#so more than one canvas? but i only have one body. this analogy doesn’t work but you get it… I hope

[yoondoze]

make a wish | jjk

jeongguk doesn’t know it, but his wish came true.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: angst, best friend!au

warnings: mentions of sex, language

a/n: uhh been in a jeongguk mood recently, so i’m riding it out through writing angsty drabbles :’) this is lowkey unedited so shh

You’re sick of sharing birthdays with Jeon Jeongguk. 

Yeah, your perfectly timed entrance into this world on the same date was the basis of your friendship, but every year? It made sense when you were kids and had to invite the entire class to your parties since everyone had the same friends. But now you’re sixteen, and things are different. 

While the two of you have always been close friends, what with growing up around the block together and spending the dog days of summer crossing between the sandbox and the pool with one another, you also have put together your own separate friend groups at school. And now that all of them are here together, it’s an awkward intermingling of teenagers that don’t have much in common, other than that they all suddenly forget who they’re here for when they see an attractive person their same age. 

The only good thing about it is that Jeongguk invited his cute guy friends. Not here for you, per se, but the attention is all the same. Especially when it’s coming from Park Jimin. The way he wished you a happy birthday earlier was the most charming thing you’ve ever seen to date.

Jeongguk, bowl cut and all, is having the time of his life. The fact that its his 16th birthday doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s his birthday. He doesn’t feel much different like he thought he might. Maybe it is because every cool YA protagonist he ever idolized was saving the world at 16. By now, he’s decided that all the romanticized versions of teenage lives he’s been sold on up to this very moment is a scam. Nonetheless, he’s a simple boy. He’s just enjoying the time bowling with his friends.

 ...Until the moment he lays eyes on you.

The alley is dark, and though it obscures your features, he knows you well enough to see you’re upset. Your friends are barely hanging out with you, seeming to have left you behind for his friends, who coincidentally left him behind for yours. He also knows you compromised for this party. You wanted painting, envisaging a lovely evening with your companions, seated behind easels and letting your creativity flow onto a canvas. You were eight hours older and therefore the one in charge of making the decisions - it was a no-brainer, in your eyes.

But Jeongguk, never one to give in, insisted on bowling. Your parents were forcing a shared party again this year, and with how you eventually accepted that Jeongguk would throw a fit if he had to paint on his birthday, you reluctantly agreed under the obligatory condition that he invited his friend Jimin.

Who he was starting to hate, by the way. You gave more attention to the kid you were crushing on from history instead of the best friend you’d grown up with your entire life. Every time he saw you stare longingly at some stupid boy that was as mature as a cucumber, he wanted to scream that the real pickle was standing right in front of you!

Give him a break. It’s the only analogy his sixteen year old mind can think of. 

The caring boy he is, he walks over to where you sit solemnly by yourself. All you’ve been doing for the past five minutes is tapping your feet to the overplayed pop music flooding the joint and continuously picking at your fingers - an unquestionably fantastic time. He shoves out his hand for you to take, which you willingly do in hopes for a cure for your boredom, and he drags you over to his lane. The way you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm only makes him like you more. That’s because it’s always accompanied by a fond smile, and he loves to see your dimples.

He’d never tell you, though. He’d definitely never tell his mom, because he knows she’d get too eager and tell your mom, and then she’d tell you. His mom has been rooting for the two of you since day one. She always was saying things like, “I’m not letting you date anyone unless it’s Y/N,” or, “I can’t wait until you and Y/N go to prom!” 

At one point he wondered if he actually liked you or if it was the result of his mom’s wishes manifesting into real life after such diligence. He has since then accepted his feelings as his own, but won’t deny how the ideas sometimes made his cheeks flush.

In the time since the party has started, your “friends” have disappeared to the bathroom twice. His friends are over getting snacks without him, but it doesn’t upset him anymore. He didn’t really want their company anyway. It’s just the two of you, how it’s always been, and how he wanted it from the start.

“Watch, watch, okay?” He says, excitement dripping off every syllable. He figures he can maybe lift your mood if his is high enough to share some with you.

“Okay, I’m watching!” you exclaim. Jeongguk swells as he watches your cheeks bounce.

He seats you behind the machine and hurries to pick up a fourteen-pound ball swirled with blue and purple.

Now that he actually has to do it, Jeongguk’s heart races just a little bit. He just doesn’t want to embarrass himself, that’s all. His skills have improved from practice and the bowling team at school and it would suck if he screwed up. Especially considering that the reason he was so certain about a bowling party was so he’d have the chance to show off to you. But then he thinks it might make you laugh if he embarrasses himself, so his reassurance is that it’ll be a win either way.

He takes a deep breath. He draws back skillfully and with four purposeful steps, his right foot slips behind him and his arm swings fluidly toward his target. The ball hits the waxed floor rolling. The tension in his body is stiff as it heads right toward the pins, and boom! All ten fall in a domino effect, the rough clattering echoing in the alley. A perfect strike. 

His fists pump into the air as his chest fills with pride. He spins on his heels, eyes sparkling as he hopes to find a smile on your face when he gets there -

But you’re not even paying attention. His ecstatic expression falls as quickly as his spirit does. Your head is turned from him, and when he follows your gaze, it lands on none other than fucking Park Jimin. There’s a subtle smile resting on your lips as you focus on his mindless laughter as opposed to Jeongguk’s imposing strike. Jimin is standing at the controls of a claw machine, working the joystick as his friends direct him to grab some stupid inflatable basketball the size of his palm. If it were Jeongguk, he’d go for the plush bear in the machine over and get it for you in one try.

“C’mon guys!” Your mom yells, breaking you from your infatuated stare. “Cake!”

The boys give up on their escapade and the girls magically apparate back from their fifteen minute long bathroom break. Thrilled jeers and whoops sound from everyone now filtering into the party room, somehow more excited about it than the birthday boy and girl themselves.

As you get up from your seat, you meet Jeongguk’s eyes with a quick raise of your brows, oblivious to the fact you just obliterated his heart without saying a single word. Then he’s trailing behind you, brushing his hair from his face with a sigh while everyone gathers around the table and lets you take your place at the head.

Amidst the singing and the cheers from your peers, Jeongguk can’t stop himself from glancing over to you. Right away, he knows the smiles you’re tossing out to your friends are forced. He regrets having this party in the first place. He hates seeing you disappointed and upset. He’ll choose painting any day if it means you won’t be like this.

You, on the other hand, are trying to get a peek of Jimin at every second possible. You can make out his voice among the others while singing. It’s just happy birthday, but his voice is actually really pretty, so you jot it down to reference in your next day dream.

“Make a wish!” 

He thinks hard, imagining everything he could want at this point in his life. The spot for team captain, to ace his next Chemistry test, for a new bike. But wishing for something like that seems silly when he already knows what he really wants. 

A big breath of air - “special for your 16th!” - and the two of you are blowing out the candles. One is all it takes for each of the waving flames to flicker out.

Jeongguk wishes that you’ll like him back.

You wish that Jimin will like you back.

☆☆☆ 

In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to shift your relationship with Jeongguk into something more than platonic friends. At this point, he’d call it friends with benefits. You’d call it getting your heart ripped out every time he dialed your number. Even worse, it was undeniably voluntary.

It was an awkward start. Both of you got drunk one night in his apartment, sitting on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, started asking heavy, slurred questions, and maybe admitted, “yeah, I’d fuck you,” on a whim. And then maybe you did just that.

It was supposed to be a one-time event. A weird moment in your timeline of friendship that you’d agree on forgetting. Something that you both would pretend never happened so things wouldn’t change.

However, Jeongguk’s life had been a roller coaster recently. He moved to the city with the intention of freedom only for things to get more complicated. His career was struggling, his girlfriend broke up with him, his friends barely spoke to him anymore. 

So it was just you and him again, like it had always been. You were the only one who still visited, who still called, who still cared. That’s what friends are for. Help when times are rough and be there when needed. That’s your part of the deal. 

Sex isn’t always included in said deal, but it is this time around. 

It’s not much different. You come over for a regular movie night like you used to, but sometimes it ends up in his bedroom, that’s all. To him, anyway. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught on yet. He’s so preoccupied that he probably chalks your racing pulse up to being horny, or interprets the emotion in your kisses as neediness. The way you hold onto him or say his name as pleasure.

It’s that endless love you have for him taking its many forms. It’s dropping off extra meals to stick in the fridge and checking in to make sure he isn’t beating himself up to the point where he can’t get out of bed. It’s also letting him fuck you when he needs to feel something. 

He’s just in a rut. He just needs some time to get his life together and figure shit out. And from there it’ll be peaches and cream. When his life is on the upturn, he’ll realize you’re the one who’s always been there and who always will be, and then he’ll fall in love with you too. You’re not scared, you’re just helping your best friend through a tough time. But then he’s panting, rolling off you to take a shower right after.

It stings every time. Even when you think it will be different.

At the end of the day, if it makes him feel better, you’ll endure it a thousand times over. On a bright side that’s not all that bright, for the moments you spend intertwined, you can at least pretend he’s yours. You can imagine it’s just another hot night shared in your apartment as you live out your dreamy domestic couple’s life. It sometimes seems that way with how much you take care of him, but he’d never see it as anything more than platonic.

Jeongguk knows you love him, of course, but he doesn’t know the extent it reaches. He doesn't know that your heart shatters every time he gives you a kiss on the cheek and says he loves you. He doesn’t know that when you say it back, you don’t mean just as friends. He doesn’t know you’d drop everything and run if he asked you to. You didn’t even know it for a while. Because falling in love with Jeongguk is slow and comes day by day without realizing, until suddenly you’re stuck neck deep without an inkling in your mind of trying to escape. It’s a gentle, spellbinding bloom you wouldn’t trade for the world.

From this view on his bed, you can see a glimpse of his figure behind the foggy glass of his upright shower. You tug your t-shirt back on for some modesty as if it still matters, swallowing down the tightening in your throat. If he feels your eyes lingering on him, he doesn’t show it. For whatever reason, watching him wash his face in small circles makes your stomach sink inexplicably.

Jeongguk at the fresh age of twenty-one is a lot different than Jeongguk at sixteen. Gone is the bowl cut, in comes long wavy hair that hangs in front of his face, always seeming to fall perfectly to frame his features. His shoulders broadened along with his horizons. His personality hasn’t changed, but it’s easy to think it has with the dark cloud that seems to follow him wherever he walks nowadays. You never realized how cute his dimples were until they started showing less and less.

You toy with the idea of maybe just confessing tonight. Get it off your chest once and for all. It would save you a lot of heartbreak, but you can already picture yourself sputtering it out for tense silence to fill the air, and for you to walk out and never come back. You can’t decide if it’s really worth risking when he’s the only thing you’ve got. There are a myriad of directions your life could take, but you wouldn’t want a single one without him in it, even if it crushes you.

A deep sigh escapes you. It’s your birthday today - shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of being so morally torn?

How is it that you had him so close for so many years yet still missed your chance?

The memory of wishing for Jimin’s returned affection as a teenager resurfaces and makes you wince. While he did end up liking you back, it was a mess of a relationship that left you moping back to Jeongguk after just a few months. It should have been obvious back then that it was him all along.

He was always right in front of you, doting on you, leaving his everlasting mark on your life without even meaning to. Charming and humble and telling jokes to make you laugh rather than to make you think he was funny, being kind out of the purity of his character rather than to be rewarded. Apologizing to ants when he had to kill them and then sulking the rest of the night, learning to braid your hair while watching movies, listening to your every rant and ramble with the utmost attention as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Then it hits you that it’s not just about you and never was. It’s Jeongguk’s birthday today, too. You wished it to each other when you walked through the door, but that’s not a celebration, and neither is sex. You’re reminded that your job is to be a friend regardless of how you feel because you know he’d do the same, and good friends wouldn’t spend your special day wallowing in their own self-pity.

With renewed vigor, you’re pushing yourself off the bed and padding out to his sorry excuse for a kitchen. There’s barely enough space to move around comfortably and you can’t imagine how he does it on a daily basis. The view beyond the counter-top and out the balcony connected to the living room is beautiful, though. It’s miles upon miles of shining lights and skyscrapers that embrace the velvet dusk of the sky. That’s broke city living, you suppose. You flick on the light, dim but just enough to see. 

His cabinets are an absolute mess. There’s no organization to it at all, no method to the madness. It’s blatant even from the unsteady view on your tippy toes. You catch sight of some peanut butter, bags of chips, packets of ramen, a box of cinnamon frosted pop tarts…

You almost lose your balance as you shift everything around, but the feeling of joy when you see that signature box is indescribable. It’s exactly what you need. 

The blue and white packaging of the Hostess CupCakes has been opened, and considering it was sitting at the back of the top shelf, probably forgotten about. However, you’re sure it’ll be enough for him.

You find the lighter fairly easily, pulling open all the drawers out and rummaging through them. As expected, there’s no organization either. Measuring cups and pens in one, scissors and a single oven mitt in another. It’s the third and final drawer you tug open to find something to possibly substitute what you’re looking for.

Not that you expected him to have birthday candles lying around, but you didn’t think you’d be using an old red crayon in ones place. It’ll make do. It has to, considering that the noise of Jeongguk shutting off the shower is already reverberating off the walls. It won’t be much of a surprise if he walks out here and asks what you’re doing before you can even finish.

With delicate fingers, you press the end of the crayon into the cake just enough for it to stay upright. The lighter takes a couple tries, as does getting the wax to melt down enough to reach the paper, but eventually a small glowing flame takes shape. Flickering orange and everything you need it to be. You can’t put your finger on why your eyes start to tear up when you look at it, but then Jeongguk is calling your name.

“One sec! Just sit down,” you say loudly, ready to shout at him to stay back if you hear a creaky foot step coming your way.

“...Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, the weariness coating his tongue one that you hope you can wash away within the next few seconds. “I am sitting.”

Hands as stable as an anchor, you slide the cupcake into your palms and walk carefully so as to not put out the dwarfed blaze. You turn your back to push open the door with and glide into the room with an atypical but much appreciated vivacity.

His eyes widen and an open mouthed smile tweaks at his lips as he perches at the edge of the bed. The flame is already halfway down the paper, but he seems impressed with your extempore candle. It’s the only source of light in the room, and his face underneath the gentle glimmer is a sight that you know you’ll lock away forever to look back on with adoration.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” you begin to sing, not bothered with the worry of embarrassment. Your lawless, flimsy tone elicits a bubbly laugh from Jeongguk. Suddenly, the bright Gguk you grew up beside returns, the one you love more than ever.

“Happy birthday dear Jeongguk-”

His voice harmonizes with yours, but he sings your name instead of his. He doesn’t even have to try for it to rattle you to your core. Your name off his tongue is by far the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Happy birthday to you.”

You extend your arms out so he can take in the makeshift festivity for all it is. His damp side-swept bangs reflect the pale gleam like black gossamer, and his eyes swimming with sentimentality.

“Make a wish,” you say, suppressing the wild flutter of your heart.

Jeongguk cups his hands under yours, pushing them back until the cupcake is equidistant to the both of you.

He says it firmly, not to be argued with. “No, together.”

You pretend to wipe the sweat from your forehead, thinking of what you might want this year. A job opportunity, to win the lottery, an easier semester at school. You don’t have to ponder for long. How could you, when what you really want has been sitting patiently at the forefront of your mind for almost a year?

Jeongguk sighs. If he could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?

In unison, you suck in a deep breath and close your eyes. You blow with all your might, extinguishing the flame together in one as the room falls dark again.

You wish that Jeongguk will like you back.

Jeongguk just wishes that life will get easier.

[ellana-ravenwood]

“What it means to be a big brother” - by Damian Wayne (Batfam x Fem!Reader)

I wanted to write a story with Damian as an older brother, and how he came to learn what it meant to…well, basically the title haha. And since quite a few of you lately asked for more Thomas, here we are. I hope you will like it :

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives . Links to stories where Thomas appears (for those who do not know who he is) in the author’s notes at the end of the story.

__________________________________________________

Right there, with his new little brother in his arms, standing in front of his family...Damian didn't dare to move an inch.

There wasn't a muscle in his body that wasn't tense.

In this exact position, things were going well, so he wasn't about to move. Staying like this forever sounded more and more like a good plan.

Because if he did move…There was a chance he’d drop him.

"You don't have to be so stiff you know ?"

Tim said, amused.

He was the one that was holding the baby just a few minutes ago, and was clearly not as stressed as Damian about it. He was also the one that laid little Thomas in his brother’s arms, and therefor was the cause of the “full body lockdown” Damian was going through.

Slowly, Damian turned his head towards Tim (he couldn't move too fast, because there was a risk he'd drop the baby !) and said through gritted teeth :

"Yes I do. If I don't, I might drop him !"

The word “drop” was resonating in Damian’s head, and it was the only thing he could think about.

Drop. Drop. Drop drop drop drop.

