#the sheer happiness i experience every time i see Tim's face is just

[tiafrye]

A little self-indulgent sketch of Gale I drew today while shamelessly using pictures of Tim as a reference. And I have no regrets.

[reyescarlos]

26, 65 or 74? hurt/comfort? i love ur style of writing and i wanna see where you take these 🥺🥰

this is just the sweetest. you’ve really been making me so happy with all your kudos and comments in this collection! thank you so much! this one kind of ran away from me and is a bit heavier than my previous fics. it comes with trigger warnings so... overdose tw, drugs tw

#26 “How did you find me?”

TK sits with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he looks out across the field. To any passerby this wouldn’t be anything remarkable. It’s nothing more than an expanse of dry grass but this particular vacant spot is arguably one of his favorite places in all of Travis County. This is the field where he allowed himself to dive headfirst into something real with Carlos, the two watching an anomaly in the sky above as something organic bloomed between them.

Austin has been leaving its mark on TK, the new memories and bonds forged here almost enough to eclipse all of the bad he’s left behind.

But there are certain aspects of his past that he can’t quite run from, despite his best efforts to. Life enjoyed playing with him too much to allow good times to last long. TK supposes he may be a touch melodramatic but after the last call he and his team were dispatched to, he can’t shake the idea that the universe likes tossing in harsh reminders of a life he’d rather forget.

The scene they were called to was far too similar to a scenario he had personal experience with. A worried mother stood watch for the crew’s arrival outside the door to her daughter’s apartment, tears in her eyes and she begged and pleaded with them to break down the door and get to her child.

The young woman was unresponsive, passed out on her bathroom floor. Beside her was an empty orange vial and two small clear baggies. It was as if seeing an alternate version of his life. Michelle bustled in, Tim and Nancy flanking her as they worked in tandem to save the woman. Narcan passed from Tim straight to Michelle in the blink of an eye, leaving her to administer the dose in almost no time at all.

TK was vaguely aware of his father’s voice but his ears were ringing too loudly to make out any of the words, let alone any other sound coming from the room. He could see Michelle calling out orders, see her team’s lips moving in response. But the dial was turned down to zero; TK was unable to register any of it. He could recall the touch of his father’s hands on his shoulders and hands, urging him away.

But it was all TK could do to stand there, feet planted like a formidable oak as he watched the young woman’s eyes flutter open, to hold his breath as she emptied out her stomach, her body too weak to even move herself away from the mess she’d made.

“TK,” his father had said a bit more forcefully in his ear, a hand on his elbow to take him away from the threshold.

He stumbled backwards as his father pulled him away, his vision of the apartment blurred as tears filled his eyes. The young woman would be okay but the image of her sprawled out against the tiles, TK knew, would always haunt him, never mind the sheer anguish on her mother’s face.

The ride back to the station was painfully quiet, the team—for his sake, more than anything— not saying a single word. But TK didn’t even feel like he was in the truck at all. His mind was somewhere else entirely, a thousand miles back in New York on his living room floor. It all came rushing back in such stunning clarity.

He’d gone through the motions of showering and dressing once they returned, enduring another quiet ride, this time home with his father.

TK had gone straight to his room though Owen tried getting him to open up and talk about what they’d just seen. His room made him feel like a caged animal as he paced the length of it. Before he could fully register what he was doing, TK was fleeing the house without saying a word to his father, hoping to find someplace where he could be alone and hopefully wind up feeling better.

TK’s top pick would have been Carlos’ condo but the last thing TK wanted to do was burden his boyfriend with this. He’s done his best to shield Carlos from the sordid details of his past, so keen he is these days on maintaining a brighter future.

He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of crickets hidden in blades of grass, feeling the soft evening breeze blow across his skin. This was the perfect place to settle on.

The road his mind wants to travel down is a dangerous one and it takes everything within him to keep on a safer path. The silence of the field helps. He tries to mirror it for himself, an open space and an open mind.

Out here with no one around, the noise in his head dies down long enough for him to steady himself and recalibrate.

His peacefulness is broken about twenty minutes later by the sound of tires approaching. TK scrambles to his feet quickly at the sudden intrusion. The car’s headlights make it hard to see much of anything but as the engine is cut and the lights are as well, TK feels his chest tighten at the sight of Carlos’ Camaro.

He stands frozen in his spot as he waits for Carlos to get out. When he does, his boyfriend’s eyes are locked in on him, his expression unreadable as he comes to a stop in front of him. Carlos doesn’t waste time with a preamble, jumping right into things.

“Your dad told me about the call you guys had today,” Carlos says delicately.

TK looks away, cracking his knuckles. His skin feels stretched too tight around his body. It’s a perfectly cool evening and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, his face and neck suddenly feeling hot.

“He was worried when you left and refused to answer his texts and calls. That’s when he reached out to me, hoping that you were at my place. He was worried sick...as was I.”

“I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I just needed...to breathe.”

Carlos frowns. “I know that call must have been horrible for you but you can’t go AWOL like that, TK,” he says, voice still gentle. “If you needed this time on your own, just say that next time, please. When you disappear, we can’t help but to get scared that you’re hurt or—”

“I didn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t, you know,” he concludes lamely, unable to even bring himself to say the word relapse.

“I didn’t think you would but thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re hanging in there. I tried calling but it kept going straight to voicemail.”

TK’s brows furrow as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He touches the screen but it remains black. He hadn’t even thought to check on his phone, not that it mattered either way given he was practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s then that Carlos’ appearance really sinks in.

“How did you find me?”

For the first time since he arrived, Carlos smiles faintly.

“There’s a reason I still earn a paycheck every two weeks. You may think you’re a mystery but I know you,” he says, reaching for TK’s hands.

TK lets him hold on, realizing now just how cold his fingertips feel once he’s met with Carlos’ warmth. For as much as he wanted to be alone, TK is glad for Carlos’ presence now. It’s a powerful thing to be seen and loved by someone.

“I figured you’d go somewhere you could be by yourself, that’s nice and remote but also someplace that made you feel comforted as if you weren’t actually alone. That night we spent out here came to mind so I thought I’d check it out first.”

TK huffs out a sound similar to a laugh and shakes his head, looking back out across the field. “Impressive work, officer. But as you can see, I’m doing just fine so you don’t have to worry.”

“I wouldn’t call running away and isolating yourself fine, T. Please, can you talk to me about what you’re feeling right now?”

TK can hear traces of panic in his voice though, to Carlos’ credit, he tries to disguise it. But TK can read the strained look in Carlos’ brown eyes and the set of shoulders. This was precisely what TK was hoping to avoid, making someone he cared for so concerned. But he supposes he brought this on himself. Had he just spoken up when it mattered most, Carlos wouldn’t have had to go tracking him down.

Carlos turns and walks back towards his car, sitting on top of the hood. TK watches him for a moment, the man’s hand outstretched in invitation. This takes him back to that glorious night where there didn’t seem to be any limits to how happy and free he could be.

It feels like such a déjà vu. There may not be northern lights above them now but the stars shine so brightly that it’s captivating all the same. Carlos still looks at him with wonder and care in his eyes, just as he’d done months ago. The car is just the same, the spot beside Carlos empty and waiting for him.

But inside TK feels different. Something has monumentally shifted due to that call. So much of this scenario may feel familiar but he feels a long way off from the guy he was that night.

Something in his expression or body language gives him away; he knows Carlos can see his unease. The man lowers his hand and sits cross legged, just staring at him patiently.

It’s just one of the many things TK appreciates in Carlos. He never forces him to speak if he isn’t ready. He’s simply just there and that counts for so much more than TK can even say. It’s more than he deserves, of that he’s certain. But it’s exactly what he needs so he’s grateful.

After another moment, TK’s legs finally begin moving forward, the soles of his shoes crunching against the dried grass. He slides upwards onto the hood of the car, laying back wordlessly against the windshield. Beside him, Carlos follows his lead, reaching for his hand again. He brings it to his lips to kiss each of TK’s knuckles before resting his hand against his chest.

TK stays quiet for a beat, taking just a moment to relish in Carlos’ touch. A conversation is inevitable but before they get underway, he knows he needs to contact his father and attempt to put the man at ease. He dreads the thought alone but it’s the least he owes his dad now for bailing like he did.

“I should probably borrow your phone and give my dad a call. Let him know that I’m okay.”

“I sent him a text before I got out of the car. He knows you’re with me.”

A ghost of a smile plays at TK’s lips at the implication of that last sentence. Being with Carlos amounts to the same thing as safe.

