You don’t want to know that feeling.
Cole: But there were good parts too. Like when he held you, he felt whole. He felt happy for the first time in the longest time. Sleeping. In darkness and pain. Wandering the lonely pathes of the Fade. Then you. A light glowing soft in the darkness, drawing his eye and tying his heart in little knots. Warm kisses like silk against your skin. You feel safe in his arms. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispered in the dark and you trembled. Wasn’t it worth the pain?
With Tamlen it had been a soft, budding thing. A whisper quiet promise of something to come. A life pre-built. Everyone knew. The entire clan knew. It was to be the ever troublesome Tamlen and the last daughter of the bloodline Mahariel. Days and years and a life of hunts and laughter and children who would be - as divine punishment, certainly - just like them.
The entire affair had a rather fated feel about it. So there had been no need for the pair to hurry past friendship. No need to act (save, perhaps, a few brave words now and again). Their life, yet to begin, felt safeguarded. Felt guaranteed. So why rush love? It would follow in due time.
But that destiny is torn from her. Tamlen is torn from her.
Then comes Alistair.
Elvhenan. That blood flows in her sure as any taint. Ever will she be a walker of the lonely path. She has not forgotten, she knows her heritage. But Creators please understand - her heart has been stolen from her. Stolen with smiles and chattering and touches so gentle that everything in her aches for them.
Horror and terror and gore are everywhere they step, yet Alistair - Alistair who was always hidden from sight, Alistair who was made to sleep with the dogs, Alistair who screamed blue murder within the chantry walls just so someone would look at him - is kind. The man is kind and she is terrified.
For it is not soft how Mahariel loves him. It is no light, feathered bird. No, her love for Alistair is that of a fierce thing with teeth. From those who would do them harm, she defends him with blood on her blade and violence in her heart. She loves him as a feral creature loves. She loves him fast and she loves him hard and there are moments when she cannot breathe for it.
It is they two alone, after all. Her new clan, the wardens, the family she had been promised - when the carnage clears, it is only them.
So, when she is alone at night, she swears (with venom, with steel, with a bloodlust that leaves her shaking) to do all she may to keep Alistair safe. To keep him breathing. To keep him from being torn away. Anything. She will do anything. She does not care the cost. She swears this to her ancestors, to Tamlen. She swears this to every single one of her gods. She swears. She throws stones into the void and Mahariel prays that for once, just this once please please, they listen.