It was starting to lose it’s meaning, and only the fact that it would be terrible if he “dropped” something stayed in the boy’s head.

But then the baby moved, and Damian looked down instinctively.

His eyes fell upon his new little brother’s face and...He felt his heart drop.

What was this feeling ? Why, all of a sudden, did he feel overwhelmed and full of...something ? An emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

It kinda made him want to cry.

His eyes glued to the little body in his arms, trying to understand this intense surge of emotions, he finally raised his head after a few seconds and said, a hint of disbelief in his voice :

“I’m-I’m a big brother.”

And boom. There it was.  

Up until now, you had managed to keep your cool, looking at your sons and daughter holding Thomas in turn, and beaming at him happily.

But here, that bewildered look on Damian’s face, and that smile he probably didn’t even notice he had on, was a little too much for your heart.

Damian was the one you were most worried about, when it came to meet baby Thomas. You weren’t sure how he’d react.

All along your pregnancy he was doing fine, and seemed excited about the prospect to have a new brother. But at times, when nobody was looking at him, you noticed the worried look in his eyes, and it frustrated you to no end to not be able to know for sure what your son was thinking.

You’ve always been good at deciphering the Waynes’ emotions, sometimes even better than them themselves. But in that case...You couldn’t quite put your finger on what kind of worries were assaulting your boy.

Was he afraid you’d love his little brother more ? Or that he wouldn’t be the “baby” anymore ? Maybe afraid not to be a good enough role model ? Or to simply to not find a way to bond with him ?

So many questions, and no answers. 

Maybe it was a mix of all of that. But you just couldn’t decide. And it was an immense source of stress for you.

But here, right now, as you witnessed Damian smiling widely and whispering “Im a big brother”, your own worries suddenly vanished.

You turned to your husband who was right next to you, and put your head against his chest, muffling a "awwwww" sound that you feared might put Damian on the defensive. Instinctively, Bruce wrapped his arms around you (this called for some “I know, I know they’re cute” support).

God forbid anyone would catch your little buddy being so sweet. Haha. He hated when you called him that.

Sweet.

But he truly was ? He just didn't know it yet.

You were sure no one ever told him he was "sweet".

But he had all this little attentions for you, his father or siblings. 

He might think of it as nothing, but you all noticed. You noticed all the drawings he’d left in strategic points for all of you. Or how meticulous he was in preparing pop corn or hot chocolate for movie nights. Little things, that when added, became grand. 

You noticed everything. All of you.

Most importantly, you noticed the big changes in him.

Damian was 12 now.

He came into your life two years ago and, after quite a while of him refusing this little family his father made for himself, and making life difficult for everyone…He came around. He understood.

And you never blamed him for being difficult at first, on the contrary. You were the most understanding of them all, scolding your kids or Bruce himself, when they were too unforgiving or frustrated too fast !

It was a team work, to make Damian feel like he was finally home. 

Feel like he was amongst his family. 

Like Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass were his siblings, and although you weren’t his biological mother, you saw him as your own son too.

It was a learning experience for everyone. 

Bruce did a great job at being patient, and teaching him about his own values and such. Forgiving him when he took the wrong decision, all the while still being strict. It was a balance of understanding, softness, forgiveness, and yet still putting important boundaries. Damian never really experienced any of this... 

Your kids had some practice at being older brothers, and only Tim needed an acclimating moments...But he was a fast learner. After the first initial bad meeting, they became close. Although of course, they still bickered from times to times. After all, they were little/big brothers. Everything couldn’t always be perfect. Life wasn’t like that. 

As you looked at Damian and Thomas, you wondered...Would Damian, just like his siblings, find his own way to become a big brother ? How would he proceed ? He had, after all, a lot of role model for this. But would he decide to take the same approach ?  

The future was more unknown than ever, but as you looked at your family surrounding you, and this new beaming little life that entered yours, you had quite the high hopes. 

************

"July 15th 20?? (I’m not putting an exact year cause ya know, it wouldn’t stay accurate). Thomas : three days old.

          I am starting this logbook to understand. I got the idea from Grayson, whom I think got the idea from mom ? I always see him write in that journal of his. I think when he was younger, after he lost his parents and just started to live with father and mom, she suggested to him to write his feelings down. And so he started journaling. He has a bunch of filled notebooks in his room. I saw them a few times, but I never looked. Mom says it’s his thoughts, I would never intrude (okay maybe I “intruded” once. Or twice.). 

         That’s not the point of this anyway. According to both him and mom, writing down their feelings help a lot. So I asked Grayson if he could give me a blank notebooks, since he always has some in advance. He gave me a stupid bright pink one that sparkles and light up in the dark...But oh whatever, at least like that, nobody will know it’s mine, and will open it.

         Now, what is the point of this exactly. Laying it out is suppose to help so, here goes nothing : in this logbook, I am planing to “write down my feelings” so I can understand. I’ve never felt that way before. Love is very new to me, people actually caring about me is very new, having a sort of freedom is new, being happy is new. I’ve come a long way in two years, and I still find it difficult to put words on all the things I feel. Hence, this book. 

          More precisely though, I will record in this “logbook” (not to confuse with a journal or something), my journey as a new big brother. I think it will help me, to write things down. The idea doesn’t sound as stupid as when I first heard it two years ago. On the contrary, I already feel like my brain is getting more organized about my feelings, just by writing this down. Like now, I understand that what I felt as I held Thomas for the first time was love. And a need to protect him. But it was so instant, as soon as I truly saw him, that it made me wonder...Why ? And How ? Is this what it is to be a big brother ? A sudden instinct coming out of nowhere ?

          I will implement my studies of becoming the best big brother (notes for self : competition = hard, have to work very hard), and understanding what it actually means to be one, as it’s a first for me. 

          My life now is full of “firsts”. But in this logbook, I will mostly talk about being a big brother to Thomas, because that’s the newest and most intriguing thing yet. After two years, I think I know what love is, and what it isn’t. It isn’t praising me for being the best, but encouraging me to always do my best. It isn’t training me and being proud of me when I’m perfect, but accepting my flaws unconditionally. Yes. I think I got love down. It’s in little gestures, like when father goes to the other side of town to get my favorite take away. It is in small (and sometimes big) affectionate things like calling me pet names, ruffling my hair, or making sure I am alright. Love englobes a lot of things (my feelings for Thomas being in it). It took me a while to understand it, and I think if I had a logbook to write my findings down, it would’ve been easier. 

          So here I am. Starting a new journey of discovery. But with the knowledge I already have. How my brothers and sister are with me. How my parents are with me. How my friends, are with me. What love truly is. I’m not starting this new canvas blank, but with already a large array of color. What I need now, is to make this painting my own.

*There is here a drawing of himself standing at the front of a large pirate boat, ready to start this “new journey of discovery”, with the annotation “I think Grayson would enjoy this analogy of being captain of my own boat, as in of my own destiny. He always enjoyed pirates”*

         A plan : 1. Get books on babies.                        2. Hanging out with Thomas.                       3. Observing how the others are interacting with him.                       4. There is no 4 yet. But there will be as I come along, I suppose.”

************

It all happened so fast. 

Bruce and the kids were about to go on patrol, when you started to scream at him that it was time. In a panic, you rushed to the hospital, leaving behind your children who anxiously waited for some news. 

Hours went by, and no news were given. 

Everyone slowly started to freak out, but Damian was the one who was touched the most. 

When Jason dared to tell him : “Hey buddy, no news mean good news, right ?” in an attempt to comfort him, Damian went on a rant about how this expression was idiotic and made no sense. 

No news meant a lot of things ! Like, maybe their father RECKLESS driving got them into an accident, or maybe there was complications with the babies, or they ran in any kind of troubles that prevented them to give news ! 

No news meant “no news” ! And was in no way, in Damian’s eyes, a positive thing ! 

It’s as Damian was going on and on about what could’ve gone wrong that could explain the lack of news, and starting to freak everyone out, that the phone finally rang. 

“Ah, see ? No news did mean good news.” 

Jason said ruffling his little brother’s hair. Although his apparent confidence was only a facade, because Damian’s list of “what could’ve gone wrong” really got to him too (he’d never admit it but Jason was quite the worry wart). 

But everything was fine now. He could joke, and tease his brother again. Because...

It was official, there was a new member in the family. 

Thomas Clark Wayne was born, on a sunny July day. 

************

Damian didn’t know how to feel. Or rather, didn’t know what he felt.

He knew that day was going to happen, he saw his mother’s belly grow. He touched it, and couldn’t help but share his parents happiness...but it all seemed so surreal at the time ?

Like the baby would come in a very long time ?

He wasn’t an idiot. Plus, he was already 12 now. He most definitely knew where babies came from (ew) and how they came to life (double ew). 

But even with this knowledge, he just hadn’t been able to visualize having a baby brother ? 

So when he found himself in the hospital corridors, following after his older siblings, running a little to keep up with their hurried pace, he wasn’t really sure what to feel.

What would he find in that room ?

Probably his mom and father, smiling at him, and holding a baby in their arms...

It was weird. Because Damian had always been the “baby” of the family. Was this spot now his brother’s ? How did that make him feel ?  What was his place now, then ?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know !

Did he still have a place ? How was he suppose to know what it was ? 

So many thoughts were rushing through his head, he didn’t have time to process any of them that they already were in the room. 

The first thing Damian saw wasn’t the newborn, as his brothers gathered quickly around his mom and father while he stayed a bit behind with Cass (who rolled her eyes a lot, whispering : “boys” every two seconds). 

No. The first thing Damian saw was his father. His smiling father. 

Given the looks his older brothers gave in his direction, Damian gathered that Thomas was in their fathers’ arms. And Bruce was smiling so widely. 

It was pretty rare, to see him smile. It only happened when he was with his family. You made him smile a lot, even more so when you both thought nobody was looking at you. 

Damian thought that it was the first time he saw this specific smile of his father. 

Thomas’ existence had created a new awe induced smile... 

Bruce was looking down at his tiny son in his arms, and was just smiling widely and...sort of like a child ? 

Like even when he smiled to his wife, or to his kids. Those actual genuine smile he gave them, not the fake "Brucie Wayne" persona ones. They were always very him ? They always had his past in it. When he smiled at them, they could see they meant a lot, because he was able to smile even through all his pain. And they were the one that brought his happiness forth. 

Bruce’s smiles to his family were grateful, full of pure joy, and recognition. With a hint of sadness, however. Of traumas he could never forget. 

But here, as he held Thomas, it was like he forgot everything, and was carefree for the first time since he was eight. 

Of course, it only appeared like that to Damian because he wasn’t quite sure yet about how he should feel. Happy, or jealous ? He never noticed the many times his father gave him that exact pure child like happiness and awe too. 

Bruce wasn’t always the best at showing his feelings, a lot of time, he would smile softly, full of love, in the way he was right now, only when he was sure no one was looking. 

He most definitely smiled that way to all his children, they just never had the chance to witness it due to Bruce’s own self-consciousness, and not being sure  how to handle his own feelings at times.

In that way, Damian and his father were very much alike. You often said so. They sometimes had great trouble expressing themselves. 

Which could cause great misunderstanding, like right now. 

As Damian witnessed his father smile this way for the first time ever, and wondered...

Wondered if..If Talia gave him to Bruce as a baby, would he have smiled the same way ? 

…Probably not.

It made Damian feel all sort of things, to realize that. 

Strangely, the emotions he felt weren’t negative. On the contrary, he was glad that his little brother was lucky enough to be born into this family he thought amazing, and would grow up immediately loved and never alone. 

Sure, Damian wished it would’ve been the case for him too. But you told him once that the past was the past, and it did no good to dwell on it (he was pretty sure you misquoted Dumbledore from Harry Potter but never said anything), and it really stuck with him. 

He would never be a baby anymore, hurting himself and his feelings thinking about what could’ve been was useless. It would only bring him misery. While thinking...Thinking about his new brother having this chance...Well, it made him very happy. 

He was glad, times were changing. 

“Do you want to hold him ?” 

You asked him, taking him out of his reveries about how he realized he only had positive feelings about this new life coming into his. 

Good feelings yet, but not enough to dare hold him. Panicked, he took a few steps back and said : 

“No ! No no, I’m good !” 

You tried to hide your disappointment, and instead gave the boy to your oldest son, Dick. You kinda wished Damian would’ve accepted to take Thomas into his arms. After all, his reaction was the one that worried you the most... 

************

It’s only as he witnessed all his sibling holding their new brother, and beaming brightly at him, that he felt like he wanted to do that too. 

He felt like he was missing out, because they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy holding Thomas ! And he felt like he was building unnecessary boundaries between him and his new baby brother. 

What if Thomas thought he didn’t want to be his brother ? 

Of course, right now, being only a few hours old, Thomas couldn’t think about that yet. But Damian read somewhere that infants could feel this sort of things. And so he turned to Tim, who was the one holding the baby boy at the moment, and said : 

“Can I-...Can I ?” 

Of course, Tim understood, and did not hesitate to put his little brother in his other little brother’s arms. He explained quickly to Damian how to hold him, making sure Thomas’ head was all good, and let go (later, he’d admit that he watched YouTube video to know the proper way to hold a baby). 

And the rest was history. 

“I’m-I’m a big brother.” 

************

“Friday, October 16th 20??,  Thomas : 4 months old. 

       I found books about babies. Many of them. 36 to be exact. They were in the library, I suspect father bought them to read up on how to take care of a baby. After all, he never had one, since we all arrived around 8/10. 

       I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother. 

(...)” 

“Damian ?” 

Bruce was looking for you, and guessed you were in your office, which, just like the bedroom you shared with him, was right next to the nursery. Of course. 

He knew you must’ve been there at this time of the day because it was your “writing time”, but also Thomas’ “nap time”. In your office, you could make sure to be there for him quickly. 

Bruce had just come home and as usual, looked for you immediately. He had a tough day at Wayne Enterprise, and you always were his respite. 

But as he walked in front of Thomas’ room (where he was planning on going after seeing you), he was stopped in his track by the door being open, and quite an odd vision. 

Damian was standing next to his brother’s crib, an arm reaching out in it. As Bruce, intrigued, approached them, he noticed that one of Thomas’ tiny hand was wrapped around one of Damian’s finger. 

Before he could ask what was happening, his boy whispered, as to not wake his little brother up : 

“I read somewhere that babies need physical contact so their brain can develop well. A baby that nobody ever touches just doesn’t speak much, and isn’t as advanced as one who received affection. So I’m holding his hand.” 

Bruce’s brain went blank, as he looked at the extremely cute scene of his youngest son sleeping peacefully, holding his older brother’s hand. It was too much for his heart, trying to not sound choked up, he asked : 

“How long have you been here ?” 

Damian looked up, thinking, before he answered : 

“A couple of hours ?” 

“A couple of-That long ?!” 

“Ssssshhh. Father !” 

Damian whispered scolding his dad for his loudness. He gave a worried look to Thomas, afraid he woke up, and then turned to his father again saying : 

“I heard him cry, and recognized it as being his lonely cry. So I came. Mother fell asleep on her desk, I think she was just too tired to even realize he was crying. I know neither of you have been sleeping very well lately, so no one can blame her. You two work tough jobs, then do the vigilante thing, and have to take care of a baby who doesn’t sleep through the night yet. It’s understandable, to feel very sleepy. So I came.” 

Bruce felt it through his entire body. This warm, fuzzy feeling. The same one that he forgot for so many years, until you and Dick came into his life. 

“How did you hear him ?” 

“I rigged his baby phone to my phone, so it would give me alerts if he cries. Tim helped me develop a sort of app for that.” 

This specific feeling he only felt when looking at you or his children. A sort of serenity filling his entire body. Peace.

“I rocked him a little bit. He smiled at me a lot, and cooed too. And then he felt back asleep, but as soon as I put him in the crib he cried again. I figured he didn’t wanna be alone, so I stayed and held his hand, and he eventually fell back asleep. Now I’m too afraid to wake him up if I leave, so I’m here.” 

“So you’re here...” 

Pride was in Bruce’s heart now. A beaming, strong, huge pride. Pride of having such a sweet little boy. Ah. Who would’ve thought, over two years ago, that Damian Wayne would stay two hours near a baby in fear that if he left, he would wake him up ? 

Feeling inspired, Bruce bend down and kissed Damian’s forehead affectionately. This took the boy by surprised, and he literally gasped ! 

It made Bruce feel a little guilty. His sometimes odd way of loving made it so that he reserved those forehead kisses only when his kids felt bad, or when he through they were asleep (though they never were). Moments of distress; or moment he was sure they wouldn’t notice. 

Sometimes, Bruce just wasn’t too sure how to react with his children. Except on definite moments, like them needing him, or them being too cute for him to resist a forehead kiss (they were always adorable, sleeping). 

Or, in this instance, his boy doing something so sweet he felt the urge to kiss him with all the love and affection he had. 

Now though, a little embarrassed, he took a step back, and ruffled his son’s hair again, saying : 

“You’re a good brother.” 