TK pulls in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts but everything in his head is a wreck. He plucks out one thought and goes from there, just needing to get something off his chest so he could breathe a bit easier.

“Being on that call today, seeing that girl’s mom absolutely lose it....,” he trails off, closing his eyes to the memory but the images still flood him anyway. “It just made me think about my dad finding me when he did. If he’d come over to my place even five or ten minutes later, I likely wouldn’t even be sitting here right now.”

He has to stop short there, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“I’ve put him through so much and I don’t ever want to do that again, cause even a fraction of the fear that woman had. Her daughter looked so helpless and all I could think about was ‘what if this girl doesn’t make it?’ Her mom wouldn’t have been able to survive that. And I thought back to New York, my dad being there, saving me. I’ve been doing well now but this thing is always going to be in me, no matter what and I hate that more than anything. One setback could undo everything. It’s happened to me before and I barely made it through that time.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Sometimes it seems like it’d be safer not to let people in just in case I relapse again. I don’t want to drag anyone else down this road. My dad, you, the family I’ve made here. You all are so important to me and nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you guys, one way or another.”

Carlos sits up at this and from his periphery TK can see that his boyfriend is looking at him but TK can’t bear to look back. Instead he keeps his eyes trained on the stars just wishing he could trade places with them now, be light years away from the troubles of this world.

“Hey, no. The people you have in your corner are going to be there for life. We all love you so much and will always stand with you.”

There’s such conviction in his words that leaves no doubt about his sincerity and commitment. TK can’t help the tears that fall from the corners of his eyes and race back to his hairline as he keeps vigilant watch on the sky. He knows that if he looks at Carlos now, the little bit of restraint he’s been clinging to will break. Carlos continues speaking, undeterred, or perhaps motivated, by TK’s silence.

“I’m not in the business of giving up on people. Serve and protect, right? If I can care deeply for perfectly good strangers every day, why on earth wouldn’t I be able to do the same for you, the man I’m so incredibly in love with? You couldn’t push me or anyone else who loves you away. You and I agreed, right on this very spot, months ago that we were a team. I have every intention to hold up my end of that promise.”

TK lowers his gaze, finally letting his eyes land on Carlos. The man’s face is flushed, beautiful brown eyes tinted pink from unshed tears but there’s a fierceness in them despite the sadness.

TK sits up and draws nearer, resting his head against Carlos’ shoulder. TK’s wrapped up in the man’s embrace instantly, those steady hands rubbing soothing circles along his back.

He lets himself be cared for, ignoring how weak he feels now. Carlos, he knows, is strong enough for the both of them at this moment. There’s no judgement or shame to be felt, not with Carlos.

“You’re so much stronger than you even know,” Carlos murmurs against the shell of his ear. “There’s nothing you can’t get through and there’s definitely nothing we can’t do together. You’re so loved, TK. You are so loved and needed. Always.”

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

🎂☆ Jason Todd Birthday Week ☆ Aug 16th - JASON’S BIRTHDAY

Dickface Grayson: what do u want for ur bday baby bro?

RedNerd: a big booty hoe

Spawn: same

Wiffle: sksks DAMIAN

The family group chat is usually rather annoying. No one sleeps and no one has boundaries or tact so there’s always three hundred messages and long ass tangents (courtesy of Tim, Damian and sometimes Duke) for Jason to read over his morning coffee.

It’s a big thorn in his ass.

But it’s routine. He’s grown to expect it like he anticipates sunrise, it’s become one of those things on his mental checklist that he can never forget. Those morons keep finding more and more opportunities to weasel their way into his life and it’s so goddamn irritating that he loves it.

Which is why the lack of notifications he wakes up to makes his skin itch in an unscratchable way. His first instinct is to assume something’s wrong because there’s nothing beside that one question from Dick. But as he replies, Damian and Stephanie’s responses follow immediately— he finds relief in knowing their fine but his confusion grows.

He realizes he’s bored.

He has a three day stretch of no plans and he’s so freaking bored he kind of wants to claw his eyes out.

Dickface Grayson: i told y’all asking him wouldn’t work

Dickface Grayson: i. told. y’all.

Timbits: stop with the y’alls

Wiffle: y? cuz it reminds u of connor?

Timbits: fuck off

Wiffle: bite me

Babs: I say, we go with the original plan

Duke☀️: but how are we going to get him to go willingly go to a party?

Spawn: we could knock him out

Timbits: NO

Spawn: and just carry him there

Timbits: Damian I swear to GOD

Dickface Grayson: why can’t we do the surprise party

Wiffle: cuz he’d hate it

Wiffle: and he’d kill us

🐥Cass: let’s just get him a cupcake and call it a day

Spawn: i second that

Spawn: or we could get him an escort

Babs: DAMIAN

Spawn: put it on father’s card

Timbits: as much as I would LOVE to see that

Timbits: we can’t

🐥Cass: add it to the list for next yr dames

Babs: I have work to do, you guys plzzz come up with something.

Dickface Grayson: good luck babs

Dickface Grayson: I say party

Wiffle: i’m going with Cass and the cupcake

🐥Cass: ^^

Dickface Grayson: Damian I see you typing. Don’t say it.

Timbits: he’s Jason guys. he doesn’t want the attention of having to blow out a candle and listen to us butcher happy bday

Timbits: we need something he’d like

Wiffle: let’s just give him his presents

Wiffle: they’re all books anyway

🐥Cass: books and cupcakes

Spawn: no that’s stupid

🐥Cass: ur stupid

Spawn: ur stupider

Wiffle: Tim’s stupidest

Timbits: blocked

Dickface Grayson: CHILDREN

Dickface Grayson: babs will murder us if we don’t come up with something

Timbits: I mean…. she’ll muder you

Spawn: muder

🐥Cass: muder

Wiffle: STUPIDEST

Jason calls Alfred, texts Bruce and leaves a long winded voicemail for Barbra. She replies with three smiley face emojis and then a voice note of her reminding him that his has three days off for his birthday specifically for resting, to stop worrying about everybody else. She’s stern and sure and he knows it’s pointless to argue.

Alfred had been vague too and Bruce hadn’t replied— with all his sources dry, Jason’s left pouting in his apartment, bored out of his mind. He keeps opening and closing his apps to see if there’s been updates.

There isn’t.

RedNerd: why are you guys so AWOL

Timbits: we’re giving u a break hbd loser

RedNerd: shady

Timbits:🙃

Timbits: i’m disowning Steph

RedNerd: i’m on her side whatever it is

Timbits: traitor

RedNerd: 🙃

Jason sighs languidly. He flicks his phone to the side and watches it bounce off the couch. There’s a full five seconds in which he allows himself to release his boredom in a long, guttural groan and then he’s diving after it to check the screen. It’s not broken. He resolutes himself to reading as all else fails.

Timbits: Jay’s getting antsy

Dickface Grayson: ughh

Wiffle: what r we gonna do?

Spawn: yk

Wiffle: Damian

Spawn: shut up Brown, I was going to say that Duke had an idea.

Wiffle: oh

Wiffle: what’s ur idea sunshine?

Duke☀️: I never volunteered

Wiffle: I’m starting to like the escort thing so plz

Duke☀️: fine

Duke☀️: I’ll invite him to the manor to play PUBG

Duke☀️: no party

Duke☀️: and then we do family dinner and have Alfred make a cake

Dickface Grayson: that’s simple enough

Wiffle: and Alfie makes the cake he’ll have no choice but to accept it

Babs: good work team

Duke☀️: team?

Babs: Good Work Sunshine ☀️💛💛

He’s cleaning his kitchen for the third time when his phone vibrates. A plate is almost dropped in his haste to get to it.

Duke☀️: PUBG. Pizza. Manor?

RedNerd: yessss

The manor’s dead silent when he steps into the threshold. Alfred slips out of the kitchen to bid him a quick hello, hands him two boxes of pizza (one extra cheese and the other sausage and peppers) and shoos him up the stairs.

“You look like shit,” is what Duke says in greeting. He already has the controllers and television set up. Jason feels a little like he’s found bliss.

“I’m losing it, man. No patrol and shit for three days? I’m going to die. Again.”

“Yeah cuz I’m about to kick your ass. Hand me my pizza and sit down.”

“It’s on, sunshine.”

Dickface Grayson: Duke has him in the den. we’re jist gonna ease in one by one. Alfred’ll bring the cake, we’ll do presents and then it’s done

Wiffle: sounds good chief

Timbits: is my pizza here?

