#Damian's writing

[ukdamo]

Still Life

One of mine

I am a still life since you left me. (You said) our love was just a fling. I am a two-dimensional rendering of our three dimensional thing.

I am a still life in a time frame with no future but the past since you cast aside our canvas, then threw back your head and laughed.

I am a prisoner of the memories painted in chiaroscuro hues of good sex and fine wines and movies but where the hell are you?

I am a Caravaggio painting; darkened corners and decay. When you left with your pallets and brushes you took my life away.

I am still alive since you left me but I might was well be dead. Without you there’s no living; I am a still life like I said.

© Damian 22 ix 95 For Jerry

[disastrousdamian]

Pre slash henralph fics? In MY blog? More likely than you think.

The sillies but make them inspired by the books!!

[spacespacespace]

Dick: so if it’s you or the laptop-

Tim: me. 100%.

Dick: …your not even gonna pretend to think?

Tim: about what? I can always just rise from the dead but my laptop-

Dick: what?

Tim: what?

Dick: what made u think you can rise from the dead?

Tim: well Jason did it so it’s obviously not difficult

——

Jason, in his safe house reading a book: I feel a chill or disrespectful in the air.

——

Dick: alr can you at least lie abt it

Tim: ughhhh

Dick: for me *flutters eyelashes*

Tim: Fine. *says in monotone voice* If it were either me or my laptop to be destroyed I would choose … the laptop.

Dick: thank you Timmy

Damian, walking past: Richard even you know that’s an outright lie.

[everwalldigan]

Bruce: *waking up in a hospital that he drove himself to after having a heart attack and telling absolutely nobody* hey…

The entirety of the batclan looking over him with Dick in the centre, an absolute terrifying grin on his face:

Dick: hello Bruce, nice evening isn’t it? Got something to share with us?

Edit: the fic is now out on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57780508

[terrestrialnoob]

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[shyjusticewarrior]

Cass: *recording*

Steph, holding microphone: Who do you prefer Bruce be with, Selina or Talia?

Dick: Selina.

Jason: They're both too good for him.

Tim: Selina has threatened to kick my ass, but the guys Talia raised have kicked my ass. Selina also brings Bruce more work-life balance.

Tim: Mostly I just want Bruce to stay out of my love life.

Steph: Real.

Duke: Jefferson Pierce, so he'll stay away from my mom.

Dick: We can do that? In that case, Clark.

Steph: What about you, Damian?

Damian: Tt. Either way he'll be obnoxious.

Jason: Damian knows what's up.

[kieran-granola]

You know how there's a subset of martial arts Tiktok where people post short vids of them doing a quick routine/choreography?

People in Gotham post blurry clips of the Bats, and a few martial artists challenge each other to reproduce the moves. One vid goes viral and more people start to give it a try, including non martial artists, who just meme with the choreography/try to imitate some moves just in good fun (and whoa some dancers and gymnasts do surprisingly well)

It naturally gets back to the Wayne brood, except, of course, the real challenge for them is to fail in a believable way.

---

Tim, on camera: "I was nearly good enough for the Olympics, surely I can do that...? Let's find out."

[cue footage of him falling down, cartoon-style, right as Damian was walking by and getting both of them drenched in Dami's smoothie]

---

Jason sees the compilation someone made of Bruce's ridiculous attempts at reproducing the moves (Tim and Steph roped him into their shenanigans.)

Two days later, a video of Red Hood goes viral: it's him condescendingly explaining how to throw a punch and challenging Bruce Wayne to do it properly because "no Gothamite should be so shit at fighting"

Bruce is verklempt when he watches it, because some of it is word-for-word how he taught baby!Jay

---

Tim gives Damian blurry, grainy footage of Black Bat to imitate. After that, Dami spends days hounding Cass for training because he nearly broke his nose tripping over his own feet.

---

Dick flawlessly lands a flip in front of all the others with "ASSERTING DOMINANCE" written on screen before winking at the camera.