And then he left awkwardly, going to your office so he could pick you up and go take a nap with you in your room. Yes. This surge of emotion he felt, as he saw his two youngest children together, definitely called for a nap in your arms. You always had a knack, to calm him, even unconsciously... 

Damian stayed in Thomas’ room, a huge smile plastered on his face. 

His father just said he was a good brother !

“(...) Continuation of the previous entry (October 16th).      I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother.

      Now, after four months of studying Thomas’ behavior and such, I came to realize that he has different kind of cry. They are as proceeded :  1. High pitch continuous noise = he’s hungry.  2. When he makes a series of loud “heh” = he’s too cold, or hot, or wet. It’s his sign to express a discomfort. Usually means dirty diaper, if no dirty diaper, means something else and then you have to look for what is bothering him. Example : Yesterday, the bird outside his window chirping was annoying him and keeping him from sleeping soundly. 3. Loud screams punctuated by pauses = He’s lonely. The pauses are him listening in to see if someone is coming to get him.  4. Almost silent cries, when it’s so loud it becomes quiet = he didn’t burp properly after eating and desperately need too. A few light tap on his back will make him feel better very quickly.  5. When he whimpers, it’s usually because he has gaz. Putting him a little straighter helps him...evacuate.

        I put this directly in practice today, when I realized he was doing his “lonely cry”. I went to his rescue, and I didn’t mind staying hours with him even though he’s still a little baby and doesn’t do much. He smiled at me a lot, I think he recognized my voice. And my singing (note for self : make sure no one is around when such occurrence happen, almost got caught by father today). Then it felt like he didn’t want to let me go, so I stayed. 

      Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? Being needed ? If it is, it actually feels nice. It would certainly explain all the time Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass came to my own rescue. Wether help for my homework or to comfort me. But, I do that too, as a little brother ? I comforted them too many times. And I witnessed Jason, Tim or Cass comforting Dick and vice versa and in all ways. So, this means it’s a sibling thing, not quite a big brother thing. Need to keep studying to know what “big brother” is exactly.” 

************

"Saturday, December 9th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

     I started to build his gift. I think he will like it. I-” 

“What are you doing, Damian ?” 

You asked him, walking towards him as he busied himself at the gadget station in the Batcave. You saw him jump in the air slightly, and put away a bright pink notebook quickly. 

And then he saw you had Thomas in your arms, and when Damian saw him, he hid whatever he was doing as fast as he could. 

“Mom, you’re gonna spoil the surprise !! Get Thomas away !” 

Surprised, and without thinking about it, you went to your husband who was typing away on the computer and put the baby in his arms. 

Bruce was about to grumble that he was busy and brush the both of you away (he could be a jerk sometimes), but you didn’t gave him a chance, shoving your son in his arms. And when he looked, annoyed, at his baby and how the little one seemed the happiest of them all as he just recognized his father. Bruce’s mood lifted all of a sudden. 

He smiled softly, realized he was being an asshole and was going to apologize to you but you were already gone back to Damian. Your husband and baby son exchanged a curious look, before Thomas got very interested in his father “Bat” logo and started to try to grab it, while Bruce smiled softly again and, holding his son in one arm, continued his work. 

Balancing family and night activities had been hard for him to get and do, but he had it covered, nowadays. Well. Almost. 

Meanwhile, you were back next to Damian, and with a sigh of relief, your son uncovered his project. 

It did all kind of things to your heart... 

“Damian, is that-” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence, too touched. Your son, proudly, said : 

“It’s a mobile to go above his bed ! I think he doesn’t like the one he currently has. So I’m making him one with things he’ll like ! See mom, that’s you. Do you recognize yourself ?”

Damian seemed worried about this, and you nodded. It definitely looked like you. So. Your son wasn’t just good at drawing, but also at sculpting... 

“It’s for Christmas.” 

He said, smile wide. And as you grabbed him and crushed him against your chest, he got a little confused... 

"Saturday, December 25th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

*There’s here a drawing of Thomas beaming at his mobile above his bed that Damian build for him*

       I knew my present would be Thomas’ favorite. After all, it represents everything he likes. I put everyone from our family (Father, mom, Alfred, Dick, Tim, Cass, Jason, and of course, me), and a few of his favorite animals (I used Ace and Titus for the dogs, Tommy is very fond of them). And it makes music, which he seems to enjoy a lot. Especially when our mom, dad or anyone from the family sings to him. I recorded all of them secretly when they sang to him, and made it so he just has to push a button on the side of his crib to turn the mobile on.

       I wasn’t even worried that he wouldn’t understand how to make it work. He’s only six months old, but he’s already very smart and curious (I think the physical contact  we all gave him is a lot to “blame” for). So when I put the mobile above his bed, and pushed the button to start the voice of our mother, he moved his little arms and legs excitedly and smiled at the mobile widely ! I only had to push the button a few times more, and for our father, Dick, and Jason’s voice to be on for him to notice the button, and to push it himself. Or rather, to kick it or throw himself on it as best he could. He is still not that coordinate when it comes to movements. But he’s smart. He understood that, to have the music, he had to push the button.

         He didn’t pay attention to all his other gifts, but mine he loved. It’s because I made it with everything he likes. So of course, he loves it. Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? To know your little sibling and be the best at giving him a gift ? No. That doesn’t sound right. Tim, or Jason, already gave me absolutely useless terrible gift, and yet it still made me happy to receive them, and that they thought about me. Mmm. The researches are still on.”

************

“Thursday, March 7th 20??. Thomas : One year and a half.

      Father and mom entrusted me with babysitting Thomas today, as everyone was busy. I was very happy to be trusted with such responsibilities. I thought it would be easy, at that age, they're easily manipulated. Well...I was wrong"

************

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO.” 

Thomas was screaming, while Damian was trying to be heard : 

“Thomas, listen, you need to put your pants on or-”

“NOOOOO !! NO DAMDAM NOOOOO !!”

“No”, was one of the first word Thomas pronounced. Right after “mama” and “dada” (the jury was still out on which words he said first, and was source of endless bickering between you and your husband). 

Then he started to try and pronounce his siblings’ name, although he wasn’t quite there yet. Damian being the youngest and still at home (Dick and Jason had their own apartment by now, and Cass and Tim were starting to be very busy with college), he was able to sort of say his name first. 

“Damdam”. Close enough. 

But right now, Damdam really wasn’t having a good time. 

It started rather smoothly. Thomas was a pretty calm child, so Damian (wrongly) thought it would be all good all day.

Only, it was the first time he was taking care of his brothers for so long. A couple of hours there and there. He made sure to be with him at least once a day, for at least two hours. Most of the time, it was more. 

They really started to be very close, sometimes, Thomas would choose Damian over you or Bruce...it vexed the both of you, but you had to put yourself in the shoes of your young son. 

Damian only had the good times with him. Playtime, and bed time stories, and such. While you and Bruce had to be strict with him sometimes, and give him boundaries (like no jumping on his bed, or no pulling the dogs’ tails). 

Bruce once mentioned that Thomas most certainly inherited your petty side, given the fact he always went to Damian when you scolded him. But when you smacked him on the head, vexed, he said he was joking (although we all know he wasn’t). 

In any way, Damian, in that year and a half, only had the good times with his brother. And today, as he had to take care of him all day long, he realized that...it wasn’t always that easy. 

Proof : the morning had gone well, but now, it was over, and it was time to put some close on. Problem : Thomas didn’t seem very keen on putting pants, today. 

It started slowly, as if it was a game. 

Thomas ran around the room, laughing, repeating : “no ‘an’ !” (which probably meant “no pants”). Up until Damian tried to take his father’s strict tone and said : 

“Ok Thomas, enough now, you need to put your pants on.” 

Well. That didn’t play well in Thomas’ book. Frowning, he said : 

“No.” 

“Yes, Tommy. It’s day time, you need to put pants on.” 

“No.” 

“Yes. Come on, I’ll help you.” 

“NO !” 

Thomas ran away from Damian’s grasp, and your son was so surprised that he wasn’t able to catch him right away. He caught up to him though as Thomas was climbing a couch, sure that he’d be out of reach at its top (probably not understanding that Damian wasn’t as small as him...). 

Once on the top of it, he sad down and put his hands in front of his eyes, clearly thinking he was hidden, now. 

“I can see you Thomas.”

“No.” 

“Stop saying no, I can see you.” 

“No.” 

“Come on Thomas, I’m not playing anymore, I can see you, and you need to put some pants on.” 

“Noooooooooooooooo.” 

“Tho-” 

“NooOOooOOoOOoOOoOoo noooooooo.” 

“Thoma-”

“NoooOOoOOoo no no no no no no no !!!!” 

Damian realized trying to talk it out wouldn’t work. His brother was probably too young to be reasoned with. Quickly,he scratched his head to find a solution. 

Maybe making him laugh again ? Like Dick did with him at first. 

It felt like such a long time ago, but there was a time when Damian was a really big brat. He still was, sometimes, he wasn’t perfect of course. But he improved a lot. 

Regardless, one of the way Dick would make him stop being bratty, was making absolutely awful jokes and trying to make him laugh by doing stupid things. Ok. Here we go then : 

“Hey hey Thomas look, look !” 

“No no no no...No ?” 

Ok. Good point. Thomas was now watching Damian doing backflips and running around. Beaming, the little boy smiled widely and clapped his hands. 

YES ! Damian most definitely won. He stopped doing his acrobatics and turned to his little brother, saying : 

“Ok, time for pants now.” 

But Thomas frowned again, as if vexed he fell for the show, and gave Damian a definitive : 

“No.” 

Well. That was a fail. What did Jason do again, to stop one of Damian’s own tantrum ? Oh. Right. Um. That probably wouldn’t be a good method with such a young kid. Skipping that one. 

Tim ? Tim would talk to him about his favorite things. Video games, or whatever. And blackmailing him a lot (as a good big brother). Damian wasn’t too into blackmailing, but he was kinda running out of ideas. 

This was the first time Thomas was being difficult with him, it was too new, he needed more data to know exactly how to react ! 

So, blackmail it would be. 

“If you put your pants on, we’ll watch your favorite movie !” 

This seemed to peak Thomas’ interest. He looked at the Tv, then at his pants. Then at the TV again and...oh...Ooooh...Damn it ! Damian could see he almost got him. But it didn’t work, his brother shook his head “no” so strongly he almost fell of the couch. 

Ok. What were the options left ? What did Cass do ? Mmm. She would hug him and tell him things would be alright. Which worked for him, given his past, but Thomas was a little over one and had a normal happy childhood so far ! 

They couldn’t relate to their past, like Cass and him did. 

Ok. What would his mom do ? Well, with his mom, Damian had the intimate feeling that Thomas would’ve put on his pants without a word. He knew she wasn’t joking around. He’d never pull this sort of things with her. 

He would though, pull that with his father. And what would Bruce do ? Either let it go, or, if he was in a bad mood, be very strict and force him to put his pants on. Nobody said his father was perfect...His mother, neither. She could be implacable in her way of educating her son. 

Thomas was a calm boy, and was of course allowed to have tantrums. Their mother was mostly understanding. But if she was tired, she’d be less patient...It wasn’t always easy, raising kids. And the gods knew the Waynes had a LOT on their plates, at times.

MMm. Damian didn’t want to force him to do anything, or to lose his patience. 

And then it hit him. The solution was right in front of his eyes. Of course. It was so simple ! 

"(...) Continuation of last entry (March 7th) 

         New observation after today’s babysitting : toddlers sometimes focus on one thing so much they don't know how to react, and therefor, explodes with feelings 

        I found that my siblings tricks to calm me down would not work on Thomas, because he isn’t me. We don’t have the same personality, or background. I never even noticed before, how Dick, for example, used different methods to comfort all of us. Adaptability is key. Like how father gives us all different trainings, according to our own needs. Little brothers are the same. When mad, they need to be calmed in different ways. Thomas is such a calm kid and has so few tantrum, I feel comfortable doing what I did. 

       Which brings me to my next point. Being an older brother sometimes mean being the bigger person. Giving up, and letting them do what they want. I never realized how many things Tim, Dick, Jason or Cass gave up for me. But it now becomes very apparent to me. They switched things around in their lives to be convenient for me. Like, Tim used to love playing video games on his own, yet he let me come and play with him even as he doesn’t like multiplayer modes. Jason is afraid of snakes yet took me to Gotham terrarium where there’s one of the largest concentration of snakes in the US when I asked him. Dick gave up on ever taking many hoodies I stole from him back. Etc etc. 

         Being a big brother means being the bigger person sometimes, and letting the small one have their ways. Dick, Jason, Cass and Tim did it all the time with me, and it’s my turn to do it with Thomas. Unlike our parents, I don’t need to be the “police officer” of the house. I can have only the good times, and when appropriate, just let go. 

       Today was the first tantrum I witnessed Thomas having, and I decided to let it go. After than, it went all smooth. And honestly, he’s just a bit over one. It’s ok, if he doesn’t wear pants...” 

************

Their parents found them both asleep in front of Thomas’ favorite movie. 

They were still both in their pyjamas. 

“No pants” day became a thing, for the two brothers. 

**********

“Wednesday, April 19th 20??. Thomas : 3 years old.

        Today, I learned a new lesson. I kind of already knew it before, by observing Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass. But it only became obvious to me today :  A big brother is here to help his little sibling walk his own path. And discover the world.” 

Damian was looking at his baby brother toughtfully. Mmm. Seemed like the kid liked animals too. Maybe they could bond further over this ?

Your boy remembered that that's how his own siblings handled him. They found common ground on which they could understand each others.

With Dick, Damian learned how to perfect his flips and other acrobatics. They enjoyed the creativity and yet physical training of this “game”. 

With Jason, he used to spew all his frustration at him, and Jason would nod and say things like : “that’s right little bird, you tell ‘em !” and just agree with him on everything, even when he was wrong. They could particularly agree on how sometimes, Bruce could be a jerk...And yet wouldn’t wish for any other father. 

With Cass, they’d do artistic things. Drawing, or dancing. Sometimes sitting in silence for hours, back to back, while they painted. It was nice. Relaxing. 

With Tim...Well, Tim was a big advocate of this definition of sibling, that he made up himself : “The only people who will pick on you for their own entertainment, and beat up anyone else who tries.” So they’d bicker a lot, but then if anyone else was trying to rile Damian up, Tim would appear out of nowhere to give them a piece of his mind.

Yes. Yes. As Damian was observing little Thomas hug and smile at his stuffed animals, and thought that this could be quite the approach. 

After all, he really loved animals too.

"'Ook Damdam, ook ! SIMBA !"

Damian had become an expert in his brother's baby talk, and knew this meant : "Look Damian, Look ! A lion"

"No Thomas, not a Simba, a lion. Not all lions are called Simba, just like in the film."

Patience was key. Damian was pretty sure he already told Thomas that exact same thing a hundred time, but for some reasons, the boy stayed stuck on his Disney knowledge. 

But today, something different happened. Things clicked in the boy’s head.

Thomas looked at his stuffed animal for a while, and then asked : 

"…Nala ? Girl ?"

"…Wether it's a boy or a girl, their names aren't simba or nala, they're lions. And lionness. Simba and Nala are characters in a movie."

The boy looked at his  brother, confused, then looked back at his plushy lion and asked, to make sure :

"…Not Simba ?"

"Lion."

"…'ion ?"

"Yes."

"That, not Nemo ?"

OH ! They were making progress ! So far, Thomas didn’t really listen to Damian when he tried to teach him animal names, and just gave them names of Disney characters ! 

Now, he was pointing at his stuffed clown fish, asking wether he was a “Nemo” or not ! PROGRESS ! 

Damian smiled internally. Thinking it was cute, you and Bruce never did much to correct your son, which Damian found frustrating. But here they were, him finally gaining grounds !

“Right, not Nemo. Clown fish.” 

“On fish.”

“Clown. CL-OWN”.

“O-N.” 

“K-K. LL. AON. Repeat after me Thomas, Clown.” 

“...Cl...cl...clnown ?” 

“Clown.” 

“CLOWN !” 

“YES !”

“CLOWN FISH !” 

Thomas said proudly, showing his plushy. And Damian felt a rush of pride.Yes. That was it. Clown fish. He learned a new thing. And...And he probably wouldn’t have learned it yet if it wasn’t for him ? 

Oh. So a big brother also kinda had the role of a teacher. Interesting. 

And as Thomas ran to his father and screamed “CLOWN FISH” at him, Damian couldn’t help but being proud of him. Even though their father was clearly confused, as the little boy now was running to Alfred to show him he knew what a clown fish was, and didn't give further explanations to Bruce. 

“Clown fish ?”

The big scary bat repeated, utterly confused. By a three years old. What was it again ? Best detective in the world ?

************

“GWAYSON !” 

“No Thomas, no, I’m Dick, not Grayson !” 

“...Dick ?” 