Spawn: no one ordered for you

Duke☀️: yh it’s in the kitchen.

Timbits: right, expect me first.

They play four rounds until Jason’s spent most of his pent up energy on killing opponents. Duke gets better every time he plays and he works well with Jason’s style. It reminds him that they should team up more for patrol.

Damian slinks in on his toes right as they start the fifth. He’s got a box of pizza balanced in one hand and Alfred the cat tucked under the other.

“Todd,” is all he says before plopping down on the opposing sofa.

Tim wanders in after, barefooted and rumpled. He opens his mouth to say something, spots Damian and snaps it shut. He makes a noise that reminds Jason of a busted engine. He doesn’t know what that’s about, he doesn’t want to know either.

“Timbo, take this.” He passes him the controller and yanks his skinny frame down with one arm. “Play for me so I can eat.”

“Cheating,” Duke intones.

“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want to.” They all visibly stiffen at the words. He continues, speaking quickly around a mouthful of pizza. “And also. You guys have been really weird all day. What have you been up to?”

The response is a three tiered chorus of, “Nothing.”

“The group chat was dead quiet.”

Tim is stuttering something out when Damian drops a “I wish it was,” under his breath.

Nobody says anything. He chews, swallows and waits for them to fill the silence.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you guys have another group chat?”

“No.”

“Why would we?”

“Yes.”

Jason’s braces himself to be as offended as he possibly can when three things happen in the space of a minute.

Tim throws a slice of pizza at Damian while Duke ducks between the cushions. The ensuing fight is so loud Jason can’t hear himself think.

Dick and Cass come stumbling through the doors with Stephanie tailing behind them— their all singing “happy birthday.” Alfred— bless him— is following along with a small sponge cake adorned with lit candles. He makes it one foot into the room before there’s a loud splatter, a scream and shouted curse.

There’s a controller in the cake.

Dick and Steph are on the ground trying to pull a shocked Damian and Tim apart while Duke sinks further between the upholstery.

“Jason,” Cass crosses around the disaster zone. She offers him a hand and gives him a firm shake. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” He’s still stunned, gaping down at her like a confused goldfish.

“These are for you.”

It’s a pile of hard copy classics secured by a gold ribbon. A tiny bite size cupcake sits on top.

“Thanks Cass. I really appreciate it.”

She hums, casts a glare at Damian and sways out of the room.

“Well,” Alfred snaps. “I’m going to clean this buttercream off of me while you all fix this ...mess. Master Jason, it appears I owe you a cake.”

“It’s fine, Alfie.”

Dick slams his fist to the floor, fuming. “ It’s not.”

“It’s ok—“

“Jay we’ve been trying to plan something special for you all day. This was the best we could do— just us, just a cake and some presents— and we found a way to screw it up.”

“That’s what the other group chat was for.”

Tim chimes in, rolling out of the chokehold Damian has him in.

He sees the guilt hanging around the dropped corners of their mouths like anchors. So that’s why they were so unattached, they were just being annoying amongst themselves.

“This is….it’s great actually. That,” he points to Damian on the ground. “Was quality entertainment. Duke is still a PUBG genius, which it was nice to be reminded of and this—,” he raises the books and cupcake. “—is really all I need.”

He and Dick split half of Damian’s pizza out of sheer spite. Bruce comes in at some point to let them know Alfred’s making another cake and then he somehow gets sucked into a game of Super Mario. Later, they’ll all gather around in the kitchen to force feed Jason cake and watch him open presents. It’ll be quiet and intimate and just right for him.

He’s not bored to death anymore.

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up to four hundred messages in the group chat and the world will right itself.

Wiffle: We’re all going to remember what we’re getting Damian for his bday next yr, right?

Duke☀️: lessons in decorum

Timbits: tickets to the Crayola Experience?

Timbits: tickets to Sesame Street live?

Wiffle: no

Wiffle: a trip to Home Depot to get him a big ass hoe

[thepropertylovers]

Feature Friday with Matthew Chaffee

Happy Friday, friends. Though the weeks are running together and what day it is means almost nothing anymore, we’re so happy it’s finally the weekend. The last few weeks have been some of the busiest for us (feeling grateful for that) and we’re looking forward to relaxing just a bit this weekend. Do you have any fun plans?

This week’s Feature Friday is Matthew, who shares what it was like growing up in a conservative environment, the response he got from his senior high school class when he came out in front of them by reading an essay (!), and his advice for those struggling to come out. We enjoyed getting to know Matthew and we think you will, too. See what we mean below…

What is your favorite place you’ve ever traveled to and why? Unfortunately, my answer to this question isn’t very exciting. Growing up, my family never had a lot of extra money to spend on traveling, so most of our vacations consisted of road trips around the Midwest. Don’t get me wrong, I got to see some fascinating places and make great memories with my family, but I haven’t been anywhere particularly exotic. I have been to New York City twice, both times for a music department tour in high school, and I’d have to say that it’s probably my favorite place I’ve traveled to. It was so much bigger and so much more cosmopolitan than anything I had ever seen or was used to, so it was quite overwhelming. The sheer vibrancy of it all – the lights, the smells, the languages – was intoxicating. Attending a performance of Phantom of the Opera on Broadway would probably have to go on my list of top ten life experiences thus far. It’s definitely not somewhere I could live for any length of time, but for somewhere to visit, it was phenomenal. 

Where did you grow up? What was your environment like? I’ve spent the entirety of my life living in West Michigan, which, as you may or may not know, is pretty traditional and conservative. More specifically, I’m from Grandville, which is a city of about 16,000 located in the Greater Grand Rapids area. Dutch heritage and Reformed (Protestant) Christian values play a big role in shaping the culture of the circles I grew up in. I attended a Christian Reformed Church, and I was educated in a private Christian school where my graduating class consisted of approximately seventy students. My family consists of myself, my mother, my father, and my brother, who is five years younger than me. I am very close with my parents, and I’d say my relationship with my brother is typical of siblings with our age gap. Family and faith have always been central parts of my life, and I don’t foresee that changing. 

How did your environment growing up shape who you are as a person? Growing up in a pretty conservative area definitely had an impact on my younger years. I remember in elementary school, like many children, I would parrot my parents’ political views when “discussing” politics with my peers. However, with the growing revelation about my sexuality that came with puberty, my views slowly began to change. Another catalyst for my shifting views occurred in middle school, when a good friend of mine was deported to Guatemala due to an error in her parents’ paperwork. The injustice of it all really impacted me and opened my eyes to a world that before had been largely hidden. High school gave me my first opportunity to connect with international students. As I have always been interested in learning about different cultures, I quickly befriended them and even helped start my high school’s International Club, which provided opportunities for American and international students to interact and attend various cultural events. Finally, my Aunt Dawn and Uncle Tim have played a major role in exposing me to issues concerning social justice. Although both of them grew up in West Michigan – just like my parents – their life circumstances have provided them with opportunities not experienced by most of my other family members. Because of this, they have always stood out to me as being somehow “different”, more engaged and more vibrant and passionate than most people I know. As I grew older and began paying more attention to the things my Aunt and Uncle would talk about, I began to realize the value behind the causes they were advocating. When taken together, my friends, my family, my sexuality, and my desire to continuously learn and expand my horizons have shaped me into who I am today. 

What’s one interesting fact about you? Besides English, I’m speak conversational Spanish and basic French and Korean. I also can play piano and trumpet, and I love to sing (though I don’t know if I’m any good or not, since I’m too shy to sing in front of anyone). 

What is one thing you love about yourself? Learning to love myself hasn’t been easy; it’s a process, and definitely something I’m still working on. But one thing I’ve always been proud of is my imagination. I’m a dreamer, and my mind is a wild place. I keep a running note on my phone of all the random, crazy things I think up so that maybe someday I can make them happen. 

What brings you the most joy in life? Oh boy. There are so many things I could talk about here. I love being outdoors. In particular, I love to bike. Bike trails are plentiful where I live, and Grand Rapids has begun to install bike lanes, so getting around and finding new places to ride is a cinch. My favorite ride is from Grand Rapids out to Lake Michigan, which I do a few times every summer with my best friend. Other outdoor activities I enjoy are hiking and hammocking. I firmly believe that everyone should own a good hammock. In addition to outdoor activities, I love to cook and bake. My specialties are ice cream and gourmet mac & cheese. Someday I hope to write a mac & cheese cookbook and title it “MAC: The Complete Guy to Everyone’s Childhood Favorite” (M-A-C are my initials). I also make a mean hummus. I love to learn. I’ve spent countless hours on Wikipedia reading about the most arbitrary topics. Whether it’s German political parties or the Japanese folklore, I’ve probably read about it. Nothing is off limits. As a result, my mind is a veritable treasure trove of random and mostly useless facts. Finally, I find joy in spending quality time with friends and family. Whether it’s playing ultimate frisbee, exploring a new city, dumpster diving at Krispy Kreme (a tradition at my college), or having late-night campfire talks, I’m down for just about anything as long as I’m with the right people. 