Right before the video cuts, Tim's voice can be heard saying, "Whatever, your ass is still flat compared to Nightw—"

[honeyplus]

I feel like Damian would simply not give a shit about people’s sexualities and gender fuckery. Casssteph lesbians??? Cool, refrain from the noise. Tim wearing fem clothes? Amazing, that skirt is horrendous and it makes my eyes hurt. Dick and being into boys? So true, Richard, why are all of these men dumb as rocks? Bruce being bi? Father, please stop pining over these stupid men. Two face??? The ghost guy?? HAL JORDAN????????

people think he’d be prejudice because….his family is Arab? Because he’s a dick sometimes? No offense but Ra’s fucked a girl at Woodstock and that’s how he had Talia. He wants the universe to die, I don’t think he cares about gay people. He cares about killing Batman. I just don’t think Talia or ra would be instilling beliefs like that. I think they teach him humans are scum and shit but like not homophobia can u guys get fucking real. Like maybe a teacher he had could have persuaded him or he could come to these beliefs on his own from the hatred he is being taught but I really need some of you to get real. He’s not homophobic sasuke.

[bonefanatic]

"Careful", you snag the boy's shirt before he can step into the road. The boy's head snaps away from his phone and towards you.

He looks pissed but you watch his face shift into a blank sort of stare.

"Sorry-", you release the grip on his shirt, shifting the carrier on your hip, "you should pay more attention when you're this close to the road."

You offer him a weak smile and he blinks up at you, then turns and scurries across the road, focused back onto his phone. Sighing, you adjust baby carrier and begin walking again.

The walk isn't a horrible one, ten minutes is nothing on the half hour walk it takes you to get to work. It's just a little more difficult with a awkward sized baby carrier.

Typically you'd take the train, but you need to get to the grocery store before it gets dark. The air is already chilly but the forecast calls for snow and the baby doesn't need that.

-

The store is a little warmer when you step inside and you even manage to snag a buggy.

The store is relatively quiet and you find what you need to...except for the box of baby rice towards the back on a shelf you can't reach.

You groan softly, glancing at the snoozing babe. She loves those...

You stand on your very tiptoes, grabbing at air. Then, a hand reaches up and grabs them. You turn, about to ask them for the box, when the man passes the box to you.

"Here, you looked like you needed help." He holds the box out with one hand, running his fingers through his black hair with the other.

You blink curiously at him, then take the box.

"Thank you so much, hon." You grin, placing the item in your cart and hurrying to check out.

-

The walk is still cold, despite the sun barely starting to set. You shiver, somehow managing to carry the groceries and the baby carrier at the same time.

About half a mile from your apartment, you bump into a chest. Dropping a few bags and praying the eggs aren't in them.

"Sorry about that", a masculine voice mumbles above you. You tilt your head up to meet the eyes of a boy a little younger than the one who helped you before. He tilts his head, a tuft of white hair hanging in his eyes.

"Would you like some help?" He starts grabbing the dropped bags before you can answer. He makes a gesture for you to lead the way.

"I'm Jason, by the way. We live in the same complex."

You swear you've never seen him before, but maybe that's just you.

-

That night, groceries put away and a baby snuggled happily against your chest, you lay in bed.

Oblivious to several pairs of eyes watching you and the bickering from the rooftops above.

"Ummi spoke to me today, with the baby!" Damian speaks.

"Yeah, well I helped ma with her groceries!" Jason gives him a playful shove.

"Well, the baby smiled at me!" Dick jabs a thumb at his chest triumphantly.

"All of you hush!" Tim speaks up, crouched next to Duke, eyes focused on a familiar window.

Bruce looms nearby, caught up his daydream where he's the sweater wrapped so tightly around you. Someday.

Someday sooner than you think.

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[ukdamo]

Housedogs from the Elsewhere

Damian Entwistle

Jesus said; “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Mt 15:26

the elsewhere - referred to in ‘A Brief History of Time’ (Stephen Hawking) as “the region of space-time which does not lie in the future or past light cones of (an event) P. Events in the elsewhere cannot affect or be affected by events at P”.

Much of what the mainstream institutional Christian churches have to say about those who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, non-binary, or transgender, bears as much likeness to the gospel proclamation of Good News as crumbs do to the feast on the banquet table. We are curs in the household of faith (or so those at table would have us believe).