“Yes ! Damian, stop teaching him that my name is Grayson ! Ugh. I swear, he hangs out wayyyyy too much with you. I need to spend more time here...” 

Damian grinned slyly, and Dick rolled his eyes. Thomas was growing up fast, and it made sense that he sometimes seemed closer to Damian, whom he saw the most. 

Dick and Jason had their own place, and both Cass and Tim were busy with college. Damian was still in high school, and a lot home. 

Although they weren’t seeing each others as much as he wished, the youngest Wayne and the oldest one still were extremely close. 

In fact, Thomas was very close to all his siblings. They almost were all like second (or third, or fourth) father, and mother. They were so much older than him, of course they’d have this sort of status at time. 

Their parents would take a lot care of him, and he was also very much a “daddy’s and momma’s boy” (like all his siblings really, though they’d never admit it). 

But Thomas did spend a lot of time with Damian, and wether it was on purpose or not, he took a lot after his mannerism and such...just like Damian used to copy his older sibling mannerism, and so on and so forth. 

“Gwayson” though, he could avoid. 

Dick rolled his eyes again, and smirked at Damian, before returning to play with Thomas. 

************

“Thursday, July 23rd 20??, Thomas : 4 years old. 

       Today, father and mom told me I was to take a night off and not to go on patrol. And that was a very big inconvenience. I had things planned, to prove my valor. I was about to sneak out anyway when (...)” 

Damian, his costume on, made sure his parents were busy before starting to come in action. 

First, he had to wait for his father to go on patrol, and join his other siblings out. And for his mom to get in front of the Batcomputer to monitor everything. 

Then, he had to wait for Alfred to put Thomas to bed, and to go himself sleep, the baby phone near him, just in case, even though Thomas was already 4 now and had full nights. The butler would never just leave him like that, even if his room wasn’t too far. 

Finally, he'd just have to sneak out by...

“DAMDAM !” 

Damian jumped in the air, surprised, and turned around. 

His little brother was right there, in front of him, smiling widely. 

“Thomas ? How did you get here ?” 

“I jumped out of bed, and walked.” 

Thomas said the most natural way ever, as if it was obvious how he got there, while it was almost 1 am and was supposed to be in bed. 

“It’s way past your bed time buddy.” 

“I can’t sleep. Mama and daddy awe not hewe. Cassie and Tim either. Alfwed is sleeping !” 

“Well you should be sleeping too !”

“But I can’t ! I just told you !” 

There was a short silence between the two, and...Oh. Oh he dared. 

Thomas was giving his older brother his world famous “puppy eyes” (a method he directly stole from Damian, of course). And as usual, it worked. 

Damian took his mask off, sighed and said : 

“You want a bed time story ?”

“YES !” 

And without invitation, the boy jumped on his brother’s bed, slipped under the covers, and waited patiently for Damian to go fetch the book they were currently reading. 

“(...) Continuing last entry, (July 23rd)

       And then Thomas fell asleep in my lap, and I realized something. I guess it was good, to have a night off. If I went out, I would’ve never made this important discovery : Tonight, I have learned that to be with the ones I love is enough. And that I do not need to chase after anything else to be happy. 

     It’s a discovery I thought I made long ago, but as I felt more big brother than ever after reading him a story, it truly hit me. Being me, and being with them...It’s enough. I don’t need to have more. And maybe, maybe being a big brother means to simply be there when you feel lonely ? Like Thomas, tonight, as our parents were away, and none of our other siblings were there. Like me too, when I had nightmares and went to hide in Cass, Dick, Jason, or Tim’s bed...whoever was available when mom and dad weren’t. 

       Mom and dad. They do their best. And their best makes them the best parents anyone could wish for. But they have a lot to do, wether in the day or at night. So sometimes, it comes to me. Or to my older siblings, to take care of each others. To take care of Thomas. We have to be there for each others, always. Being a big brother means taking the time to be there. Simple.”

************

“Look Damian, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

“Um, what did you say ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

Damian looked around at the disapproving looks he got, and couldn’t care less. Of course, he wasn’t particularly thrilled about his little brother using “freaking” but oh well. It was to be expected, when everyone around him used it (and in some cased *cough* Jason and you *cough* used even worst). 

But as Damian came towards his little brother, he realized something. Something that made him burst out laughing. 

Thomas was starting to read on his own now. 

It was exciting, to witness Thomas’ progress as he slowly but surely learned how to read. And it felt so nice, to participate in said progress. To be there every steps of the way. 

Damian shared the pride Thomas felt whenever he showed his parents how well he’d gotten at reading.

And it was so nice, to see his mom and dad congratulates both of them…Thom because he really started to read well, and Damian for helping him out.

Far were the frustrating days when Thomas was a stubborn toddler that refused to call animals by their “actual names”. 

Damian spend many hours trying to explain to his younger brother that no, mice weren’t called “Mickey” and elephants “Dumbo” ! 

Nowadays, the little boy knew what the animals’ name actually were. Which didn’t mean no incident ever happened…Like today.

It was Thomas’ sixth birthday and he asked to go to the zoo (Damian definitely had an impact on that boy).

“Look Damdam, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

The boy said excitedly, pulling his brother’s sleeve and pointing at the elephant’s massive enclosure. Damian shook his head, slightly shocked. 

Not because his brother just called him “Damdam” (it was the nickname Thomas gave him long ago, when he couldn’t pronounce things quite right, and it just stuck), but because Thomas’ words were very much unlike him. 

Their parents were a bit further, being disgustingly cute together, holding hands and all, and trusting Damian to keep an eye on Thomas (they knew he’d never let that kid out of his sight, plus Damian was almost an adult, now, he was responsible…sometimes).

“What did you say, Thomas ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

The boy seemed so proud of himself. Damian knew elephants were some of his brother’s favorite animal, but he just couldn’t get over the fact that his precious little brother just used the word “freaking”, even if it really wasn’t a bad one. 

That’s when Damian noticed it. The plaque giving informations about which kind of elephant it was. …His laughter resonated in the entire zoo. Both you and Bruce went to see what happened, and were face by a son shaking with laughter, and another little one that seemed very confused. When you asked what happened, Damian barely manage to say, pointing at the enclosure next to you :

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

And there, there came the laughter. 

Yes. Yes it was an “freakin’ elephant”…Or, for those who weren’t as new at reading as Thomas was, an “African elephant. 

Damian later shared what just happened with his older siblings, and they in turn gave him many occurrences of him being naive or such sometimes. 

Like that time Jason made him believe that the hays in fields covered with white plastics were marshmallows’ fields...But instead of being vexed, Damian laughed with them. 

Because that was what being a little sibling meant. And being the older one meant to see the evolution the small one went through, witness it all, and help out. Be there. 

Finally. Finally Damian felt like he truly understood, what it was to be a big brother ? 

**********

“Saturday, July 12th 20??, Thomas : 6 years old. 

          It took me six years, but I think I know now. After countless study and experiment. After spending hours and hours with Thomas. I think I know what it means to be a big brother. 

         First I had to understand what being a sibling meant. And that was easy. I had good model. Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass. They’re the best older siblings you can wish for (after me, of course). They helped me understand so much...Thanks to them, I finally got what it was, to be a sibling. And here it is : 

        Being siblings means our bond is stronger than any outside force, and we always have someone to lean on. It means late night pillow talks, awkward phone conversations, and insane laughter. It means calling each others over for no reason other than to sit in silence or talk for hours about nothing. One minute I'll be talking to one of my brother about Harry Potter, and the next I'll be talking to my sister about the newest music we're listening to. 

        But being an older brother...Being an older brother goes beyond just that. When you’re the youngest, sure you’re there for them, and you help out. But most of the time, you’re the one being helped, and having the most support. While still having fun ? 

        Being an older brother, it's keeping that balance between letting out my inner child (which I didn’t even know I had for the longest time, and was let out thanks to my older siblings at first) but still looking out for my little brother.

       Basically, it means having a free therapist and the greatest confidante you could ask for. I went to my older brothers and sister many times, in time of need. And Thomas comes to me often, too. When it’s things we can’t tell our parents, you know ? 

        Being an older brother means being there for your little one through thick and thin. There were many times I had to stand up for Thomas even when it was difficult, whether it was to our parents or someone else. And there were even more times when Dick, Jason, Tim or Cass stood up for me. 

        But it also means being a little strict at times. I came to realize that when Dick told me to do something, or Tim, or any of them...It came more from the fact they wanted me to not get into trouble than anything else, and that...That I realized with Thomas. Sometimes, you have to tell your little sibling what to do. But some other times, it’s totally ok to let go. 

        Being a big brother means loving and supporting your little sibling no matter who or what they choose to be or do. That’s what my brothers and sister showed me, and my parents too. And that’s what I discovered with my own little brother. So what if we didn’t have all the same interest ?

        Being a big brother means celebrating individuality and being proud of the fact that your little brother/sister is a part of your family. I’m glad we’re all different, with my siblings. And I’ll never make Thomas feel bad for that. It’s good, that he’s the calmest out of all of us, and had a different kind of life.

        Maybe being an older brother means that occasionally, I take advantage of the fact I can tell Thomas what to do (and how easily he listens to me), but...I am his biggest fan. If he falls, I will always pick him back up (right after finishing laughing, like Jason would say). 

        Yes. It took me six years, but I think I finally know what being a big brother means. I’m glad, because this is the last page of this logbook. 

        One day, I think I’ll give it to you, Thomas. Just in case. If you’re going through a tough time, or you’re not sure of who you really are. To remind yourself I went through the same thing. 

        To remind yourself I had to write, for six years, certain important interactions I had with you so I would understand a simple concept such as “being a big brother”.

        And that Dick did too. It wasn’t easy for him to go from a circus life with his parents to Wayne Manor with mom and dad, who were both rather young at the time, and inexperienced. 

        ��Jason came from the street, rejected by everyone. Do you think it was easy for him to acclimate to a life where he could finally be at peace ? Nope. And then, when he died and came back ? Ask him, and you’ll know. 

         Cass came a long way. Now, she speaks a lot, especially to you. But she used to be “mute”. And had a hard life. You should ask her, sometimes. 

         Tim struggled with being ignored all his life, and then he came in and suddenly had siblings, and “real” parents. Then I came along and fucked things up a bit (don’t swear)...but he came through, understanding what a big brother was supposed to be. 

         We all came through. Mainly because we had each others. So please Thomas, if you ever feel down, just come to me. Or to them. To us. We’re your older siblings, and that what it means. 

          I’m here for you. We’re here for you. Forever.”

The end 

__________________________________________________

So, y’all know I was very nervous about posting this. I hope it wasn’t a total fail and you enjoyed reading it ? Thank you for reading, and as usual, if you liked it and all, comments and reblogs are always more than welcomed :). Here we go. See you next time with another story. Now, I’m going to go hide in a whole out of fear that you guys will hate this and how different it might be from other stories (as it’s mainly Damian/Thomas centric). 

For those who do not know who Thomas is and are curious, here are the stories from my main Batmom timeline in which he appears : The Great Mall adventure, Master of Diaper, Shaky steps and bad teaching, Polichinelle, “Go away, you’re confusing my baby”, How do you make babies ?, Wild Child 2, “We want them back” and After Batmom’s death

CLICK HERE FOR ALTERNATE ENDING 

[zombiequincy]

Headcanon: Gory Details and All - What do Giselle’s Zombie’s actually want from her and how does her blood affect them?

So this is going to be something of a very LONG and very rambly theory post combined into a headcanon because I doubt we’re ever going to receive any sort of canon explanation for this but it is interesting to consider perhaps the further ramifications of how Giselle’s blood effects the people she zombifies, looking more closely this time at their own state of mind and how they are effected by it rather than just Giselle’s own understanding of her powers (because in that regard it probably be as simplistic as ‘ahahah zombie making machine go brrr--’)

For starters, it’s important to note that none of the high ranking officers (i.e. people who Giselle zombified while they were still alive) never once turned to Giselle and beg her or talk to her or really even communicate with her, unless it’s the follow her orders and have a much lower sort of mental awareness and than her other zombies (at least in regards to Toshiro who is almost completely silent in his fight against Mayuri). The only one who does actually look at Giselle, and either ‘defies’ her or asks her for something, is Bambi. And while she never clarifies what exactly she wants from Giselle, it’s pretty obvious that the item of her want is Giselle’s blood (I think even CFYOW confirms this).

So here we have this this slight discrepancy, between how the blood effects those who are living and those who are dead. I’ve written in some threads already how it’s more like an instinctual call to action that Giselle’s blood possesses within her zombies rather than a verbal or actual soul binding ability and I still think that’s true for the most part. Seeing as it can be reversed with the excess of poisons and toxins of Mayuri (if the subject in question is still alive) that suggests it is still very much a physical power that cannot simply be strong armed or broken through will alone but requires some sort of bodily intervention to circumvent, hence why we see no characters fighting back or ‘breaking her spell’. HOWEVER, should be noted that the living members of Squad 11 did have some semblance of understanding of what was happening to their bodies when they were being commanded by Giselle to kill themselves and one another and they were begging (and failing) to fight back against her in that regard.

(Lets all strum a song on the worlds smallest violin for these poor folks)

So maybe it has to do with just exactly how ‘alive’ her zombies are when she turns them. When you’re a fully still alive, and you are infected, you’re still ‘yourself’ but you can’t control anything your body does and you are painfully aware of this, up until you are told to die. How fun! (Though what constitutes as being alive gets pretty strange because for Kensei and Rose, it’s described that Giselle came across their ‘corpses’ but then we go down a rabbit hole of vagueness in what constitutes actually being ‘dead’ and by Soul Society standards, I think it means when your spiritual pressure is completely eradicated. So they were technically ‘dead’ but maybe still physically alive enough that Giselle could turn them. In human terms I can imagine it’s sort of like how your heart can stop beating and you’re declared ‘dead’ but your brain still function so you’re still alive in some sense? This is the one part I’m not super certain of so please feel free to correct me on it!)

Going back to the body and will power thing, Mayuri notes that the living zombies have no trace of any personality, not like Bambi where it’s almost the inverse of how she acted when she was alive, but they just don’t make any demands or beg or act out of line or cry or feel fear, they are completely void of any free will. Giselle explains this as being down to when you turn somebody before they die, their mind still dies in the process so it’s easier to control them.  

And while this is grim and the reasoning and rationale is a little bit... off (I admit I’m not an expert on brain death in the body and whether what shes saying makes even a lick of rational or objective sense), I think it shows that Giselle’s blood has more of an effect on the instinct and bodily nature of the people she controls rather than like, a little voice in their head or an actual manipulation of their way of thinking and understanding. At least until we go into how it effects Bambi.

Now I want to go more into the nuts and bolts of the actual actions of the zombies and see if that can tell us a bit more about what her blood does to them on a mental level.

Again, we’re going to have to discern it from the living and the dead, and when looking at the living, it doesn’t seem like it does a whole lot other than complete autonomous control over their actions and abilities. (WHICH GRANTED SEEMS LIKE A LOT, but I’m thinking more in the realm of their reactions and personality and this idea of free will). The living zombies have none, but her undead zombies, or singular, zombie, Bambi does. (Also a fun little titbit, Giselle is noted in CFYOW as refusing to keep any of her undead zombies around, with Bambi being the singular exception. So she really is the only one who is effected like this! Isn’t that fun?)

A theory that might be plausible is the idea that her blood can heal, but I don’t think the healing factor is really one with much validity considering a lot of her zombies get bruised and beaten and battered despite being under her possession and Giselle heals them using her preferred method that I like to call ‘well they aren’t using it anymore so finders keepers!’ in which she steals body parts of others, breaks down the flesh and reforms it, we see her do this twice, once for Candice and once for Bambi. Although when healing herself, she seems to want her own blood back rather than just dead bodies to use, which makes it more likely that the healing benefits do more for her than they do for her zombies, so healing qualities for her zombies can be out of the equation here.

Well, what about embalming? Maybe her blood is more of a preservative than a simple healing tool! That might be true, but I can’t really confirm or deny it based on the evidence considering that we don’t really see much of her zombies rotting and needing her blood in that regard, bUT the inverse is also true. We don’t see them rotting full stop, so that might hint that it is an embalming fluid of sorts because it’s stopped the decay of their bodies! Could be either or, this is probably going to come up in a crack thread or headcanon about her working as a mortician so we don’t need to consider it super deeply until then.

Now, for how her blood effects her undead zombies on a mental level. I’d say it functions as a sort of addictive drug of sorts, though it is hard to discern to what sort of level because we only see it affecting Bambi, but her dynamic with Giselle still does show us a lot. Pursuing from the canon manga interactions Giselle has with Bambi as well as some very bare bones translations of the CFYOW novel, Bambi’s entire feisty and cruel personality is gone, replaced instead with a subservient almost dazed and blank canvas of a personality that only responds to Giselle’s commands. Bambi can still feel her emotions though, she can still fear for her life and call out for her comrades, still recall moments of her past with a strange sort of joy as well, express some sort of delight at Giselle giving her attention but all of these are almost entirely antithetical to the Bambi we know from earlier scenes. And all of them, especially her eagerness and willingness to do Giselle’s bidding, is always undercut by the desire to get more blood from Giselle.