How old were you when you came out? What was your experience like? My coming out experience was a rather long process. Pretty much as soon as I began to have romantic feelings toward people, I realized that I had them for both guys and girls. This was around fourth or fifth grade, and I told myself that it was normal, that I wasn’t actually attracted to guys, but that I just knew that some guys were really good-looking. Once I reached middle school, I started to come to terms with the fact that maybe I was attracted to guys. But I continued to tell myself that I was more attracted to girls. I did the whole “percentage” thing, where I was like, “okay, I’m eighty percent straight, twenty percent gay.” I first came out as bisexual to my friend Carly. Freshman year of high school I told a few more friends that I was bi, and it went over pretty well. Sophomore year I briefly dated a girl, then junior year I began dating another girl. That lasted for about a year until we broke up early spring of my senior year. The breakup gave me a lot to think about, but even while dating her I realized that something never really felt right; I could never really imagine myself with her – or with any girl for that matter – for the long term. After much soul searching, I finally accepted that I was gay. One of the last big projects senior year was the “Where I Stand” paper. This was an essay written by every senior for English class, and it was basically an opportunity to say whatever you wanted and to be really open and vulnerable and reflect on your life leading up to that point. I decided to incorporate my coming out into my paper. It wasn’t the central focus, rather more of a side note. Thankfully, my English teacher, Mrs. Hoeve (now Dr. Hoeve) was extremely supportive throughout the process. On the day when everyone shared their papers, I concluded mine to thunderous applause, which was especially remarkable considering the fact that most of my classmates came from the same conservative, Reformed Christian background as I did. On the whole, I couldn’t have asked for a better coming-out experience at school. 

How did your friends and family take it? Did you face any backlash? How did/do you deal with that? I waited to come out to my parents until after my graduation and open house in order to not burden them with the news. Finally, after the celebrations had ended, I let them read my paper. The fifteen minutes or so that I waited in my room while they read it downstairs were the most agonizing of my life, because I knew how earth-shattering the revelation would be to them. When they finally came up to my room, their expressions were pretty much what I’d expected – reassuring, yet somehow disheartening at the same time. They assured me that they still loved me, that they were proud of me, and that they were glad I had told them. Since that time, we have only discussed my sexuality on a few occasions. When I first told them that I was dating a guy, it was almost like coming out all over again; I think that revelation finally made my sexuality real to them. In the intervening time, I have seen my mom making definite strides in becoming more open-minded not just toward me but in general, which is great. My dad, though he accepts and loves me, is very set in his ways – though, to be fair, I have had fewer conversations with him regarding my sexuality. My dad’s parents disowned me when I came out to them, though that hasn’t had much of an impact on me due to the fact that I was never very close to them. My mom’s parents, on the other hand, have always been incredible grandparents to me, so coming out to them, especially knowing their stance on other issues, was pretty nerve- wracking. Incredibly, the news didn’t seem to affect them at all, and their treatment of me since that time hasn’t differed in the least; they are still the loving, generous grandparents I’ve always known, and for that I’m extremely thankful. My friends have all been very accepting as well, though this was to be expected considering I have always associated with my more relaxed, open-minded peers. 

What did you learn about yourself in the coming out process? One of the most meaningful lessons I’ve learned about myself in the coming-out process is truly understanding what I value and stand for. I was raised as a Christian, and my faith is still very important to me. If anything, it’s actually become stronger as I’ve navigated the ups and downs of my journey with my sexuality. I’ve talked with numerous gay men who, at one point or another, renounced religion for various reasons, but often those reasons involved the church’s negative treatment or exclusion of LGBTQ+ individuals. To me, this is heartbreaking. As someone who identifies both as gay and as a Christian, seeing the false dichotomy that has been constructed around these two identities is challenging and frustrating, because I personally don’t believe that such exclusivity has any place in either institution. At its core, Christianity is about love. Sure, there are endless theological arguments to be made, but I don’t believe that these are necessary in order for a Christian to be accepting of another’s sexuality. Indeed, many of my friends are Christians; these are the same friends who accept my sexuality and wholeheartedly support me. Furthermore, the professors at the private Christian university I attend vehemently assert that Christianity and social justice go hand- in-hand, and that this includes advocacy for LGBTQ+ rights. Seeing this kind of support coming from within circles that are often viewed as hostile toward the LGBTQ+ community has been so incredibly encouraging. Not only has this served to reinforce my identity as both a gay man and a Christian, but it has also provided me with confidence when speaking about these issues. 

What would you tell today’s LGBTQ youth who are struggling to come out in fear they won’t be accepted by family, friends, society? You just might be surprised. People you’d never expect to support you will rally around you and love you. It’s also possible that people who truly care about you, but who may not be supportive right now, will have a change of heart when they find out. Sometimes it takes time. Case in point: my own parents, who are still processing and learning about what it means to have a gay son. Know, too, that family can mean more than one thing. Friends are the family you choose, so seek out and surround yourself with people who will love and accept you for who you are, especially if your actual family doesn’t. As cliché as it sounds, it does get better. Sometimes you just have to put in the effort to make it better for yourself and accept the challenges along the way. 

What is a difficult or challenging obstacle you have overcame in your life, or hope to overcome? By far the most difficult obstacle I’ve had to overcome in my life has been my struggle with mental illness, namely anxiety and depression. I was extremely anxious as a young child, to the point where I would induce vomiting before any sort of performance or sporting event so that it wouldn’t happen while on stage or on the field. Looking back, I think my anxiety was to blame for a lot of missed opportunities. For example, I don’t view myself as a particularly athletic person. But is this actually true? Or did I just never really try for fear of failure? Anxiety also manifests itself in my relationships. Elementary school friendships were rocky at best, and college presented its own challenges with meeting people and putting myself out there. More recently, depression has been a major struggle in my life. As I mentioned, I struggled initially to make friends at college (though this has since changed), and as I result, I became very depressed. I saw all the people around me getting settled into their friend groups while I felt alone. There was a point where my loneliness led me to seriously contemplate suicide, and I believe that perhaps the only thing that stopped me was when a friend checked in on me and gave me a hug. Since that time, I’ve been working on slowly but surely moving my center of identity to within myself, rather than placing it in other people and their judgements of me. I am focusing on pursuing my hobbies and interests, taking time to care for myself, and accepting my emotions as valid while simultaneously analyzing them through an objective lens. By doing this, I have become less worried about maintaining relationships and instead have been able to be present and actually enjoy them while also feeling more comfortable in the times when I’m alone. 

Who is your biggest inspiration and why? My biggest inspiration is my mom’s sister Dawn. She is one of the wisest, most thoughtful, and most gracious people I know. I actually came out to her before I told my parents; due to her close relationship with my mom, I knew she would have some good suggestions for how to break the news to them, and that she would be able to help my mom process the news after the fact. To give an idea of the type of person Dawn is, here’s a little anecdote: When I worked as a Resident Assistant in college, I had a resident come out to me. I was thrilled and honored to have him entrust me with such a significant part of his identity, and I really valued the opportunity to walk alongside him in his journey. I mentioned to him the role Dawn had played in my own coming-out process, and he asked if she might be willing to offer some advice to his mom. I reached out to Dawn, and she willingly agreed. I came to find out later from this resident that his mother and my aunt had talked for over an hour on the phone. I don’t know very many people who would go so far out of their way to help and support a complete stranger. 

Where do you see yourself in five years? Oh boy. Honestly, I try not to plan too far ahead, because that can be dangerous for an overthinking dreamer like me. But if I had to say, five years from now I actually hope to be doing exactly what you guys (PJ & Thomas) are doing. I joke that my dream is to have my own HGTV show, and while the odds of that happening are slim to none, I’d be happy to flip houses and develop property even without a TV show. I also hope to meet the man of my dreams, get married, and start a family, though this might take a little longer than five years down the road to happen. My greatest fear is actually never finding love. I know it seems a little ridiculous for a twenty-one-year-old to be worrying about that sort of thing, but it’s hard when you have friends who have been in serious relationships for years or who are getting engaged. I have to keep reminding myself that people find love at different times and in different places, and that I shouldn’t compare my own journey with others’.