The pastoral letter (On the Care of Homosexual Persons) which issued from the Vatican in 1986, under the aegis of the then Cardinal Ratzinger (subsequently, Pope Benedict XVI), and which was addressed to American Bishops, characterised homosexuality as “a more or less strong tendency, ordered towards an intrinsic moral evil”. It further stated that homosexuality was “an objective disorder”, meaning that homosexuals were fundamentally flawed in their personhood.

In 1992 he followed up this gem with another letter that sought to prevent the enactment of human rights legislation that would have offered to lesbians and gay men the same civil rights as those enjoyed by the rest of the population. In the 1992 letter, after intimating that we ought not to be surprised if people discriminated against us, or offered us violence because we asserted our human dignity and demanded rights, he sugared this bitter pill with a comforting coating which conceded that we were not irredeemably sinful.

In the decades since, Vatican pronouncements have, it anything, become more regressive. The present Pope, Francis, has been somewhat more subtle and accommodating – but hardly forthright in proclaiming good news for us.

The Church of England has, in its timid way, been gracious enough to offer, as healing medicine, the formula that, although homosexual relationships “fall short” of God’s ideal, they are to be tolerated (but not where one or other of the persons involved is an ordained minister).

All this passes for the universal Good News of salvation...

I do not doubt that there are persons of goodwill in the churches who earnestly want to be inclusive, to promote the human flourishing of those who identify as lesbian or gay and so forth. Difficulties arise not always because of antipathy and hostility but from a failure to recognise and value the distinctive spiritual paradigm inhabited by lesbians and gay men. The paradigm inhabited by those who comprise the mainstream Christian denominations is theologically and historically cisgendered & heterosexist. It is not possible to articulate the gospel proclamation of Good News to all from a place where the language, beliefs and concepts are founded on the premise that cisgendered heterosexuality is the God-given normative way for humans to relate.

The attempt to voice such a proclamation has led to the most bizarre, esoteric formulations and contrivances. The increasingly convoluted pronouncements from the Catholic Church, which try to promote an upbeat attitude towards, and positively value, human sexuality - whilst ensuring that same-sex sexual activity remains clearly prohibited - are a telling example.

One of the most startling illustrations is the distinction drawn between ‘sexual orientation’ and ‘behaviour’. This test-tube contrivance originates in the theological laboratory and facilitates the condemnation of homosexual ‘acts’ without inferring censure of the homosexual ‘person’. It throws a morsel of comfort to us, thus hoping to keep us in the household, but fixes us firmly in our place.

But, as a theological contrivance, it has no life outside the test-tube.

It has no relevance in the real world for the simple reason that it is impossible to separate orientation (or self-affirming identity) from behaviour: the two are united in personhood.

If you think it possible to separate the two try, next time you go out, to experience the world as a ‘human being’ but not as a particular person. Leave aside your gender, if you think it possible. Put aside your physiognomy. Step outside your corporeality. You may pass for straight – but that is not the same as being straight.

I am a cis-gendered gay man, and experience the world as a man. I cannot know what it is like to experience the world as a woman. I will refrain from touching upon the experience of those whose experience of the world is mediated through a transgender personhood. This is a perspective that transgender persons can articulate for themselves. Our job is to listen to them. As a cis-gendered man, some experiences are is closed to me; I do not know what menstruation feels like; I cannot become pregnant or carry and give birth to a child; I do not know the social dynamics of relationships from a woman’s perspective. Men and women, and those who are transgendered or identify as non-binary, have their humanity in common - but their experience of that shared humanity is particular.

Similarly, the acts of a lesbian or a gay man cannot be other than homosexual acts, being the acts of an homosexual person. A lesbian does not experience the world in the same way as a straight woman; her experience is made available to her through an homosexual personhood. A gay man is not ‘gay’ only when he does ‘gay things’; all his experiences and actions are mediated by a homosexual personhood.

Peering incredulously at the perversely heterosexist paradigm of the Church, lesbians and gay men, bisexuals, trans persons and those who are identify as non-binary, might be said to inhabit the elsewhere of ‘theological’ space-time.