I think the closest analogy would be that it’s similar to the bond a vampire has with their familiar or ghoul, which generally is someone who feeds on the blood of their master and from that point is basically possessed to do all their dark bidding and is constantly needy and demanding for more and more of their evil undead blood. Another good comparison might be the ‘healing blood’ from the Bloodborne lore, which is described as being intoxicating and giving people who drink it great powers, though if you drink too much of it, you risk losing all of your humanity and turning into a beast that needs to be killed. 

On the last point, (god help you if you read all this rambling) I think that point about gifting the person with ‘great powers’ I do think there is an element of Giselle’s powers which allows her victims to act very much without restraint and unbridled with any concerns or worries that they might typically carry when alive and constantly thinking through the ramifications of what they’re doing, who they’re hurting and why they’re attacking. To have these stripped away, and replaced with just a guttural instinct to only listen to commands and obey. It runs the risk of curing you in one sense, but also turning you into a mindless beast in another.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Confessions of a Coffee-Eater | 01

Genre: Smut, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!/Poet!Namjoon xStudent!/Poet!

Warnings: Public male masturbation, sub!Namjoon, allusion to smoking and poverty, swearing/cussing

Summary: It is in hard times beautiful things can occur and the addiction of primal instincts be suppressed in their proximity. However, when two souls from different social worlds meet in a poetry class, any former urges gain a new direction.

Some of which are sensual in emotion.

And may not be reciprocated.

Masterlist

Next part

Not everything starts off smoothly, time occupying more of the mind than the designated task or destination. Students tend to deal with this occurrence more often than it would like to be admitted, especially on the first day of the new academic year when everyone has the silent resolution to begin with a clean slate. Withal, there remain some who, nevertheless, manage to sneak into the classroom as the introductions have almost come to an end and thus go from being an absent first to a present last. 

Hence is why regardless of the few remaining students introducing themselves all eyes in the vast yet bare space shift to the tall man entering the room in a wake of smoke and cologne. It is not unlikely to think they are as intimidated by the painted canvas on well-defined arms as the girl sitting right next to them after furiously wishing to be left alone, the desire denied as it is the sole empty chair left.

Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact.

Nevertheless, the thought does not mean a glance at the artwork covering alluring honey-toned skin cannot be stolen. And the gained treasure is the sight of an intricate tribal design flowing over from bright turquoise into sleek black on the left arm and a Victorian clockwork overlapping with a nautical map and a compass, the former element stopping at the wrist after peeking out underneath a feather. That is all that can be picked up on from the side.

But almond eyes immediately sneakily take revenge by also looking at a source of interest for it is the natural thing for an individual to estimate the nearest person when being in an alien environment without a point of support consisting of friends. Unfortunately, each of them from private personal circles has chosen a different direction within the study, none of them daring to take on or simply interested in poetry. 

‘And who might you be?’ The round of rapid-fire introductions ends at the newcomer, who flinches as if waking up from a dream with the heavily blushing cheeks of a crumpled composure.

Which are mirrored in the flustered expression of an embarrassed heart futilely trying to cover up the chest area more by means of pulling up the slightly see-through white loose top thinly striped with lines of black. Regardless of the attempt, the pastel pink push-up bra decorated with a beautiful flower pattern in onyx remains visible very much so from above and a tad less from the front. Thus, when realizing the uselessness of the endeavour, the worry of coming across as an indecent person increases as now not only the professor is taken into account but the still nameless newcomer as well.

‘Oh, ehm, I’m- I’m Namjoon, an exchange student from Dongguk University.’ Eyebrows rise at the baritone voice trying to speak in a composed manner, miraculously managing to do so to a fair degree though fiddling fingers give away the surprise of suddenly being called to attention. Oddly, a thought pops up which almost encourages hands into action to calm tanned nervous ones but just in time can they be lowered into the lap while watching the speaker politely. ‘As for poetry, I believe it’s an expression of a person’s mind. However, this also means they are puzzles to be solved because a thought is chaotic and can have a double meaning.’

‘Very well. It’s funny you should mention poems being like puzzles. My son is currently in high school, also studying poetry and he and I had a conversation about it recently. He could not for the life of him figure out what any poem meant and was astounded I do this for a living. But, as any fifteen-years-old with a literature professor for a father, he wants to become a game designer.’ Chuckling arises in the classroom at the enthusiastically told analogy and all tenseness disappears thanks to the dry humour of the resident Manchester man. At the same time, eyes which swiftly avoided each other find one another again only to repeat the rapid break of contact, those of the too-exposed girl wavering instantly after strangely wanting to make sure Namjoon is more at ease like the others. Why the deep-voiced man looks back with the intention - if there is any intention at all - to lock gazes instead of, fortunately, accidentally letting focus wander lower to bared skin, shall remain a mystery.

For blushing cheeks to never unravel.

Get yourself together, Y/N. I don’t know him and he’s clearly more interested in my chest than myself. Although... just now he looked at me. And he’s kinda adorable. And handsome. No, no, no! Jesus, what am I thinking?

Professor Brown happily continues, pacing the room. ‘But if we think about encoding and poetry, they are similar on the grounds they are both, indeed, essentially the same in the manner they are carefully composed in order to work.’ Steps halt in the middle of the space, academic sight switching from one face to the next as hands fold behind the back clad in a neat black jacket. ‘There is something I would like to ask you. Does any of you write poetry?’

The majority of the students' palms rise in response, including one of which the arm is decorated as if by a traveller of old and one which finds purpose after being mentally prevented from ridiculously serving as a means of soothing. This risen pair does not go unnoticed by the minds which control them, the air in the narrow space between bodies filled with silent curiosity pertaining to the written work. The possible style, the possible words, the possible message.

The possibility to hear it being spoken.

The possibility to connect.

But neither says anything, focusing intently on the empty pages of the notebooks lying on the elongated table and clumsily fiddling with pens between fingers. Notwithstanding, every move is carefully composed to not make a wrong impression, both parties trying to prove a point which is supposed to be interpreted without any double meanings. Certainly so when rejoining each other’s company at the end of a swift ten-minute-break to allow room for breathing something else other than poetry in four hours dedicated to it.

Nevertheless, it cannot be helped but let shoulders relax when smelling nicotine mixed with sharp cologne and sensing two intricate paintings in contrasting styles settle on the empty chair again. It can even be admitted the presence is liked, certainly when from peripheral vision perceived americano irises follow the movements of the pen noting down a random lyrical thought.

And thighs have to clench together in slight awkwardness when unconsciously sensing them looking away swiftly after likely having been distracted anew by the revelation of the shirt that does not want to stay in place. However, the emotion changes when remarking upon an almost anticipating shiver disturbing the fairly intimidating man’s aura as knees accidentally touch.

Panic.

But something undefinable and incomprehensible forms its undertone.

‘I’m sorry.’ Clenching the jaw, the contact is immediately made undone by crossing legs and focusing on the penning down each poem, any poem that comes to mind. 

But nothing appears at hearing the shy stumbling over words, picturing all too well how Namjoon’s face is adorably flushed with timidity. ‘Ah, i- it’s- doesn’t matter.’

Which only worsens the uncomfortableness of a consciousness slowly turning corrupted as the long hours of the seminar pass, wondering what lies at the heart of the cause to behave so jittery and rush out of the door to smoke. Wondering is the wrong choice of words for it are more sensual ungrounded fantasies which rise one by one while listening to the flustered ocean deep voice answering a question here and there.

Fancying how it would sound when being completely controlled by the girl keeping up an innocent façade.

Me.

God-fucking-dammit, focus on class and not your own perverted imaginations. You’re here to learn, not to lose control like this.

This warning spins around a chaotic mind at least every quarter of an hour, swirling among the perversion and bringing common sense back for perhaps a good ten minutes before either Namjoon’s voice is heard or a glance is thrown in the man’s direction. Then the whole circus starts anew without hope of redemption.

Henceforth, it comes as a relief when the class is over at last and everyone packs their things to rush to the nearest bus station to make it home.

The first to disappear are arms made of ink and smoke.

Restraint is one of humankind’s most difficult issues to face on a daily basis, seeking refuge in what brings tranquility to a tempted consciousness. Withal, the nicotine purchased with the little money put aside from working the night shift at a nearby gas station did not help erase the vivid memory of pastel pink embroidered by lace as black as night. If anything, it was all in vain as the confrontation with it happened as soon as walking back into the room to which all of us are confined for four hours once a week.

Igniting a type of hunger which has not been felt towards any other girl in Korea, too busy working the same job as now to help make ends meet and send the little brother with big aspirations to high school because the sibling deserves a proper educational basis as well. Hence is why there was no room for letting attention stray towards anything but the means necessary to help pay for the rent.

  Three people could barely manage to bring it up each month. But out here on foreign soil and alone, being kicked out of the rented place nearby the university is not so much a surprise. Fortunately, the boss does not come in until seven in the morning which allows for two hours of sleep before packing up the makeshift bed consisting of a jacket for a mattress and rucksack for a pillow. It is difficult, but hardship is inevitable for those who are seen as pariahs, the people who do not fit the norm in one way or another.

Yet, strangely, Y/N - the name glanced from the improvised name tags the professor asked to be made to make it easier for everyone - was not as tense as the rest of the students. In fact, intrigued is perhaps the best description to give the overall attitude of the girl caught occasionally glancing sideways.

I did fuck up great time, though. Why did I stare at her boobs?

The painful twitch below that had to be awkwardly shielded against all the eyes of the room, certainly the pair of newly met ones on the adjacent chair for they are the cause, makes the memory of flesh resurface as a rapid turn is made towards the abandoned unisex restroom. Swiftly, the lock to the tiny space is turned.

Alone.

God, I really blew my chances with her. I should apologize.

The phantom of touching knees makes lashes flutter shut and teeth bite down on the bottom lip as a hand brushes over tight grey denim.

Obsidian with a pearl undertone.

A cute black bow from which a small diamond dangles between breasts.

‘She’s so pretty.’ A squeeze sends the mind reeling further away from sanity, recalling the warm scent reminiscent of the autumn which hangs in the air. Wild berries, dark plum and bergamot.

Her.

‘I could be so good to you. For you.’ Tanned fingers barely possessing a sliver of logic undo the zipper concealing heated hurt, firmly enveloping the source for distraction when slipping past the rim of plain grey boxers. To suppress any sound, their counterparts fold over the mouth on the brink of falling into whimpering submission, trembling like during the seminar in the sudden craving to be touched.

By Y/N.

If only I’d push my thigh a bit more to the side, she’d have caught on. What am I thinking? You’d never do that.

After all, what does have a poor man from Ilsan to offer to a foreign woman who is better off without an outcast glued to her? Moreover, there are financial priorities that have to be taken care of and it is highly improbable there is a willingness to help a wretched soul out of the gutter with money.

She does not know me. 

I do not know her.

We are strangers.

But lovers in this fantasized instance, having pretty small hands replace clumsy desperate ones as ears naturally attune to the echo of what little has been heard from a charming voice. Howbeit, it is speaking in a sweetened tone furiously wished to ever be heard truly in private. ‘Namjoonie, why didn’t you tell me you were so needy?’

‘I- I didn’t want t- to- we’ve just met and- and- fuck~’ The curse comes out on a breathless whimper as the chin is flicked up to gain access to the neck, glossy lips kissing the warm skin at random as the thumb circles the heavily leaking part of corrupted fancy.

‘If I’d known you’d be submissive like this, I’d done this to you sooner. You wanted to grab my hand earlier, didn’t you? Place it in your lap to rut against during the rest of the seminar?’ A cheeky grin chisels itself onto the coy mistress’s delighted expression at the unashamed nodding confirming the intention dismissed in the last second after the second smoking break. ‘Make sure I know what I do to you? Who would have thought that such a big buff tattooed boy,’ a whine falls into an appreciative growl when the stimulating palm tightens its hold significantly, the reaction eliciting a chastising click of the tongue, ‘would be such a mess. So cute, all submissive.’

‘O- only for you.’ Hips snap in time with the movements below, aching for release from the building tightening in the lower stomach. Breath comes at a greater difficulty as speech becomes harder to manage as well, feeling too heated to think properly and dwindling further and further into the urge to please the one who ignites a sense of safety. ‘Wan- Wanna be goo- ngh, ah, ehm, b- be good for you.’

‘As you should be as my baby boy.’ Y/N stands on the tippy toes of obsidian and alabaster Puma sneakers, arms suggestively snaking around the back of the neck and nails digging wonderfully into skin when whispering. ‘If you actually do grab my hand next time in class to rut against, I’ll jerk you off under the table but make you cry in overstimulation for being impatient. Am I understood?’

‘Y- Yes, M- Miss.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

‘C- Can I- Need to- shit!’ All attention of action shifts wholly to the most sensitive part, erasing every last sliver of sense while barely refraining from coming undone without permission. ‘Plea- Please, ah, ah, Miss, m- may I!’

However, the request remains unfinished as the stimulation becomes too much to handle and the world is sucked away into pleasant nothingness, taking fantasy along and leaving a poor man from Ilsan alone in perverted satisfied warmth.

Together in an imaginary self-made world. 

Alone in a bathroom in reality.

Stained in more ways than with solely thick ivory. 

Yet having to say sorry.

[deadpooly]

forgotten dreams and faded stars

for the @mcu-christmas-exchange

written for @padraigendragon, i combined a few of your prompts and went for an endgame fix it! i really hope i did alright and that you enjoy it! 

I had this queued but it didnt post because it turns out it was in my drafts. a lot went on at home and i got preoccupied and recently remembered that i didnt post your work so here it is!! I apologize for it being late, that is on me 100%

***

When Tony snapped his fingers, he really wasn't expecting anything other than immense pain and death.

And that is exactly what he got.

He snapped and as he felt his breathing get shorter and heart slow down, he watched Peter cry over him and Rhodey give him a sad smile. He listened as Pepper told him it would be alright and he really believes her for the rest of his ending life because he loves her so much.

Then he looks past her and sees the destroyed look on Steve’s face and wishes he had a bit longer to make some things right.

Well, whatever was left to make right. In between the five years they seemed to rebuild the bridge and strengthen it because their friendship became more solid as time grew on. They still had their cold moments but every time after they forgave each other, nothing seemed so bad to keep them apart.

So Tony watched his closet family cry while he drifts away and looks Steve in the eye one more time before he sees him fall to his knees and suddenly Tony’s soul drifts from his body.

It actually felt more like he was being torn from his body. It didn't hurt, it kind of tickled actually, but it's a better analogy than drifting.

Tony Stark loved analogies. Something that he could use to help others understand something bigger. They can be simplified or stretched out and they can be calm and kind or harsh and painful to listen to. But they all get the point across.

When Tony was finally ripped from his body he was still present. He saw his corpse lying a few feet from him but he stood there and watched the scene play out before him. There was a pulling on his very soul trying to tear him from the earth but there was a deep presence of mourning and denial that continued to drag him down. 

It wasn't Pepper. God he already misses her, but she had always respected his decisions regardless of how dumb they were. It wasn't his best friend who had already spent a lifetime with him. And it wasn't Peter who only had a few precious years to get to know Tony. The boy was already too familiar with loss. 

It was Steve. Tony could feel his soul pulling him toward the man who broke down onto his knees and nearly started crying over a won battle.

Tony just looked at Steve and the single tear that cleaned a path down his dirty face. 

He wishes he could go over there and wipe it off his face. He can't though.

He’s a ghost. And that's the easiest way he could put the situation that he is in. Stuck in a world he can't interact with.

***

The first thing Tony noticed was that his soul unconsciously followed Steve Rogers around everywhere. If Tony wanted to go somewhere else, he just couldn't. He was pretty much stuck next to Steve’s side until the man decided he was done mourning Tony Stark.

Steve would go to bed and Tony would be sitting on the floor beside the bedside hoping to fall asleep or entertain himself. Sometimes he fell asleep, other times he somehow still had nightmares.

He attended his funeral, he still doesn't actually know where his body is, but he stood by Steve’s side and luckily he could rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder as the boy cried. He saw Morgan and Pepper together and knew that they were strong and would be alright.

Tony sometimes would forget he’s actually a ghost and would accidentally talk to Steve as if he could hear him.

“Your shoes untied.” Tony snorted and then he remembered he wasn't technically among the living and would huff in annoyance. Steve however would sniff and bend over to tie his shoe as if he heard Tony.

Steve was painting in his room and the canvas was clean except for the short brushes of a light orange dabbed throughout the large frame. Tony couldn't guess what the main object was going to be so he sat on a nearby stool and watched Steve scrunch up his face as he tried to create an image with colors.

“Why are you so complicated?” Steve whispered to the canvas. His arm wasn't raised ready to brush but it was lowered in surrender and defeat. “I could never get you right.”