Any last words you want to leave people with? Feel free to share! Feel free to message me! I always love getting to meet new people and hear their stories.

Thank you so much, Matthew! You can follow him on Instagram here. Hope you have a great weekend, friends!! xx

P&T

[cardandpixel]

9 Board Game YouTubers I Follow & Why (plus a few others)

In the literal dim and distant past when I started boardgaming (honestly, the biggest threat was tallow wax on your board), the internet was still accessed by whatever IP address you could remember off the top of your head (there’s no place like 127.0.0.1 as they sayI) - and the only TikTok was the clock ticking, waiting for half of Louise Nurding’s left leg to download only to realise it was Anne Widdecombe and you’d hit the wrong link on a BB. Boardgames had some quiet and shady corners of the internet, in those same Bulletin Boards, there was one for HeroQuest and Space Crusade when they came out. But sadly, if you wanted to see a boardgame being played or learn the rules, you either had to go round to your friend Tim’s house where he had a new chits-for-days wargame going, or sit down and actually read the rulebook yourself. As a result, I bought some interesting games in my time, including a game called Operation Overlord - a mighty chit-tastic WW2 N African campaign monster that I bought in desperation from the Games Workshop in Manchester on the first morning that it opened in 1979 (?) as we were so far back in the queue that there wasn’t a space marine to be had for miles. But now, we have a plethora of kindly folk available on our blistering shiny Windows NT 486sx machines to inform and delight us in full 8-bit glory. Everything from reviews, buying guides, rules tutorials and even painting & crafting guides, we can be bathing in just about whatever aspect of board or wargaming we so desire in an effort to stave off the clattering realisation that it’s been over 3 months since we spent any quality time with another breathing soul outside our houses. The question gets frequently asked on boardgame FaceAche forums “What YouTube channels are worth my time and why?” so in an effort to throw my own towel into that controversial ring, here’s my pick of probably 9ish, maybe more by the end, but let’s start with 9 in no particular order..... 1) 3 MINUTE BOARDGAMES

One of the first board games ‘er across the table (TM) and I bought together was a copy of Gloom from a little games and comic shop halfway round the world in Hamilton NZ, Mark 1 Comics. As we were achingly close to moving to NZ a few years ago, we’ve kept up with many aspects of what might have been our life over there, so it was a delight to discover Jarrod (and now Stephanie) on YouTube, a friendly and familiar accent reviewing board games. But it’s not just the NZ vibe that I love, Jarrod does a great job of cutting thru the hyperbole and bloat often associated with trying to keep YouTube vids ‘long for the algorithm’ (ugh) and just gives very pragmatic reasons for a game either joining or leaving his collection. He has a great approach, and it’s nice to see him finally on camera instead of the disembodied voice. Great reviewer, and Stephanie is utterly hilarious. 2) THE BROTHERS MURPH

Mike & Nick are two of the most engaging brothers on YouTube let alone just in the boardgaming community. Their series on thrift shop finds has dredged up some hilarious and often tragic specimens from the grand days of Palitoy, MB and Parker Games.  They are also masters at ‘speed reviewing’ often piling reviews of 50 or 60 games into the same number of minutes. I think I favour the ‘don’t outstay your welcome’ approach to YouTube in general, and the Brothers Murph are at great ease with this philosophy and yet they take on simple party games thru to the heaviest euros with the same distillation equipment, and yet their reviews are never trivial or throw away. We had the chance to chat to Nick at Airecon this year and he was a lovely guy, slightly blown away by the fact that people liked his channel. He’s also an awesome artist too.

3) ACTUALOL

There are many reviewers on the web who have cost me a fair amount of money, the worst being Zee Garcia, however, a close second is Jon Purkiss aka Actualol. Jon has a terrifying gift for finding games, and especially ridiculously affordable games, that I buy on spec and then end up absolutely loving. Jon has a light and breezy style which is instantly engaging - I also really want his comfy chair (surely in exchange for a nice review on here Jon???). His videos are tidy and concise and yet still convey a deep enthusiasm and joy for games. His reviews very clearly portray what the setting of the game is and what you’ll be doing, without getting embroilled in the rules. He always has great footage of the game on the table (please reviewers - look at the ratio of your face to the game you’re talking about - less than 10% game and i’m walkin’) and often favours the less pricey end of the market which suits me fine. Brilliant games I love thanks to Jon include: Second Chance, Magic Maze and Ninja Academy

4) OUR FAMILY PLAYS GAMES

There’s not much to be said about Mik & Starla Fitch that cannot be gained from watching a mere 3-4 minutes of their channel. For sheer exuberance aimed squarely at a love for bringing families together via our glorious hobby, you cannot top these guys. If you are ever - EVER - feeling slightly lacklustre about gaming or losing your mojo for whatever reason - heck if you are just feeling slightly down, treat yourself to 10 minutes in the company of these two excellent human beings. Their reviews and playthru’s have all the humanity you need in a game and after five minutes you are thinking “Is the US too far to go just for a gaming evening?” We’d both utterly love to sit across the table from these lovely people and just play, and I can’t say that about every reviewer, I’ll be honest. Their reviews are often centred around unloved classics (watch their vid dedicated to why they love Catan as an example - you’ll be clicking Buy Now before your know it) and also some great quirky unknowns that I’m trying to hunt down even now. They’ve just had a brilliant couple of boosts from both a spot of Good Morning America recently, and becoming reviewers for the mighty Dice Tower. I’m immensely grateful for a tweet by Rodney Smith for pointing me in their direction, my social media is a much brighter place with the Fitch family in it.

5) RAHDO RUNS THROUGH

“Heeeeey Everybody”. One of the first board game reviewers I ever caught on YouTube was the inimitable Richard Ham aka Rahdo. And I’m so glad I did. I would genuinely never sit down and try and learn a game from one of Rahdo’s playthrus, they are what I imagine being in a wind tunnel full of 50 tonnes of feathers is like. BUT and this is crucial - if I want an idea of what a game is going to feel like to play, there is no finer deliverer of the remote game experience than Mr Richard Ham. His unique ability to explain how a game is going to work, turn by turn; the decisions you will make; the things you’ll have to consider; the short and long term goals; are all brilliantly covered in one of Rahdo’s videos. His ability to make different choices for his ‘ghost partner’ Jen (who does exist in real life, we have bought jewelry off her, she’s lovely) also adds a real dynamism to the games, showcasing the flexibility in a design for different play strategies. Rahdo tends towards 2 player games and usually at the heavier end of the scale, but if there’s a game you are thinking of buying, check Mr Ham out first! 

6) WATCH IT PLAYED

It’s often been said that Canadians are some of the politest folk on the planet, but when it comes to ranking Canadians, well, I’m sure they’d be too humble to rank each other so I’ll have to. Rodney Smith is the loveliest man in the world. There, end of article. But it’s true. We’ve been watching Rodney since we first got confused about the rules for Mice & Mystics (which we still got wrong but that wasn’t Rodney’s fault) and his ever chirpy, ever positive approach to his rules rundowns is utterly remarkable and frankly, enviable. And it’s his attention to detail and clarity for explaining rules that have rightly made Rodney one of the most important resources in the gaming hobby. If you have ever struggled over a rulebook and haven’t raced to Watch It Played, I will guarantee you will have spent far longer on that rulebook and lost way more hair than you ever needed to. We had the great honour of playing Rajas of the Ganges with Rodney at Airecon in 2019, and I mugged up on the rules sooo much. Regular imbibers of this rag will know my sloth for reading rulebooks is legendary but fortunately ‘er across the table (TM) loves them. But, for the 3 days running up to our trip to Harrogate, I did nothing but read that rulebook - this was THE Rodney Smith, you can’t get a rule wrong with Rodney. But of course, nerves kicked in and I could barely remember the rules of Snap, but the nicest man in the world could not have been nicer. Really, quantum mechanics has proved it. He was just the same man off the computer telly. Funny, engaging, warm and happy to chat as well as play (which I was also really nervous about doing!), if you don’t watch Rodney, are you really internetting?