The theological concepts and language of the institutional churches are those of straight male world. They begin from a premise which values relationships which are heterosexual and discounts any other possibilities of relating. This premise is ancient: rooted in Genesis and the straight male psyche. It has developed and been refined over centuries as the living tradition of the churches.

I would argue that Genesis need not be taken as legitimising the primacy of male: female relationships, and that this perspective is simply a ‘straight’ take on the narrative. The line “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Gen 2:18) need not be taken to infer that his partner ought to be a woman (even though the text later identifies the helpmate as female, Gen 2:22). In a straight male paradigm, who else might it be except a woman’?

Whichever came first, the Genesis egg or the heterosexist chicken, the fact is that the theological perspective adopted by the churches appears fixed. Nor is there any indication that the churches perceive the partiality of that paradigm. It is taken to be objective reality: there is no scope for pluriformity.

Metaphorically-speaking, my personal philosophical hen has hatched the belief that the fundamental basis of human relationships is not male: female at all but person: person.

From this perspective, it does not matter what prefix one appends to sexuality: none is normative.

The churches, however, have all their eggs in the heterosexual basket.

The social and sexual teachings of the mainstream churches have been extrapolated from this heterosexual premise. Present difficulties (now that the sciences and social sciences are recognising the richness and diversity of the human condition) stem from the impossible task that the churches have set themselves. Namely, to incorporate these developments without sacrificing the integrity of the paradigm they have constructed so painstakingly. And to do this without acknowledging that there can be other, equally valid, perspectives.

The churches are predisposed to disallow any lesbian, gay, or other dialogue with God; to deny the validity of the revelation entrusted to us; to form a moue of disgust at the distinctive flavour of lesbian and gay spirituality. To do otherwise would be to acknowledge that their (supposedly) exclusive possession of the Truth is, in fact, partial and incomplete.

Richard Dawkins, writer on evolution and genetics, makes use of an analogy which is helpful in understanding why this has happened. In the Royal Institution Lectures (Christmas 1992) he presented a model of evolution which likened it to a mountain, surrounded by smaller peaks, promontories, and hills.

Given a particular evolutionary problem eg. developing light sensitive cells that would enable and organism to see prey to eat, or to improve the odds of not being eaten, several solutions offer themselves. The catch is that once you have started down a particular evolutionary pathway, you cannot reverse and go back if, after a time, a different solution seems to be more promising. You may only refine the solution you originally chose.

Thus, the problem of seeing prompted a range of solutions: the compound eyes of insects, the arrangement of lens and light sensitive cells in mammals, birds, reptiles etc... The mammalian solution is more efficient but insects are not permitted to go back to the bottom of the mountain and try a different route.

In the theological terms of our debate, the churches opted early for an heterosexual solution and now find themselves on a promontory which is not the summit. The shortcomings and inadequacies of that paradigm are increasingly apparent: the churches can only wriggle and squirm, trying to make the best of a bad job, casting about for compromises or for a form of words which alienates no-one, convinces no-one, inspires no-one.

Others, pursuing different routes, have passed them by and have access to sunlit uplands and new horizons.

So, if the churches are up a mount sermonising on heterosexuality, how are lesbians, gay men, transexuals, persons who are non-binary, to press onward?

One possible way forward for us is indicated in the quotations which preface this piece.

The quotation from Matthew’s gospel is taken from the story of the Canaanite woman (Mt 15:26).Scholars suggest that the inclusion of the story the gospel is intended to demonstrate to the early church (riven by arguments about whether Christianity was open only to Jews or whether Gentiles could also receive the gospel) that Jesus was inclusive in his ministry.

Various elements of the story underline this point.

Firstly, Jesus leaves Palestine and chooses to travel to the Gentile towns. Secondly, the woman he meets there recognises him as ‘Lord’, using explicitly messianic language and phrases suggestive of the Christian liturgy. To make the point more forcefully, the narrator has the disciples argue that the woman should be sent away.

The dialogue between Jesus and the woman serves to make her faith, determination, and astuteness explicit: she is presented as a strong character who merits inclusion in the household of faith on her own terms.

So it is with us. The institutional churches (read disciples) would like us to be excluded from full recognition and participation in the household of faith.