Tony got up off of the stool and walked over to the canvas and sighed a sad smile.

“You always over analyze, there's a bigger picture and your focusing on the small things, Steve.” Tony dragged a ghost hand over the painting and stared at Steve’s conflicted face. “It looks amazing Steve,” Tony tried to reassure Steve of his painting.

The painting was Tony holding the iron man helmet in a place that looked like an orange heaven.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve said and Tony froze in place, but Steve still did not acknowledge his astral presence.

***

The day quickly approached where Steve had to return the stones about a week after the funeral. Tony totally forgot that there were death rocks sitting around that needed to be put back. Also, he noticed that the wait was caused by a new healthy and alive Hank Pym creating more particles. Tony watched Steve decline Sam’s help and give his goodbye to Barnes. Then while Tony was expecting to be left behind since he was not in possession of time travel equipment, the machine started and Tony was being dragged along with Steve.

***

First stop was going back to the camp in New Jersey back in the 70s Tony was pretty amused at how horrible Steve was at lying to try to get the stone back where it was, given that he actually didn't know where the tesseract was in the first place. 

Tony would tell him where to go but Steve would go the exact other way because being a ghost sucks. Steve was in a hallway with a bunch of doors which lead into peoples offices. Then Steve took the stairs to a lower level and walked around until he somehow found a science-y looking lab.

Steve was walking down the hall then an office door opened and he literally ran into one Peggy Carter.

Then Tony sighed in hopeless jealousy as he watched Steve begin to panic and fluster. Shit.

“Steve?” Peggy gasped but shook her head and blinked a couple of times.

There, right there was Peggy Carter and Tony could facepalm because he suddenly knew that this task was going to get drawn out longer than it needed to.

Steve was frozen, he couldn't move. There was a tinge of red on his cheeks and his eyes told Tony a story of longing that could make his ghostly heart nearly hurt.

“Yeah Peg?” Steve replied. It was simple but coming out of Steve’s mouth like that, it sounded like it repatched a hundred moments stolen from Steve and frozen out of Peggy’s grasp.

The disbelief was written all over Peggy’s face, and the dying hope was burning off of Steve’s.

Dumbass, we need to get out of here or a timeline might get created. Tony tried to whisper into Steve’s ear. It sounds harsh but Tony just might be a little cranky that Steve is paying attention to a past jewel more than he is to Tony. Not that he could pay attention to him.

“How are you here?” she asked, getting straight to the questions and looking for answers. Typical Peggy Carter.

“Long story, time travel.” Steve said as if that would explain anything. Tony rolled his eyes. “I may need you help.” he then pulled the space stone out of his pocket with his gloved hand and held it out towards Peggy. “This is the tesseract, earlier I came here and stole it and I need to put it back.”

“You what?” Peggy asked in disbelief. “You were already here?”

“Is it May right now?” 

“No, its June fifth, 1970. Howard just got back, should I get him?” Peggy took out a device that looked like an early phone but before she could do anything with it, Steve stopped her.

“No, no. I just need to know where the lab is.” Steve asked urgently, some people in lab coats walked by and Peggy dragged Steve to the side and Tony just stayed in the middle of the hallway watching Peggy and Steve interact. It was like a beautiful reunion scene in a romance movie where Tony suddenly no relation to the person he loved and all he could do was stand by and watch as the protagonist ran back to the past.

Steve was absolutely adorable when he blushed and Tony loved him so much for it.

At this point Tony just allowed himself to get dragged along with Steve’s body. He didn't listen to the conversations, because why would he? He’s dead it wouldn't really matter. He watched Steve blush and Peggy smile and he also watched the anxiety creep over Steve because he knew that this would last and he would have to leave. Nothing could stop the jealousy from flooding Tony and the mourning that clearly engulfed Steve all over again when the stone was put back and the two said their goodbyes.

The process, as Tony had predicted, was long and drawn out because of the bump in and all Tony could do was try not to listen to a private moment no matter how much he just wanted to drag Steve away.

The reality stone was fast. Quickly injected into one unsuspecting Jane Foster. Tony thought there was probably a better way to handle it rather than re-infecting one of earth's smartest scientists with a reality check. But Steve being Steve, he likes things put back the way they were.

The mind stone was quicker, Steve just stuck it in a case lying around the tower, which he broke into and actually spoke to Jarvis. But this only happened after Tony spent five minutes watching Steve mutter and disregard ideas to himself.

“Hey Jarvis?” Steve asked, his head looking up at the ceiling, Tony thought it was adorable.

“How may I assist you, Captain Rogers?” the clear voice answered. Tony smiled at the familiarity of the AI while a grin brightened Steve’s face. Tony’s heart tightened at the sight.

“I need to get this case to Tony.” Steve paused and took a breath. “But without interacting with him,” Steve paused, then decided that’s all he wanted to say.

“I have several different ways I am able to transport the case to Mr. Stark without physical contact.” 

“Thanks” Steve said in reply with a single tear streaming down his face, and Tony feeling like his celestial body is thrumming with energy. 

***

Time stone was as simple as a stop by the sanctum. And that was it. Before the old wizard lady stopped Steve and Tony from leaving.

“Mr. Rogers.” she said clearly catching his attention. “You may have to watch what you do, you never know who may be paying attention to your actions.” Tony froze and looked at the woman and waved and smiled when he got the slightest motion of a hand back.

“Still by your side Rogers.” Tony whispered into Steve’s ear when they started travelling to a new location.

***

All Steve did for the power stone was thrown it in its dog cage where he believes it was found, then he just left. 

Tony just scoffed at him and laughed because yeah, this shit is getting old and he just wants to go home.

***

Then came the soul stone.

***

The climb up the large mountain was long, it was suffering, and it was painful. For Steve. Tony just sort of awkwardly floated knowing that wherever Steve went, Tony would also go. And he was not complaining.

They reached the top and Steve took a minute to allow his legs to slightly rest and he pulled out the soul stone holding it in his bare palm. He stared at the stone and slowly began stepping forwards until a voice called out to them.

“Steven Rogers, son of Sarah and Joseph Rogers.”

Shit.

Steve straightened and pulled his shield out immediately pocketing the stone getting ready to pounce on the speaker.

“Anthony Stark, son of Maria and Howard Stark.”

Uh what?

Tony froze and Steve’s look darkened.

“Shmidt.”

“Ah, Captain Rogers. I'm afraid you have come to return the stone.” Shmidt said.

“Why are you here. You should be dead.” Steve asked urgently. “And why did you say that name?”

“I am just stating the names of those who are present, naive Captain.” the figure floated forward and the blood red skull stood out against its black hood. “All those years ago, when I seeked power disregarding the consequences, the punishment had delivered me here to guard the stone for all the many years to come.”

Steve swallowed uncomfortably and Tony wanted to reach out and tell him to leave the stone and escape.

“Have your punishments come to catch you yet Captain?” Shmidt asked, and Steve stepped forward and punched him right through the face. Except his hand passed through what he thought would be flesh.

“Face it captain, you cannot try to finish me anymore. I am not among the living, just as your friend beside you. I know what you came here to do.” Shmidt said before he faded out and Steve was left with the stone in his palm and one Tony Stark beside him.

“I want Tony back.” Steve whispered, his grip hard on the stone before he let it drop and he closed the helmet on and disappeared to the future.

Tony felt sick and then it all went black.

***

When Steve returned to the compound, he was alone besides Bruce, Sam and Bucky waiting there for him. He walked off of the platform and dropped onto one knee. Tears gathered into his eyes and his head was bowed.

Then there was noise and Steve blocked it out as he tried to greive, then there were warm arms being wrapped around him and he froze before looking up into the warm smile being given to him.

“Tony.” Steve breathed.

“Steve.” was all Tony said before he grabbed for Steve’s hand and kissed it, then Steve launched forward and embraced Tony like someones life depended on it.

“I was with you the whole time.” Tony told him.

“I felt you. I missed you more than I thought I would.” Steve replied. “I love you Tony.”

“You know what Steve?” Tony asked with his eyes rimming with tears. “I think I love you too.”

Their hands tightened together and Tony never felt more alive in Steve’s arms. 

[carlkandutsch]

Fried on Sprayed paintings by Jules Olitski from 1965 - 1970

Because the early spray paintings are completely devoid of depicted shape, and attempt to make major art out of nothing but color, these paintings inspire some of Michael Fried’s most daunting phenomenological descriptions. Fried wants to report the somewhat paradoxical phenomenological fact that although these paintings contain nothing but color and nothing that can be described as “shape”, they also – and for that reason – depend nakedly and completely for their success on the shape (and proportions) of their supports – the shape being experienced in relation both to nothing in particular within each painting and to everything it contains. Thus, Fried says, “they succeed as paintings just so far as they succeed, or hold, or stamp themselves out as shapes.“

Fried goes on to say that when an early Olitski spray painting fails (relatively speaking), it is because we tend to see the framing edge as marking the limits of a spatial container, and the sprayed canvas itself as something like filler (e.g., background in traditional painting). The narrow vertical format seems prevent this from happening, so that the “coloredness” of the picture’s space feels self-sufficient, a presence like that of a human figure; the framing edge does not appear to contain the illusion but rather the illusion “contains” the limit of the support. ”… the physical limits of the support mark or declare or simply ARE the limits of the illusion itself.“

I think the analogy with human presence is useful, although Fried doesn’t develop it. We do not experience the contours of the human figure as a “container” of any sort, for example, the container of the human soul. Rather, human presence is conveyed through the experience of the human body as a scene of expression, the soul’s manifestation. The shapeless field of color in an Olitski spray painting can be said to “contain” the literal limits of the support in something like the way the human soul can be said to "contain” the body, namely by showing itself in the body’s expressive movements, inflections and postures. The physical limits of the body’s contour simply ARE the limits of the human soul itself.

Fried says: “The past twelve years have seen the emergence of three painters – Morris Louis, Kenneth Noland, and Jules Olitski – who rank with the supreme masters of color in modern art. Each broke through to his proper work when he discovered in color something that he had been looking for all along and had been able to find nowhere else: a way to make paintings whose quality could stand comparison with the art of the museums.

The precise content of that discovery, what exactly it can be said to have consisted in, differs radically in in the three cases. This is to claim much more than that each painter’s feeling for color, or even his use of it, is different from the others’. When each of these painters found in color a way to make paintings in which he could believe, he found in it his own artistic identity as well. Similarly, while there is a clear sense in which  they all use paint – there is another, less obvious sense in which they do not use color so much as exploit its resources or realize its possibilities for the making of high art.

That color in our time has been found to possess such resources and to contain such possibilities has made it, perhaps more explicitly than ever before, a medium of painting. but the particular resources and possibilities whose exploitation and realization have established color as a medium of painting for Louis, Noland and Olitski are different in each case – indeed they are internal to the uniqueness of their respective achievements. The question with which I close is this: What is it that Olitski has found in color that establishes it for him as a medium of painting? – that makes color something within which he can work?

He has found in color a way, perhaps the only way now open, to a primordial involvement with the sensuous nature of paint itself. His aspirations as a colorist have been determined, even dictated, by this involvement. In Olitski’s paintings color IS paint – not because in painting all color is produced by paint in the first place (in this sense all lines or shapes are produced by paint in the first place), but because Olitski’s color is the instrument of an overriding passion for the physical, one might say the defining properties of paint. The continuing conflict in his work between color and drawing is at bottom a conflict between paint and drawing; and this in turn (within the inescapable demand that drawn shapes acknowledge the shape of the support) is a conflict between paint and the support. It is this struggle between a material substance and a material entity – the one volatile, formless, spreading, penetrating, varied, and fluctuating, the other passive, definite, delimited, ineluctable, unitary, and constant – that lies at the heart of Olitski’s development, and whose resolution, on shifting terms, lies at the heart of Oliski’s painting. It is a conflict in which the ultimate condition for the existence of painting in the world (that there be paint) is held against the ultimate condition for the existence of the world itself (that there be objects). Philosophy asked: What is an object of art? Now painting asks: Why should a color be OF an object at all, why can’t color escape objects altogether? But it equally asks: Why should objects “have” a color (or set of colors) at all, why can’t an object escape color altogether?”

[markgottliebliteraryagent]

Eisner Award & YALSA-nominated Graphic Novelist Jason Walz

Jason Walz is an Eisner Award-nominated comic and graphic novel creator living in Minneapolis. He is the author of several comics and graphic novels, including the Last Pick trilogy and Homesick. Last Pick was a Kirkus Reviews Best YA Science Fiction of 2018 Selection and a YALSA 2019 Great Graphic Novels for Teens Nominee.

What initially drew you to comic book arts and what do you feel the graphic novel medium affords authors and illustrators?

I grew up in the middle of Kentucky fairly well isolated from a lot of exposure to things outside that farmland. The closest movie theater was just under and hour away, and there were no bookstores nearby. It didn't take long to discover and fall in love with the comic book spinner rack that eventually got setup near the register at our local grocery store. Waiting for me every week were stories full of fantastic myths and strange new worlds. There was no hope for me after this. I was all in.

I loved (and still love) science fiction and fantasy movies, and I always dreamed of being part of that creative process someday. Flash forward through the many years I spent painting and making movies on a cheap camera with my friends, and I finally realized that I wasn't having that much fun painting, and that my movies were pretty terrible. I wanted to tell the stories in my head, but they were too stagnant on a single canvas and basically unwatchable as movies. Once I began making my own comics, I felt an unbelievable freedom to tell visual stories without feeling constrained or compromised. My comic book storytelling style is as much influenced by Spielberg or Lucas as it is by Eisner or Kirby.

Before writing Last Pick, which features various characters with disabilities, your background was in special education. Do you think that working in that space has lent some authenticity to your characters and writing about the importance of not minimizing the worth of others?

I can say that because of my experience working with students with disabilities for so many years, I have certainly gone into these books with the best of intentions, and that I had two clear objectives in mind. First, I wanted to create a character on the autism spectrum that felt like a fully realized human being. Too often in fiction, those with autism are built out of tropes that in my opinion do more harm than good when showing other perspectives. How often have we seen someone with autism as having nearly superhuman intelligence, or a purity of heart that lets those around him/her to learn lessons about themselves? Many times those with autism are depicted as burdens on those around them, or unable to show emotion. I wanted to a character that certainly expressed traits of autism in his actions and thoughts, but more than anything, I wanted him to be fully human.

“...I hoped to get across in these books was the need for our society to do quite a bit more when it comes to truly making space in our world for those with disabilities.”

The second thing that I hoped to get across in these books was the need for our society to do quite a bit more when it comes to truly making space in our world for those with disabilities. Most of my teaching jobs have been in transitions programs where I focused on daily living skills, and job skills. I helped my students get volunteer work so that they could practice the routines of a work day while adjusting to the expectations that a boss places on an employee. They worked really hard and would have been fantastic employees at a variety of different jobs, but more often than not, it was extremely difficult to convince workplaces to hire those with autism. Everyone seems to have the best of intentions, but many are still unwilling or unable to make minor modifications to the workplace to help those with autism successfully compete in the workplace. These experiences were the early kernels of ideas that eventually defined the aliens in Last Pick. They are the clear analogy (taken to the extreme) for our society when we don't take the time to see the value within every human life.

The evil alien robots from your graphic novel Last Pick communicate primarily in emjois. How did you arrive at that idea and was that an artistic choice with a purpose behind it?

I always imagined that if aliens ever explored society on earth as it currently is, one of their first points of focus would be on how we now use emojis to communicate with one another. It would be a bit like how we pour over cave drawing and try to decipher how civilizations lived in the past when might understand so little regarding the rest of their lives at that time.

I also wondered if the aliens in Last Pick might use these emojis in a condescending way since they are truly despicable creatures. The idea that these massive robotic Scoopers show up on our planet to take humans away is terrifying enough, but the fact that each one has a unique and seemingly innocuous emoji staring down on you as they search the landscape seemed even more horrific to me.

How has the school and library market responded to your graphic novel?

Fantastic! Once your book is out into the world, it's often difficult to gauge how well it's selling, and it's often the school and library markets that are the first sign for a Young Adult novel regarding how well it is connecting with readers. It's here that the reviews and recommendations really count. So far I'm extremely happy with how well it has been received, and some of my favorite experiences have been stepping back into schools and talking to students about storytelling and comics in general. You'll know pretty quickly if your intended YA audience for a book isn't connecting. Kids and teens have little patience for media that doesn't connect with them. When it does connect, you really need to rely on the schools and libraries to help get your work in front of their eyes.

“...I've learned how much easier it is to have the support and guidance of a well oiled machine working with you.”

What have you learned from the experience of having your major debut graphic novel published at the level of a big five publishing house?

First and foremost, I've learned how much easier it is to have the support and guidance of a well oiled machine working with you. The team over at First Second Books has been fantastic. They know how to get a book out into the world the right way, and it's so nice for me to be able to put my trust in them and to just put in the hard work of creating the pages.