7) TABLETOP MINIONS

“Pachow” From boardgames to wargames. As well as my slight addiction to cardboard, my other opiate overlord is 28mm plastic miniatures. Specifically those involved in tabletop skirmish games like Malifaux, 7TV, Fallout Wasteland Warfare, GuildBall and a smattering of others. Though recently more focused on the frankly insane amount of content being released by Games Workshop, Tabletop Minions is presented by the splendid Uncle Atom. (In fact, I identify his content so much as Uncle Atom’s stuff that I honestly had to double check the name of the channel for this article!). My plastic habit uncle (sounds so wrong, but so true) has possibly the gentlest delivery of anyone on the internet. It’s not so much content, as therapy. I know the net is awash with AMSR channels at the mo, but if you don’t want to listen to some overmonetized southern californian with some bubble wrap and a large capsule condenser mic, just hop over to TTM and listen to the Uncle for 5 minutes. He’s like a soothing bubble bath of content about painting figures, philosophy of the hobby, general art & design principles, and great life advice. He also wears a fez.

8) GIRL PAINTING

“Hello Tchoobies!” I painted my first 28mm figure when i was about 12ish - it was, ironically, a space marine of some sort - the old clunky Ral Partha ones. It looked terrible, but each model got a bit better till I stopped for some reason a few years later. When I got into Malifaux a few years ago (ie decades, several of them, later), I knew I was going to have to get back into painting; heaps of grey plastic does not a skirmish game make. (Little did I know I would have to revisit my microscopy days either when assembling damn Bayou Gremlins!)  Two channels were recommended to me, the Esoteric Order of Gamers (more later) and Girl Painting. EOG put me on the path to believing I could paint again, but Alexandra at Girl Painting actually made me believe I could learn to do it well. GP’s approach to painting figures, terrain and vehicles is based on solid art theory. Her explanation of colour relationships and the colour wheel is something I can quote to this day. All of the techniques that I lean on so heavily in day to day painting both for table and display I learnt from Girl Painting. Correct use of washes, wet blending,  non-metallic metals, shading, drybrushing, highlighting, model reading, all of it from studying intently, often with a brush actually in my hand while watching the channel. I cannot recommend GP enough if you want to put paint to plastic. Whatever your ability, you will learn something from this hidden gem of a channel.

9) ESOTERIC ORDER OF GAMERS

Another dang fine antipodean and another slightly unusual channel. I have a terrible, terrible memory when it comes to rules. In our early days, we also had a a lot of games with seemingly very over-bloated rulebooks - FFG games basically. I suddenly realised what I wanted was to lift the lid of a box and find in the lid, a summary of the important stuff i needed to remember about the game. Apparently I was not the only one. In 2013 a chap known as Universal Head started publishing an amazing series of rules summaries which condensed down some of the bloatiest rulesbooks down to often one or 2 pages of A4. It was a (pardon the pun) gamechanger for me. I can’t count the number of games in our collection that have a friendly sheet of A4 now as the first thing you see when you open the box. They are brilliant. And he’s still doing it to this day. I would argue that the more useful leg to his activities is the website rather than YouTube channel, but his channel does have the aforementioned brilliant figure painting tutorials, unboxing videos and some crafting stuff. The website is definitely the place for the rules summaries and also a fantastic resource for build-it-yourself foamcore box inserts. Though Folded Space have now made box inserts pretty affordable, there’s still no feeling like the satisfaction of building your own, and I would argue that some of EoG’s designs actually make more sense than some of the Folded Space ones anyway. AND THE OTHER ONES (Who probably don’t really need the exposure, but hey, only 11 people probably read this so......)  Why aren’t these on the list above? Just because I wanted to highlight some of the more marginal channels above or more specialist rather than the pure reviewers. SHUT UP & SIT DOWN Possibly my favourite channel on YouTube, whose name sounds more like a menacing Yorkshire greeting than a boardgame channel. SU&SD seem to be a real Marmite issue on the board game communities. And I genuinely don’t understand it. Yes, their reviews are often really funny but honestly, if that’s all you take away then you are missing some amazingly detailed and thought provoking work. Quinns and crew’s reviews are some of the most measured and balanced reviews in the gameyverse. Their reasoning for the conclusions they come to are incredibly well thought through and often very surprising based on the tone of the rest of the review. They have steered me to some games I would never have looked twice at and steered me away from some very shiny games that I might have blown a lot of money on otherwise. Flagposting great alternatives is also a signature of their reviews, and that again has often lead me to some fantastic games. We don’t always agree (their recent review of 10 Oink Games was savage imho) but we always disagree for the right reasons. Again, I would argue their website is actually a better overall resource, especially their podcasts which are superb, but all their content is fantastic.

in a highly similar vein I would add NO PUN INCLUDED. Efka & Elaine produce some of the most thoughtful and intelligent boardgame review content today, and often for some of the deepest and most complex games. The joy of boardgaming is that it is highly subjective and there are lots of times when NPI like/dislike a game that I do/don’t, but they are engaging and warm enough as presenters to hit you with a gentle subtext that says “It’s ok - I know we like this game, we get that you don’t, it doesn’t make any of us bad people, just people y’know, have a sandwich with us”  Efka criticising a game reminds me of when Dennis Healey once described an argument with Geoffrey Howe as being ‘savaged by a dead sheep’, though not in the cynical manner of the original. The criticism is loaded with that crucial dose of ‘hear me out’ that is sadly lacking in 90% of all other reviewers out there. Efka & Elaine are no GoggleBox reviewers, they are the real deal - they genuinely understand how games work and why. The sheer moral turmoil that Efka expressed over the cultural issues in Rising Sun was some of the most thoughtful YouTube content I have ever seen. I just wanted to do a little shout out to Johannes & Sunniva at BOARD GAMING RAMBLINGS - I don’t have as much to say as they are relatively new on my radar, but I have really enjoyed their content so far and find them to be like one of those adorable gaming couples that you might see every once in a while at your gaming group and have a blast with, and then not see for months and go “Awh - I really miss Johannes & Sunniva - where’d they go?” that feeling, you know the one. Adorable, with a hint of the esoteric. Also, a quick but important mention to the other titan of boardgame rules explanation that is Paul Grogan of GAMING RULES!. Like Rodney Smith, Paul is meticulous about rules explanation and is really clear and simple to follow, even for very heavy games, which Paul tends to do more of than Rodney, which is probably why I end up watching Paul slightly less, but certainly not for any less quality. Paul has such a reputation in the industry that he now works closely with many designers and publishers to help craft the best rulebooks around as a consultant. So that’s it - congrats for making it through folks. Didn’t think it was going to run this long, but turns out.... I quite like a lot of the YouTubers I watch - who knew? Until next time... happy gaming y’all.

[soepicsokim]

Chapter 33

Bruce told me that Harley and Ivy could come to the wedding. He wasn't pleased, but he said they could come. I think he might ask Doctor Fate or Zatana to do something to their minds that way they don't see everyone's true identities. It was funny dress shopping. Diana wanted to be there to fill in for my mother. I had Violet, Bruce's long lost daughter, Emma, Jason's girlfriend, Harley, who was actually civilized, and Ivy, who was playing with the plants in the store.

             Harley wanted a very sheer dress and a deep plunging neckline with a short skirt. Ivy said my dress should be green and look like leaves. I shook my head. Violet was the one who found my dress and the emerald green bridesmaid dresses. Granted, Diana wasn’t to happy at the fact that I brought two villain's along with us to go shopping.

    After I found the dress next came making the Manor’s gardens look better. Again, I asked Ivy to help. She made the trees look full and beautiful. The orchids are in full bloom and around the area where the wedding will be held. She made everything look perfect, even the grass. I thanked her and she said she would be back the day before the wedding to make sure everything was perfect.

    And here we are, my hand is tangled inside Dick’s hand with my head on his shoulder. He is watching Ivy walking around and gently talking to all the plants in the garden. “We get married tomorrow.” A gentle kiss is placed the top of my head.

    I nod and sigh happily, “Come on.” I start to pull Dick to where the alter will be tomorrow. “Come on Marshmallow. Move your feet.”

    He chuckles and starts walking behind me to the front. He looks up at the fairy lights in the magnolia trees above us with the magnolia flowers in full bloom. Slowly lowering his head he looks at me with a smile that makes my knees go weak. “What now, princess?”

    I blush and giggle as I take both of his hands and look deeply into his blue eyes. “I, I love you. You have been there for me ever since Luthor took me. We have fought each other, fought beside each other, fought for each other. You never gave up hope. You,” I start to cry, “You never believed I was dead. You found me in Ra’s clutches and helped me escape. You are my marshmallow. That nine year old boy who sat on the rooftop of the Gotham Cathedral eating an entire of marshmallows and having a squishy stomach.” I blush and look away.