Our task, if we wish to assert our rights to membership, is to be as wily, combative and insistent as the sassy Canaanite woman, who ignored the disciples’ hostility and fought her corner with great tenacity and panache.

(Might she have been a drag queen?)

The vexed question is, what is ‘our corner’?

I feel that Stephen Hawking, though he could not have intended it in a book about the macro- and micro- physics of the universe, has something to contribute.

His writing provides an alternative take on the theology of sexuality and the churches’ pronouncements on it.

I have suggested that the churches’ point of origin, in this debate, is the assumption that God ordained cisgendered heterosexuality as the normative mode of expression in human relationships. From then on, all their future discussions and pronouncements derive from this premise. No matter how accommodating, sympathetic and inclusive the churches try to be, this principle is not disavowed. It is scarcely conceivable that it might ever be, since, to coin a watery metaphor, the fish supposes the lake it swims in to be the cosmos, and resents the frog’s attempt to alert it to the fact there is a world outside.

Using Hawking’s illustration as an analogy, the churches’ heterosexist perspective is event P. As dwellers in the elsewhere we are unaffected by the event P and subsequent developments in the heterosexual universe.

We do not have to conduct the debate on someone else’s terms, in someone else’s language, in someone else’s paradigm.

We do not have to make a leap of imagination and try to surmise what is going on in that cisgendered & heterosexual theological / spiritual world.

We have our own take on spiritual realities, as valid and authentic as anyone else’s. The challenge for us is to explore this elsewhereto the full, to discover new ways to flourish, new ways to promote and celebrate our giftedness, to share with others the privileged insights the experience of our distinctive spirituality affords us.

We can assert ourselves and, with compelling force, insist our dignity and rights be respected. We don't have to yap for scraps.

We can take our rightful place at the table. The enterprise will not be easily or swiftly accomplished but we have the means to achieve that end.

In our enthusiasm to celebrate our distinctive gift, we must be wary of the one fateful and blasphemous error, namely that of supposing that our experiences and insights are the only valid ones.

Surely we can avoid that pitfall, which has swallowed so many?

After all, why would we want to follow the straight and narrow?

© Damian

[disastrousdamian]

Here, you all can have this snippet of my (WIP) Henralph fic, my treat.

Words like "I'm sorry", "I forgive you", sometimes even “Thank you”, and overall, heaven forbid: "I love you" seem to be overwhelmingly grand feelings to so simply throw around, especially on a Sunday afternoon, where they're only watching a marathon of Laugh 'Till It Hurts and Silly Gooses because they're the only shows airing at the time which are not… Yuck. Romantic novels.

Come to think about it… This is not romantic at all! He's safe from all that gross, horribly (which he will stress until his face turns purple; is not the same as horridly) staged and sappy, 'Delicate as a flower petal' or whatever grown ups like to say -stuff! He can rest easy now!

[bruciemilf]

Normal regular people should slowly plant themselves into the Wayne clan.

There’s this busboy that works with uncle TJ. Dick learns his name is Mikey when he stops by the restaurant. He hasn’t been since Bruce took him when he was 10.

the Bat has no idea the prodigal son returned to the nest. So Mikey’s suddenly babysitting a strange vigilante with the horsepower of 4 drunk girls in an Uber.

“It’s just so fucking frustrating because I WANT to be here but he doesn’t TELL me he wants me here! I want him to want me! I want him to say ‘hey, by the way, you’re my son, you’re always welcome here, I know you get lonely!’ But he doesn’t! He doesn’t! I miss Jason. This sandwich is so good. Thanks cousin.”

Mikey, who’s been working there for about a week, stares at the 300 dollar tip for a straight 30 minutes, wondering who Jason is.

From then on, the flock multiplies.

POV you’re cousin Mikey and Red Hood just walks in while you’re closing, covered in blood, and Spoiler’s leg is broken but she really wants a meatball sub, Signal asks why they upped the prices on the pizza, Orphan stares and nods her head and oh my god that’s an 8 year old with a sword:

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny is "in denial" about the Waynes being vigilantes

Danny is really grateful for the Waynes taking him in and all but it’s just… it’s really obvious they’re vigilantes. Do they WANT him to find out? Why?? To join their battalion?