I've also learned a bit of humility. It's rare in life that an opportunity comes along that suddenly makes everything easier, and expecting that to happen is a surefire way to live your life constantly wanting more. Getting your book put out through a large publisher certainly does put a spotlight on you work like never before, but it has been important for me to also learn that there are thousands of spotlights beaming down on new books at any given time. Like most things in life, success is defined by each individual, and if you decide that success should be defined any other way you might be setting yourself up for disappointment and anxiety. A larger stage with a larger audience doesn't always mean you've got the next bestseller. Sometimes it's just another step toward building an audience.

“...the drawings help tell the story in ways that I wouldn't be able to do with just writing.”

Writing a book is hard enough. Does writing and illustrating a graphic novel up the ante? How much time and dedication does that take?

This is a question that I've gotten quite a bit recently. The writers out there that don't also illustrate believe that what I do must add an extra layer of difficulty, but I have to say that I don't believe that's true. For me, the drawings help tell the story in ways that I wouldn't be able to do with just writing. It's not easy for me to establish and flesh out an entire scene full of believable characters and environments through only words. Rather than taking a few paragraphs to create a sense of what is happening in the story, I can sometimes get that same information across within a single comic panel through only background images and body language.

For me to sit in front of a blank screen with a blinking cursor that's just waiting for me to create a world through only text would take so much more dedication from me than just sitting in front of a blank drawing page.

You’ve mentioned that Craig Thompson’s Space Dumplins was a big influence for you. Others have expressed that they see inklings of Judd Wick’s Hilo in Last Pick. Are there any other graphic novelists or comic books that have influenced you?

Craig Thompson is a big one. His graphic novel, Blankets, is a stunning work of art, and a beautiful and honest autobiography. Because it's so phenomenal, there's little that I would ever attempt to replicate from it, but it has informed my storytelling in the sense that the emotional journey for my characters is more important to me than the plot devices that move the story along. I try to shake off as much irony as possible and to let the heart of the characters show through. I'm attracted to writers that aren't afraid of exploring "love" and "being in love" in a positive way.

Terry Moore's Strangers in Paradise is another good example of this. If you've ever read it through, you might remember that it's full of fantastic action set pieces and international intrigue, but what resonates and stays with me always is the love story at the core of all the drama. It's honest and beautiful. If I can incorporate even a small portion of that into my own work, then I'm completely satisfied that I've created the type of comic that I'm drawn to (pun intended?).

How did you obtain your current literary representation and how did you go on to get published?

I had been a full-time teacher for the past fourteen years within special education. I really loved that job, but I also loved making comics. Splitting my energy and time between those two jobs while also focusing on my family began to take its toll on me. I needed to either just teach, or just make comics. With that in mind, I put together the early ideas for Last Pick as a final effort to reach out to the larger publishers. As luck would have it, you, Mark Gottlieb at the Trident Media Group literary agency contacted me out of the blue around that same time.

You were a fan of my first published graphic novel, Homesick, and offered me representation right away. I remember opening that email when I probably should have been paying attention during a staff meeting after the students had gone home. I couldn't believe what I was reading. The illusive agent representation was finally going to happen! I quickly researched the other authors that you represented and knew this was my best opportunity yet to focus on comics as my primary job.

“...things came together so quickly after fighting so hard to get my previous comics and graphic novels out into the world.”

Within weeks, we had the pitch for Last Pick put together and in the hands of some of my favorite publishers on the planet. Within months, I was working from home full-time and beginning to put the first graphic novel of a three book series together. There's no way for me to accurately explain how fortunate I felt and how shocked I was that things came together so quickly after fighting so hard to get my previous comics and graphic novels out into the world.

Do you have any advice for aspiring comic book creators or graphic novelists?

I do! It's the best advice that has ever been given to me. When I was working on my first graphic novel, I was feeling overwhelmed and full of self-doubt. An artist friend of mine told me to "just finish it". Simple right?

The thing is, there's a good chance that what you create will never be exactly as you hoped. It may never live up to the spectacular story that you envisioned in your mind before you ever began. You'll be tempted to just quit. Don't. Once you've completed a comic or graphic novel, you can now call yourself a cartoonist, or graphic novelist, or writer, or whatever other title you think is appropriate. You've done it! You've entered the clubhouse, and once there, you now have a bit of access to other creators out there that you can share your work with. It feels really good, and it makes sitting down to start the next one so much easier.

Can you give us a little preview or snippet of what you’re working on for your next graphic novel series or standalone title? Or can you tell us what’s to come next in Last Pick 2?

The second book comes out in October, 2019, and it's called Last Pick: Born to Run. What I can tell you is that the book switches between Wyatt and Sam's story as they both struggle for survival and try their best to escape their horrific situations. Even though they are a universe apart, their love for each other connects their two adventures together as they rise up against even more ruthless aliens and higher stakes then ever before. There's more action than ever, but I'm most excited about seeing these two characters come into their own now that they're separated and seeing how they build new relationships now that their previous ones have been stripped away.

#JasonWalz #FirstSecond #MacmillanChildrensPublishingGroup #MacKids #LastPick #BorntoRun #Graphicnovel #Comics #Comicbook #YA #YoungAdult #YALSA #EisnerAward #TridentMediaGroupLiteraryAgentMarkGottlieb

[iyarpage]

10 Tips for Using a Bullet Journal to Boost Creativity

You’ve seen some of the beautiful bullet journals on Pinterest, and there’s more to this trend than an exercise in creativity. Using a bullet journal can make you a master of the website universe. And it all starts with a pen and paper.

For those who aren’t familiar, a bullet journal is a notebook (of any kind) that you use to create lists, calendars and brainstorming notes all in one place. Essentially a bullet journal is a customized planner/sketchbook to help you capture notes, thoughts and inspiration. Cool bullet journals are one of the hottest elements on social media; but this analog tool is more than a ploy, it really can help you boost creativity and plan website design projects.

1. Keep Track of To-Do Items

The most common use of a bullet journal is as a to-do list. Use the journal to track progress of work or project tasks and even life tasks.

Every person organizes their journal differently, but many bullet journalers include a “key” to note progress of to-dos. It’s a little more fun and wacky than just putting a strike through a line item.

2. Create a Project Timeline

A project timeline is really just a giant to-do list. Use a bullet journal to develop milestones and create a task manager that you want to engage with.

The year in pixels example below is striking because it starts with an almost blank canvas and rewards the user as they fill in elements. The bullet journal is useful in this way because it encourages you to get moving.

3. Capture Notes from Meetings

A bullet journal can actually help you save time—even if it looks like a labor of love. Carry a single notebook for everything. Pages can be mixed and match with different elements, such as lists, ideas and notes.

By having everything in one place, in an almost chronological format, it will be easy to find and go back to ideas and notes in a pinch.

4. Daily Sketch/Doodle Reminder

There’s nothing like putting pen to paper to help create a little inspiration for almost any type of project. Taking a few minutes each day to sketch or doodle can help keep you feeling creative, even when burnout is creeping up on you.

Make it part of your daily work schedule so that you’ll stay fresher in a design sense and feel refreshed when it comes to projects. (And as an added bonus, you never know when some of those mindless sketches or doodles might turn into something usable.)

5. Build a Mood Board

Just because it is called a “journal” doesn’t mean you have to write everything.

Use a bullet journal to collect design elements and even create a mood board for projects. Add divots from other places; it’s totally OK to add sticky notes or paste in photos for inspiration.

6. Save Ideas for Later

The best thing about a bullet journal is that all of your ideas are in one place. You can start down one creative path and keep expanding on an idea day after day. You can see how a creative thought has evolved and shaped over time.

And you have the original ideas to go back to at any time. This is a great change from drawing something in illustrator, making changes and saving without keeping older iterations of the concept.

The journal concept helps you see a design process and evolution over time. (You might go back and love where you started, or wonder what in the world you were thinking.)

7. Experiment with Lettering

For a lot of designers, hand letting and typography is something we only look at from afar. Stretch your muscles by drawing letters—that is what writing is all about—in different styles.

You don’t have to be a calligrapher, but there’s something special about the feel of drawing letters that’s hard to explain unless you try it. You may never show these lettering styles to anyone else, but it can help you think about lines and curves and how words come together from a visual standpoint.

8. Create Goals

One of the most common—and pinned—bullet journal page-inspiration concepts is for setting and keeping track of goals.

Whether personal or professional (or a mix of both), a bullet journal can help you outline what you want to do today, this month, this year or even long term. Create a visual map that shows what your goals are and how you can work toward them.

There are two benefits to setting goals in a bullet journal: You have actually written down what you want to do. This can make a goal seem more real. By putting the goal in a journal that you are interacting with regularly, you’ll see the goal and a reminder of what you are working toward. (That makes this a great option for big goals that inspire you.)

9. Practice Organization

Use a bullet journal to get organized. Try using a notebook with grid lines to practice using a grid and creating doodles within a set of constraints.

Designing anything within a set on constraints is a valuable practice. It can help make you a better designer because you are practicing creativity within a set of boundaries. This is something that will apply to most projects, from creating a logo in a certain shape or planning for a visual treatment that must fit above the scroll of a web page.

10. Use for Fluid Scheduling

While you can use a more traditional format for a bullet journal, most people pick a notebook with blank pages (rather than planner styles with dates). This allows you to create project lists that are more fluid.

To-dos don’t have specific deadlines with this format. You can build a list of things to do and only add deadlines for necessary items. This allows for more fluidity, which often facilities creativity, because tasks can be done when the inspiration strikes.

So that your journal stays organized in usable manner, it is recommended to add dates to pages to track some progress. (I note the date that a new journal page is started in the top corner as a reference point.)

Conclusion

Here’s the thing that happens as the pages of your bullet journal start to fill up: You can see progress from project and you also have a tiny little book of art. The sketches, doodles and ideas are a source of collective inspiration as you flip back through the pages.

So the bullet journal provides an immediate creative outlet and helps spur long-term creative thought. So find a notebook and some colored pens or pencils and start journaling!

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10 Tips for Using a Bullet Journal to Boost Creativity

You’ve seen some of the beautiful bullet journals on Pinterest, and there’s more to this trend than an exercise in creativity. Using a bullet journal can make you a master of the website universe. And it all starts with a pen and paper.

For those who aren’t familiar, a bullet journal is a notebook (of any kind) that you use to create lists, calendars and brainstorming notes all in one place. Essentially a bullet journal is a customized planner/sketchbook to help you capture notes, thoughts and inspiration. Cool bullet journals are one of the hottest elements on social media; but this analog tool is more than a ploy, it really can help you boost creativity and plan website design projects.

1. Keep Track of To-Do Items

The most common use of a bullet journal is as a to-do list. Use the journal to track progress of work or project tasks and even life tasks.

Every person organizes their journal differently, but many bullet journalers include a “key” to note progress of to-dos. It’s a little more fun and wacky than just putting a strike through a line item.

2. Create a Project Timeline

A project timeline is really just a giant to-do list. Use a bullet journal to develop milestones and create a task manager that you want to engage with.

The year in pixels example below is striking because it starts with an almost blank canvas and rewards the user as they fill in elements. The bullet journal is useful in this way because it encourages you to get moving.

3. Capture Notes from Meetings

A bullet journal can actually help you save time—even if it looks like a labor of love. Carry a single notebook for everything. Pages can be mixed and match with different elements, such as lists, ideas and notes.

By having everything in one place, in an almost chronological format, it will be easy to find and go back to ideas and notes in a pinch.

4. Daily Sketch/Doodle Reminder

There’s nothing like putting pen to paper to help create a little inspiration for almost any type of project. Taking a few minutes each day to sketch or doodle can help keep you feeling creative, even when burnout is creeping up on you.

Make it part of your daily work schedule so that you’ll stay fresher in a design sense and feel refreshed when it comes to projects. (And as an added bonus, you never know when some of those mindless sketches or doodles might turn into something usable.)

5. Build a Mood Board

Just because it is called a “journal” doesn’t mean you have to write everything.

Use a bullet journal to collect design elements and even create a mood board for projects. Add divots from other places; it’s totally OK to add sticky notes or paste in photos for inspiration.

6. Save Ideas for Later

The best thing about a bullet journal is that all of your ideas are in one place. You can start down one creative path and keep expanding on an idea day after day. You can see how a creative thought has evolved and shaped over time.

And you have the original ideas to go back to at any time. This is a great change from drawing something in illustrator, making changes and saving without keeping older iterations of the concept.

The journal concept helps you see a design process and evolution over time. (You might go back and love where you started, or wonder what in the world you were thinking.)

7. Experiment with Lettering

For a lot of designers, hand letting and typography is something we only look at from afar. Stretch your muscles by drawing letters—that is what writing is all about—in different styles.

You don’t have to be a calligrapher, but there’s something special about the feel of drawing letters that’s hard to explain unless you try it. You may never show these lettering styles to anyone else, but it can help you think about lines and curves and how words come together from a visual standpoint.

8. Create Goals

One of the most common—and pinned—bullet journal page-inspiration concepts is for setting and keeping track of goals.

Whether personal or professional (or a mix of both), a bullet journal can help you outline what you want to do today, this month, this year or even long term. Create a visual map that shows what your goals are and how you can work toward them.

There are two benefits to setting goals in a bullet journal: You have actually written down what you want to do. This can make a goal seem more real. By putting the goal in a journal that you are interacting with regularly, you’ll see the goal and a reminder of what you are working toward. (That makes this a great option for big goals that inspire you.)

9. Practice Organization

Use a bullet journal to get organized. Try using a notebook with grid lines to practice using a grid and creating doodles within a set of constraints.

Designing anything within a set on constraints is a valuable practice. It can help make you a better designer because you are practicing creativity within a set of boundaries. This is something that will apply to most projects, from creating a logo in a certain shape or planning for a visual treatment that must fit above the scroll of a web page.

10. Use for Fluid Scheduling

While you can use a more traditional format for a bullet journal, most people pick a notebook with blank pages (rather than planner styles with dates). This allows you to create project lists that are more fluid.

To-dos don’t have specific deadlines with this format. You can build a list of things to do and only add deadlines for necessary items. This allows for more fluidity, which often facilities creativity, because tasks can be done when the inspiration strikes.

So that your journal stays organized in usable manner, it is recommended to add dates to pages to track some progress. (I note the date that a new journal page is started in the top corner as a reference point.)

Conclusion

Here’s the thing that happens as the pages of your bullet journal start to fill up: You can see progress from project and you also have a tiny little book of art. The sketches, doodles and ideas are a source of collective inspiration as you flip back through the pages.

So the bullet journal provides an immediate creative outlet and helps spur long-term creative thought. So find a notebook and some colored pens or pencils and start journaling!

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[adapted-batteries]

You Sultry Land Pirates Ruined My Dig! Chapter 2

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General Audiences/sfw

Ships: a little bit Jazekiel, little bit Jassandra, and some Cassekiel in a bit

In a world where Cassandra and Ezekiel are top tier land pirates, and Stone is an expert in archeology and history but new to being out in the field, there is a weird, impenetrable tomb in some Sumerian ruins, with things that don’t quite make sense.

Inspired by the lovely story line (and outfits) in episode 3x09 “And the Fatal Separation” where Cassandra and Ezekiel smuggle Stone, Baird, and Flynn in while they pose as land pirates.

Posted on my Ao3 here.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4

---

The desert was not Cassandra’s favorite place they had been so far. It was only 8am but the sun beat down, making her sweat under her thankfully lighter colored “explorer’s outfit.” They used these clothes anytime they needed to blend in with scientists in the field; various colored tan shirts and pants, some sturdy boots and today, a light blue shawl to cover her head almost like a very loose hijab. Ezekiel was similarly dressed, minus the shawl, but he did have a white cloth over his head like many of the workers at the site, to protect his head and neck from the sun, which he held in place with his leather headband.

Dr. Stone, dressed similarly to Ezekiel but without dangling feathers from his headband, saw them approaching. He seemed to be looking at a map on a makeshift table of crates, talking to two workers in their language.

“Miss Adamantine and Mr. Zet, welcome,” he greeted after giving the workers some instructions. He walked towards them, gesturing in the direction of the expansive ruins that lay just north of the camp. “Some of the good artifacts have already been shipped back for analysis, but the ruins themselves are still a wonder.”

“Oh, that’s alright. We still get a personal tour of the ruins,” Ezekiel chirped, getting a smile from Dr. Stone.

“So, a little history of these ruins,” Dr. Stone started as he led them to the entrance. “Around 3,200 B.C. a shift in weather triggered a spread in population for better farmland. Uruk was the main city at the time, it’s about 30 miles east from here, which is most likely where the people came from. Based on the structure of this settlement, they diverted a portion of a larger canal from the Euphrates for water.”