    Slowly looking back into Dick’s blue eyes and seeing him cry to. “Without you, I would be lost. You are my best friend, my rock, my love, my marshmallow, and my soon to be husband. Thank you, for everything.” I take a deep breath, “I promise to love, cherish and honor you forever.”

    Dick pulls me into a passionate but soft kiss. Each of his hands are on both sides of my face and our tears are intertwining as we kiss. Gently placing his forehead on mine he keeps his eyes closed as he holds me against him, “I thought we were saying our vows tomorrow?”

    “I couldn’t tell you that tomorrow.” My voice is barely a whisper.

    “I won’t ever let you go. I love you and i’m so gl-”

    “HEY! ENOUGH ALREADY!”

    We both turn our heads in the direction of the person yelling at us to see Jason, Tim, and Damian standing at the end of the aisle. Jason points at Dick, “You, you are coming with us. Duchess there gets you every day.”

    Tim cuts in, “Plus, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

    Damian rolls his eyes, “We are saying, it is time to go have a bachelor party and Kent cannot come.”

    Dick sighs and hangs his head, “Give me a moment guys. I won’t see her until this time tomorrow.”

    Jason rolls his eyes, “You got ten minutes before we come and pull you away.”

    I giggle as I gently place my hand on Dick’s cheek, “You better be here at six o’clock tomorrow night.”

    He smirks and leans down to whisper in my ear, “I’ll be here princess, but will you?”

    I kiss him and slowly walk towards Ivy. Pausing I turn back and flip my long black hair, “I’ll be the one in a white dress.” With that I flip my hair again and sway my hips as I walk away and start talking to Ivy.

    “Are you not going to have a party?”

    I sigh gently caressing a rose bud, “Pamela, I don’t do parties. Besides, I’m staying here at the Manor tonight. He and the boys are going back to the apartment.” The rose bud blooms in my hand and I smile softly.

    “It will be a beautiful wedding, Cat.”

    I look at Ivy, “Thank you. You and Harley both. See you guys tomorrow.”

    She nods the walks away. I look after her until she is gone in the shadows of the setting sun. “Well, time to, hmmm, I guess relax.” I smile as I walk towards the manor and see Alfred in the doorway. “Good Evening Uncle Alfred.”

    “Good evening Lady Lydia. Did the gardens meet your expectations to practice for tomorrow's event?”

    I blush, “You saw that?”

    He nods and chuckles softly, “I am grateful that you and Master Grayson are happy together.”

    “I am as well. Oh, Uncle Alfred?”

    “Yes, Lady Lydia.”

    “Thank you for everything.” I smile and walk away to Dick’s room inside the manor. It is going to be a long twenty four hours.

    The clock says it’s ten o’clock at night and I can’t sleep. I hear Dick’s thoughts every now and then of how he is excited to marry me and how he loves me as well as he still couldn’t believe I said yes. My phone ringing cuts me away from his thoughts and into the real world. My hand darts around the bed till I find it and press the answer button. “Hello?”

    “I can’t believe we are getting married tomorrow.”

    I giggle at how excited Dick is, “Shouldn’t you be at your party?”

    He sighs and I can tell he just laid down. “We just got back to the apartment and I wanted to hear your voice before we fell asleep.”

    I turn to my side and lay the phone on my face as I cuddle on of the pillows. “It feels weird.”

    “What does, princess?”

    “Not being in your arms and having to concentrate on your heart beat, instead of it surrounding me.”

    A rustling noise happens before he talks, “Tomorrow night. You’ll have me and my heart beat all to yourself. Besides, it only beats for you.”

    I giggle softly, “Flirt.”

    “For you, always.”

    “Goodnight Mister Grayson.”

    “Goodnight Missus Grayson, I love you.”

    “Love you to.” I hang up the phone and hold it close to my chest, “I’m going to be Missus Lydia Amy Lee Grayson tomorrow.” A soft knock rings through the room. “One moment.” I call out before moving off the bed and slowly padding my way over to the bedroom door. I open the door to see Clark standing there with a small box in his hand.

    “Come in.” I open the door wider and he walks in and sits on the bed. Sighing I close the door before I join him.

    “Let me speak. Just hear me out, don’t interrupt me and then I’ll be out of your hair.” He pauses and looks at me with pleading eyes. I simply nod my head and he takes a deep breath. “When, when your mother died I blamed myself. You were just eight when everything happened. When Joker poisoned me and tricked me into murdering your mother.” He takes a deep breath trying to calm himself. “Lydia, I can’t change the past. I can’t take back sending you to stay with my mother because I was ashamed of myself. I can’t stop Lex from taking you. I can’t stop you from being a science experiment. I can’t go back in time and stop myself from thinking you died.” He gently places the box in my lap and slowly wraps his arms around me.

     “But I can start from here. I can try harder. I can be here for you now. I know you aren’t my little girl anymore, now that you are grown and about to start a family all your own. I just wish we could be a family again. If it’s okay with you, I would, I mean your mother and I would like to walk you down the aisle tomorrow.”

    I stiffen when he says mom wants to walk me down the aisle with him. Before I know it my voice comes out weak and broken, “Ho-how?”

    Clark pulls away from me and slowly opens the box. He lifts up a blue garter, “I know you already have one and it’s green, but this was the one your mother wore at our wedding.” He gently places it on the bed beside me. “This,” he pulls out an anklet with a small s shield charm on it, “is her anklet that I bought her. She wore it often.” The last thing he pulls out is a small family photo. It has him, my mom and a baby in the photo.

    “Th-that’s me.”

    “Even though she is gone, she is always with us. She would be so proud of you, just like how I am proud of you.” He softly kisses my temple before he stands up and walks to the door.

    “DADDY!” I jump up and hug him as I cry against his chest. I slowly feel his arms wrap around me as he buries his face into my neck and cries. We stay like hat for a while before I speak up, “Can you please walk me tomorrow?”

    He pulls away and wipes my tears, “I would love to walk my daughter down the aisle.” He kisses my forehead and opens the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow, my little princess.” With that he walks out, closes the door and disappears.

    I go back to laying on the bed when my phone rings again. “Hello?”

    “I told you that you were mine. I own you and now I will make your life hell.”

Tags: @goldenfxndxms @gobydana @audreythetealovingcat

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Three Identical Strangers

I’m not a big documentary gal. I guess I’ve always been drawn to fiction because the world is big and scary and I like knowing I can escape from it. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve begun to enjoy more things of the “truth is stranger than fiction” variety, probably because my country is a literal game show now and we’re all losers. As soon as I saw the trailer for this documentary, I was hooked. Three Identical Strangers is the story of Robert Shafran, Eddy Galland, and David Kellman - three identical triplets born in 1961 who were separated at birth and raised by three different families and were reunited by chance when they were 19. That story is wild enough as it is; it’s a heartwarming and offbeat human interest story with a feel-good ending. But the purpose of the documentary is to dig further into the story, to figure out why these triplets were separated at birth in the first place. And that’s where shit gets wild. How wild? Well...

The brothers were separated at the discretion of the adoption agency their respective parents used, Louise Wise, a Jewish adoption agency in New York. They claimed no family would want to take three babies at one time, so they split them up to ease placement. Which, like, early 60s ideas about children and child development, ok I can see that. I just assume every decision made in 1961 was to get you closer to a martini and a cigarette. This first section of the film in which the brothers reunite and the mystery of their separation is first addressed is non-stop action. One revelation after another, it leaves you almost giddy at the joy we see in archival footage of all three boys, 19 years old, deliriously happy and with the world at their fingertips. You’re so bowled over by the joy, it’s hard to focus on “well, why did this happen, though?” Filmmaker Tim Wardle does an excellent job of leading us, bit by bit, into darker, more disturbing territory, though. As their tale progresses, an extreme debate of nature vs. nurture emerges, with horrific consequences. By the end of the film, the full scope of what happened to the triplets emerges, and it’s so shockingly, desperately sad that it’s hard to remember that reckless joy from the first 30 minutes of the film. It’s a deft piece of documentary filmmaking from Wardle, and my biggest hope is that it brings the brothers some catharsis and peace after all they went through.

Some thoughts:

The thing I most appreciated about this as a documentary was its clear vision for how to carefully lay out this absolutely bonkers, larger-than-life story. Too many documentaries are meandering affairs, or start as one thing but turn into another along the way without adequate care. Wardle does an excellent job laying out breadcrumbs, developing themes, and letting the story breathe. Really, really well done.