Hell nah. He’s already got enough going on trying to keep in check the many shades in the city.

Danny simply pretends to be oblivious about the Waynes being vigilantes. That's a future Danny problem.

It turns into Kyle levels of denial, where he ends up pretending he thinks the vigilantes are actors hired by the city to cover up all the ghosts haunting Gotham.

And obviously, the city bases them on the infamously growing Wayne family. It's so sweet of the Waynes to volunteer to dress up as their character for public appearances.

Meanwhile, Bruce has banned outright telling Danny even though it's been nearly a year of him living with them. So what if Danny glows sometimes and has full conversations with invisible people in dark alleyways, everyone has their quirks! so, the Batkids have resolved to just "accidentally" leave their mask on after patrol or make tactical plans loudly about taking down Penguin's latest scheme with Danny a room over.

-

“Is Dick coming to the Gala?” Danny asked as his head swiveled between his phone and the mirror as he attempted to tie his own tie. How did his mom always make it look so easy?

“No, he is going out as Batman tonight, since Father is unable to.” Damian responded. He may as well be blasé about their identities, seeing as Fenton was obviously both completely aware of their identities and completely in denial.

“Oh, man. Does that mean one of the “rouges” are going to attack the gala?” Danny asked, “It’s probably going to be that Two-face guy, huh? He hasn’t made an appearance in a while and his character arc with “Brucie” hasn’t made any progress in a while.”

“Nonsense, there is no predicting the mindset of a criminal like Two-face.” Damian ignored Danny’s disbelieving scoff as he maneuvered his newest brother to face him so he could take over the task for him, else they would be standing there all night. “Besides, Drake is in charge of security for the gala and will do an adequate job securing the venue. If you are afraid remain by my side where I can protect you.”

Damian tightened the tie around Danny's neck and stepped back to let Fenton pull his own collar down.

"That's very sweet of you, Dami." Danny reached up a hand and mussed up Damian's newly-gelled hair, garnering a growl and a shove from the boy. "But you should do normal kid things during the gala, like accidentally saying rude things to old ladies, or complaining about how bored you are, and don't forget to prank all the evil billionaires."

...

The “I told you so.” Danny brazenly mouthed to Damian later in the evening from where Two-face held a gun to his head was as infuriating as it was distressing.

—

(Kyle Weston is the fanon brother of Wes Weston (also a fanon character) who’s whole thing is that he believes in conspiracy theories like Wes, but doesn’t believe in ghosts at all to Wes’s frustration.)

[multiverseworm]

No because, I can totally picture Damian getting unsolicited advice from each of the batkids when they hear he’s going on a date. All of them having a completely different idea of what that entails😭

Steph: Remember to always offer your hoodie, even if she’s taller than you. We girls like that.

Damian: we’re in the middle of June, Brown. In what world do you think is appropriate to bring a piece of clothing designed for cold weather when it’s 90° degrees outside?

…

Duke: Everyone loves a good joke, it’s a good way to break the ice as well.

Damian: Thank you, Thomas. That also works as a great way to defeat Mr. Freeze if he ever decides to escape Arkham.

…

Cass: *explaining in full detail how to look for signs that his date is not interested anymore through body language*

Damian: *taking extensive notes about it*

…

Tim: Don’t forget to find out everything about her and her background.

Damian: *visibly offended* Who do you think I am, Drake? An Amateur? I obviously already did that. Full report is in the batcomputer files.

…

Babs: Just don’t do anything Dick tells you.

Damian: …

…

Dick: Did Babs actually say that? Whatever, just remember to be polite, make her laugh, pay for the meal and walk her home.

*makes a pause*

Dick: Bruce already gave you “the talk”, right? If not, this is about to get veeery awkward…

Damian: *mutters curses in Arabic*

…

Damian: Todd, do you have a minute? I need your assistance in getting intel for a mission.

Jason: Does this mission involve the date everyone else has been so eagerly talking about? *smirks devilish*

Damian: …

Jason: …

Damian: You read Austen, you have the greatest intel of them all to fill me in on this assignment.

Jason: Sit down and listen close, little spawn. Here’s what you’re gonna do if you want that girl to have the best date she’s ever gonna get.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.