He led them down into one of the finished excavations; a large square plot of earth that had several remnants of buildings. They were mostly stone, a sandy tan color, but there were clumps of dark materials against some of the walls, both inside the building walls and outside them. Dr. Stone pointed to one of the clumps. “Now it was common to use wooden beams to support the walls and ceiling, something we find in Uruk, but these carbon deposits weren’t just in the homes. In this portion in particular, it looks like these people had a garden or courtyard with trees and other plants, not a common thing to find in a drying climate.”

After about thirty minutes of listening to Dr. Stone get excited about the people creating an oasis in the desert and how they did it, they finally arrived at the promising burial chamber. “An expensive courtyard, which was constantly watered by slaves, mansions, and things normally found in the richer houses in Ur and Uruk, makes it seem that this settlement comprised of a few noble families and enough commoners to support them. It made sense that we would eventually find burial chambers, but these people didn’t make burial chambers like underground basements,” Dr. Stone said as they stood in front of the entrance. He had taken them into the remnants of one of the big homes and down the sloping dirt to the oddly placed stone door at the bottom of the excavated pit. “We know where the floor was based on the deposits on the stone bricks up there,” he continued, pointing to a faint line visible around two of the walls. “So this was definitely underground. Basement-like storage pits were common, but never with such a sturdy stone door. Whatever is behind here, they didn’t want people finding. They fortified the earth for it, as you can see, bricking only this wall in and fixing a door to it.”

“Did they normally use doors like this for other tombs?” Cassandra asked, much more interested in this dig than before.

“Some of the large temples had similar doors, but they didn't lock, rather they were placed as heavy covers that sealed the room until a new body went in. This door we can’t get open, but it’s not sealed like the bricks. It seems to have some sort of locking mechanism, based on the characters on the door, almost like an ancient keypad, for lack of a better analogy,” Dr. Stone responded, looking at the door. There were thirty symbols on raised stones, arranged in a five by six grid.

Cassandra stared at the door, absorbing the information to analyze later. “What language are the symbols?” she asked, not recognizing some of the characters.

“From my own research, I've determined it's some offshoot of Archaic Sumerian, but only some symbols look like it. These others,” he pointed to several odd looking shapes, “look more like ancient Hebrew if anything. But that doesn't make timeline sense because Hebrew doesn't exist for another 2,000 years.”

“Interesting,” Cassandra responded, still processing the pattern of the letters. She needed to brush up on her ancient Hebrew to make sense of the symbols.

“What type of lock would they have used to make this door?” Ezekiel asked, doing his part of the problem solving.

“That we know of, they didn't have very complicated trap systems, or if they did, they've decomposed to where we can't study them.” Dr. Stone walked up to the brick wall and tapped it. “We also can't see through this wall either. No sonar, ultrasound, or x-ray will penetrate this brick. But there's nothing unusual about the brick that we can tell.”

“How come you don't just blow a hole through the wall?” Ezekiel suggested. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and Dr. Stone looked like he thought Ezekiel was out of his mind.

“How many archeological digs have you heard of using explosives to excavate, hmm? If we did that, not only would I lose funding for any future projects because I ruined my own dig, but I'd for sure destroy anything inside, and probably collapse the building remnants above it,” Dr. Stone scolded. He then restrained himself, taking a deep breath. “If we were in a different environment, where not everything was basically sand, maybe we could punch through some bricks, but with the weight of sand above and around, plus the precarious stability we already have from excavating, it's a bad idea.”

“Yeah, you're right, I didn't think of that,” Ezekiel backtracked, knowing he needed to stay on Dr. Stone's good side for now, even throwing in a little grin too, trying to sell it. Based off Dr. Stone’s smile back, he presumed he had succeeded.

“Well you've seen the dig now, but we've got the artifacts in a sorting tent back at camp,” he started, moving back towards the dirt ramp. It wasn't a horribly steep incline, but he gave both an unnecessary helping hand up it. ���We sent off some really nice pottery a couple days ago. Mostly fragments, but there was one almost completely intact and barely faded. Love it when we find those, it's like a kid on an Easter egg hunt that finds the egg with the $20 bill in it.”

“How long will you be excavating here?” Cassandra asked after they cleared the threshold of the mansion door.

“Oh, we're only about halfway done excavating. We know where all the buildings are now, so we just gotta dig them out a bit, especially after finding that door. It'll probably be a couple weeks or so,” he replied, nodding to some workers on their way back.

The artifact tent looked like all of the others; simple tanish canvas and rope. It was one of the biggest, about the size of a metal shipping container, which made sense when they stepped inside. Two foldable tables stood in the center with a variety of tools and cloths on it. Crates, boxes, and cases of all sizes lined the walls except for a bare spot near the entrance. Based off the markings and impressions in the sand, those were probably the boxes that he sent off a few days ago.

A non-local, easy to tell by the sunburned skin, stood at one of the tables, brushing something. “How's cleaning going, Sydney?” He asked. She looked up from her work, a hint of confusion on her face when she saw Cassandra and Ezekiel.

“Oh, fine enough. I'd rather be out in the dig though,” she sighed.

“You can go back out when you don't look so much like a lobster,” he chuckled to her. “This is Sydney Denton, she's my on site geologist, and currently artifact cleaner,” he clarified to the strangers. “Sydney, this is Miss Adamantine and Mr. Zet...uh-”

“Antiquities dealers,” Cassandra cut in. “We were in town for business and ran into Dr. Stone last night.”

“What a coincidence! Well ya’ll missed the good stuff, but I just put up some nice bowls and a little ceramic figurine,” Sydney said, turning behind her to a partially open crate. She pulled out some fragments, a cracked whole bowl, and the hand-sized figurine, and brought them back to the table. “It’s amazing how many things we found intact like this. Most items this old get crushed or broken.”

The little figurine caught Cassandra’s attention. It was a fairly intricate sculpture; a person held a rectangular tablet in one hand at its side, and its other held a cup. She didn’t know much about Sumerian culture, but the pose had to mean something, and there was an easy way to find out right in front of her. “Does the pose signify anything?”

“Generally a tablet would mean the figure either was a noble or a priest, as they were the only social classes that knew how to read and write,” Dr. Stone answered, gently picking up the figure.  “The cup can have a variety of meanings depending on the age of the figure. Problem is, sculptures of this detail don’t show up for another 500 years or more. Yet another reason this settlement is...well...weird.”

Sydney snickered at the last statement before adding her own response. “If a thing is ‘weird’ it’s just not understood fully. Just like magic is science we don’t understand yet.”

“Well, I don’t understand it, so it’s weird,” Ezekiel commented. Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him, but Dr. Stone just chuckled under his breath.

They got to see a few more artifacts before Dr. Stone got called for by some workers. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I do have work to do,” he said, starting to leave the tent. He turned back before he let the canvas flap close. “If you wanna get a drink sometime, before you leave, you know where to find me,” he practically purred to Ezekiel, suddenly sounding like he did the night before.

Instead of getting flustered, Ezekiel ate it up. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Now Dr. Stone got flustered, not quite the jaw drop, but enough he couldn’t respond and instead left the tent with a smirk. “We must be getting back to the city, but it was lovely meeting you,” Ezekiel said to Sydney who had gone back to cleaning.

“Best of luck to your excavations!” Cassandra chimed in as they started backing up towards the entrance.

“Thank you, it was lovely having visitors in my jail,” she chuckled. “I guess I’ve learned my lesson for forgetting to reapply sunscreen.”

“That is a lesson you tend to only learn once,” Cassandra added.

“That it is. Have a lovely day!” Sydney said, waving. The two waved back, then left the tent.

They didn’t talk until they were back in their hotel. “Ok, did you see anything in those symbols? A code, pattern, anything?” Ezekiel asked, flopping down on the king-sized bed with his phone in hand.

“I need to know what the symbols translate into before I can think of possible patterns. Dr. Stone was right though, it did look kind of like neo-Hebrew,” Cassandra explained, sitting at the desk to start her research. “Did you see anything? Mechanisms you know?”

“Sort of. He did get right the whole ancient keypad. Each of the buttons moves something on the other side, but there’s a good chance it’s a string of those symbols. Without getting through that wall, I can’t do much,” he confessed. “It’s sort of like that box we found in India a couple years ago, except stone and bigger.”

Cassandra was already typing away. “If I can find the translation, or something remotely close, I can limit down the number of tries we’ll have to take. While I work on that, can you look for things the people of Uruk would find important, names of nobles, events, anything they could make into a password.”

“Sure, ‘cos I’m definitely a historian,” Ezekiel scoffed.

Cassandra turned back to him, intense stare on her face. “We don’t have much time, considering we’re competing against a world-class expert who’s got a few days head start. If you can find me things to start with-”

“I know, I know, brain grape will do the rest,” Ezekiel sighed, already typing away on his phone.

“Hey, this is one of the biggest jobs we’ve had. After this we can go to a beach somewhere for months on that money. If we get to work, we could have whatever’s in that tomb tonight,” she continued.

“Then you better get to work, I can’t do all the research can I,” Ezekiel toyed. Cassandra, used to him doing this, just sighed heavily and turned back to her laptop.

The pros of having a world-class thief in the 21st century meant that Cassandra had access to ALL academic databases and library catalogs, even the ones not in access to most academia. This made research on all the artifacts much easier; a world-class mega library at her fingertips. In four hours, with a break for food as well, Cassandra had figured out what the Hebrew-ish symbols probably were and Ezekiel had compiled everything he could find about Sumeria around 3,200 B.C..

“Ok, time to let the magic happen,” Ezekiel said as he sent her his list.

Cassandra took a deep breath, standing up from her chair. “Alright…” She spread her hands in front of her like she was trying to manipulate a hologram. To Ezekiel, he just saw her moving her hands and eyes, focusing on some spaces before swiping it away or enlarging it, but to Cassandra it was like an interactive whiteboard, letters and numbers and symbols and pictures appearing in her field of vision. “Ok so if there’s 30 letters, and those give an alphabet mostly in Sumerian. It won’t be those long phrases, passcodes are normally 5-15 characters, unless it’s a sentence.” She swiped around and zoomed again. “Hmm, the specific Hebrew line up with holy symbols...Oh! Together they could spell YHWH, but the whole Hebrew faith didn’t exist yet, unless this is something undocumented.”

At this realization, data poured into her field of view, too much at one time. Cassandra became dizzy, unsteady and wavering on her feet. Ezekiel quickly caught her, setting her down on the foot of the bed. “Hey, you alright? We’ve got time, you can take a break if it’s too much,” he soothed, watching her intently almost like a parent making sure their kid was alright.

“I can, I’m fine, ow, ok I’ll take a break,” she strained, holding the left side of her head for a few moments before swiping a finger under her nose. “Hey, no nosebleed this time.”

“That’s good. You know, we don’t have to go on vacation again, we could get that out-” he started, but she lifted a hand to cut him off.

“If I do that there’s a chance I lose everything. If I lose that, I’m no use to you or anyone.”

“You don’t know that,” he countered, defensive. Knowing she didn’t need more stress, he sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. He didn’t look at her, he never did when he said this (which was more often than either would like to admit), and instead studied their intertwined fingers. “I don’t care if you can’t ever do math in your head again, I don’t want you to leave me. You’re more than just some walking computer.”

“I know. It’s just, well, irrational fear. Doesn’t have a good reason to be there but it is.” She sighed, looking out the window. “I’ll think about it. But for now, I’m stuck with my brain grape.” She turned to him, a sad look in her eyes, something he hated seeing. Not wanting to lose his composure in front of her like last time, he looked at the wall in front of them. She leaned her head on his shoulder; they sat in silence for some time before she spoke again. “I don’t want to leave you either. And if doctors can help, then I should do that.”

“You shouldn’t do it for me,” Ezekiel whispered, strained, definitely close to losing it.

“I know. It’s my choice,” she answered, just as softly as him. He didn’t respond with words. Instead he turned his head, kissing the top of hers.

---

Ch 2 post notes

For the most part, all the archeology stuff is accurate (thanks to google and my anthropology class last semester). It’s weird to write stuff like that but it wouldn’t be the Librarians to me if someone wasn’t nerding out about something.

Also writing Cassekiel was fun, in a heart wrenching kind of way. Definitely fueled from Cassandra processing in ep 3x08 for sure. I don’t really know how involved they are in this universe, but they definitely care for each other immensely.

[iyarpage]

10 Tips for Using a Bullet Journal to Boost Creativity

You’ve seen some of the beautiful bullet journals on Pinterest, and there’s more to this trend than an exercise in creativity. Using a bullet journal can make you a master of the website universe. And it all starts with a pen and paper.

For those who aren’t familiar, a bullet journal is a notebook (of any kind) that you use to create lists, calendars and brainstorming notes all in one place. Essentially a bullet journal is a customized planner/sketchbook to help you capture notes, thoughts and inspiration. Cool bullet journals are one of the hottest elements on social media; but this analog tool is more than a ploy, it really can help you boost creativity and plan website design projects.

1. Keep Track of To-Do Items

The most common use of a bullet journal is as a to-do list. Use the journal to track progress of work or project tasks and even life tasks.

Every person organizes their journal differently, but many bullet journalers include a “key” to note progress of to-dos. It’s a little more fun and wacky than just putting a strike through a line item.

2. Create a Project Timeline

A project timeline is really just a giant to-do list. Use a bullet journal to develop milestones and create a task manager that you want to engage with.

The year in pixels example below is striking because it starts with an almost blank canvas and rewards the user as they fill in elements. The bullet journal is useful in this way because it encourages you to get moving.

3. Capture Notes from Meetings

A bullet journal can actually help you save time—even if it looks like a labor of love. Carry a single notebook for everything. Pages can be mixed and match with different elements, such as lists, ideas and notes.

By having everything in one place, in an almost chronological format, it will be easy to find and go back to ideas and notes in a pinch.

4. Daily Sketch/Doodle Reminder

There’s nothing like putting pen to paper to help create a little inspiration for almost any type of project. Taking a few minutes each day to sketch or doodle can help keep you feeling creative, even when burnout is creeping up on you.

Make it part of your daily work schedule so that you’ll stay fresher in a design sense and feel refreshed when it comes to projects. (And as an added bonus, you never know when some of those mindless sketches or doodles might turn into something usable.)

5. Build a Mood Board

Just because it is called a “journal” doesn’t mean you have to write everything.

Use a bullet journal to collect design elements and even create a mood board for projects. Add divots from other places; it’s totally OK to add sticky notes or paste in photos for inspiration.

6. Save Ideas for Later

The best thing about a bullet journal is that all of your ideas are in one place. You can start down one creative path and keep expanding on an idea day after day. You can see how a creative thought has evolved and shaped over time.

And you have the original ideas to go back to at any time. This is a great change from drawing something in illustrator, making changes and saving without keeping older iterations of the concept.

The journal concept helps you see a design process and evolution over time. (You might go back and love where you started, or wonder what in the world you were thinking.)

7. Experiment with Lettering

For a lot of designers, hand letting and typography is something we only look at from afar. Stretch your muscles by drawing letters—that is what writing is all about—in different styles.

You don’t have to be a calligrapher, but there’s something special about the feel of drawing letters that’s hard to explain unless you try it. You may never show these lettering styles to anyone else, but it can help you think about lines and curves and how words come together from a visual standpoint.

8. Create Goals

One of the most common—and pinned—bullet journal page-inspiration concepts is for setting and keeping track of goals.

Whether personal or professional (or a mix of both), a bullet journal can help you outline what you want to do today, this month, this year or even long term. Create a visual map that shows what your goals are and how you can work toward them.

There are two benefits to setting goals in a bullet journal: You have actually written down what you want to do. This can make a goal seem more real. By putting the goal in a journal that you are interacting with regularly, you’ll see the goal and a reminder of what you are working toward. (That makes this a great option for big goals that inspire you.)

9. Practice Organization

Use a bullet journal to get organized. Try using a notebook with grid lines to practice using a grid and creating doodles within a set of constraints.

Designing anything within a set on constraints is a valuable practice. It can help make you a better designer because you are practicing creativity within a set of boundaries. This is something that will apply to most projects, from creating a logo in a certain shape or planning for a visual treatment that must fit above the scroll of a web page.

10. Use for Fluid Scheduling

While you can use a more traditional format for a bullet journal, most people pick a notebook with blank pages (rather than planner styles with dates). This allows you to create project lists that are more fluid.

To-dos don’t have specific deadlines with this format. You can build a list of things to do and only add deadlines for necessary items. This allows for more fluidity, which often facilities creativity, because tasks can be done when the inspiration strikes.

So that your journal stays organized in usable manner, it is recommended to add dates to pages to track some progress. (I note the date that a new journal page is started in the top corner as a reference point.)

Conclusion

Here’s the thing that happens as the pages of your bullet journal start to fill up: You can see progress from project and you also have a tiny little book of art. The sketches, doodles and ideas are a source of collective inspiration as you flip back through the pages.

So the bullet journal provides an immediate creative outlet and helps spur long-term creative thought. So find a notebook and some colored pens or pencils and start journaling!

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