All of the archival footage of the triplets - and there’s a lot - is such a joy to watch, but the home movies of Eddy in particular feel like even more of a treasure. Getting to see the boys outside of the spotlight but still living their lives together gives a better sense of perspective of how much they lost by being apart for 19 years.

The triplets also have a brief cameo in Desperately Seeking Susan, which I have never seen but now must rent immediately just for the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

In spite of the dark territory it wades into, the movie is surprisingly funny. David especially is a loud, boisterous storyteller, and his anecdotes provide some of the biggest laughs.

For some of the early events, Wardle creates these sort of faceless reenactments - people dressed in c. 1980 clothing but we can only see the backs of their heads as they walk through the college campus where Bobby went to school and was confused for Eddy. We get to live that experience as Bobby, and follow him as he goes to meet Eddy for the first time, but you never see the reenactor’s face. It’s a neat trick - many of the documentaries I’ve seen recently use animation to portray these kinds of early memories, but I liked the visceral immediacy of this tactic. There’s not a flawless way to pull off this particular challenge in any documentary, I don’t think, but this came the closest for me. 

I would have paid so much money to go to the NYC restaurant the brothers opened, called Triplets. 

This is without a doubt the most compelling documentary I’ve seen this year, and maybe in my life (keep in mind, I don’t watch a ton of them, so y’know, grain of salt). The story of these brothers will stay with me for a long time, and I hope that this film will give them a version of peace that their lives have been missing for some time.

[onlylifeordeath]

LORENZO VEGA –– “THE CHARGER”

I PUT LORENZO THROUGH A PERSONALITY TEST AND THIS IS SO IMPORTANT TO WHO HE IS AS A CHARACTER. I’M POSTING NOT ONLY THE RESULTS BUT WHAT THEY MEAN.

THESE ARE THE RESULTS LORENZO RECEIVED FROM THE 16PERSONALITIES TEST, WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE AND I ENCOURAGE OTHERS WHO WANT FURTHER INSIGHT AND/OR A CONCISE PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION TO TAKE THIS. IT IS VERY WELL DONE.

RESULTS

ENFP-A:  EXTRAVERTED INTUITIVE FEELING PROSPECTING–ASSERTIVE ( THE CAMPAIGNER )

[ MORE DETAILS BELOW THE CUT. ]

Introduction

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool – for love – for your dreams – for the adventure of being alive.

The Campaigner personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike types in the Explorer Role group, Campaigners are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd.

You Can Change the World With Just an Idea

More than just sociable people-pleasers though, Campaigners, like all their Diplomat cousins, are shaped by their Intuitive (N) quality, allowing them to read between the lines with curiosity and energy. They tend to see life as a big, complex puzzle where everything is connected – but unlike Analyst personality types, who tend to see that puzzle as a series of systemic machinations, Campaigners see it through a prism of emotion, compassion and mysticism, and are always looking for a deeper meaning.

Campaigners are fiercely independent, and much more than stability and security, they crave creativity and freedom.

Many other types are likely to find these qualities irresistible, and if they’ve found a cause that sparks their imagination, Campaigners will bring an energy that oftentimes thrusts them into the spotlight, held up by their peers as a leader and a guru – but this isn’t always where independence-loving Campaigners want to be. Worse still if they find themselves beset by the administrative tasks and routine maintenance that can accompany a leadership position. Campaigners’ self-esteem is dependent on their ability to come up with original solutions, and they need to know that they have the freedom to be innovative – they can quickly lose patience or become dejected if they get trapped in a boring role.

Don’t Lose That ’Little Spark of Madness’

Luckily, Campaigners know how to relax, and they are perfectly capable of switching from a passionate, driven idealist in the workplace to that imaginative and enthusiastic free spirit on the dance floor, often with a suddenness that can surprise even their closest friends. Being in the mix also gives them a chance to connect emotionally with others, giving them cherished insight into what motivates their friends and colleagues. They believe that everyone should take the time to recognize and express their feelings, and their empathy and sociability make that a natural conversation topic.

The Campaigner personality type needs to be careful, however – if they rely too much on their intuition, assume or anticipate too much about a friend’s motivations, they can misread the signals and frustrate plans that a more straightforward approach would have made simple. This kind of social stress is the bugbear that keeps harmony-focused Diplomats awake at night. Campaigners are very emotional and sensitive, and when they step on someone’s toes, they both feel it.

Campaigners will spend a lot of time exploring social relationships, feelings and ideas before they find something that really rings true. But when they finally do find their place in the world, their imagination, empathy and courage are likely to produce incredible results.

Strengths & Weaknesses

Campaigner Strengths

Curious – When it comes to new ideas, Campaigners aren’t interested in brooding – they want to go out and experience things, and don’t hesitate to step out of their comfort zones to do so. Campaigners are imaginative and open-minded, seeing all things as part of a big, mysterious puzzle called life.

Observant – Campaigners believe that there are no irrelevant actions, that every shift in sentiment, every move and every idea is part of something bigger. To satisfy their curiosity, Campaigners try to notice all of these things, and to never miss a moment.

Energetic and Enthusiastic – As they observe, forming new connections and ideas, Campaigners won’t hold their tongues – they’re excited about their findings, and share them with anyone who’ll listen. This infectious enthusiasm has the dual benefit of giving Campaigners a chance to make more social connections, and of giving them a new source of information and experience, as they fit their new friends’ opinions into their existing ideas.

Excellent Communicators – It’s a good thing that Campaigners have such strong people skills, or they’d never express these ideas. Campaigners enjoy both small talk and deep, meaningful conversations, which are just two sides of the same coin for them, and are adept at steering conversations towards their desired subjects in ways that feel completely natural and unforced.

Know How to Relax – It’s not all “nature of the cosmos” discussions with Campaigners – people with this personality type know that sometimes, nothing is as important as simply having fun and experiencing life’s joys. That Intuitive trait lets Campaigners know that it’s time to shake things up, and these wild bursts of enthusiastic energy can surprise even their closest friends.

Very Popular and Friendly – All this adaptability and spontaneity comes together to form a person who is approachable, interesting and exciting, with a cooperative and altruistic spirit and friendly, empathetic disposition. Campaigners get along with pretty much everyone, and their circles of friends stretch far and wide.

Campaigner Weaknesses

Poor Practical Skills – When it comes to conceiving ideas and starting projects, especially involving other people, Campaigners have exceptional talent. Unfortunately their skill with upkeep, administration, and follow-through on those projects struggles. Without more hands-on people to help push day-to-day things along, Campaigners’ ideas are likely to remain just that – ideas.

Find it Difficult to Focus – Campaigners are natural explorers of interpersonal connections and philosophy, but this backfires when what needs to be done is that TPS report sitting right in front of them. It’s hard for Campaigners to maintain interest as tasks drift towards routine, administrative matters, and away from broader concepts.

Overthink Things – Campaigners don’t take things at face value – they look for underlying motives in even the simplest things. It’s not uncommon for Campaigners to lose a bit of sleep asking themselves why someone did what they did, what it might mean, and what to do about it.

Get Stressed Easily – All this overthinking isn’t just for their own benefit – Campaigners, especially Turbulent ones, are very sensitive, and care deeply about others’ feelings. A consequence of their popularity is that others often look to them for guidance and help, which takes time, and it’s easy to see why Campaigners sometimes get overwhelmed, especially when they can’t say yes to every request.

Highly Emotional – While emotional expression is healthy and natural, with Campaigners even viewing it as a core part of their identity, it can come out strongly enough to cause problems for this personality type. Particularly when under stress, criticism or conflict, Campaigners can experience emotional bursts that are counter-productive at best.

Independent to a Fault – Campaigners loathe being micromanaged and restrained by heavy-handed rules – they want to be seen as highly independent masters of their own fates, even possessors of an altruistic wisdom that goes beyond draconian law. The challenge for Campaigners is that they live in a world of checks and balances, a pill they are not happy to swallow.

Romantic Relationships

When it comes to relationships, there’s hardly anyone around who is more excited than Campaigners to share with their partners the bounty of ideas and eye-opening experiences that life has to offer. For people with the Campaigner personality type, relationships are a joyous process of mutual exploration and imagination, a chance to connect with another soul. Campaigners take their relationships seriously, and are known for their uninhibited and unshakeable devotion to the people to whom they’ve committed their hearts.

Campaigners have the advantage of irresistible charm when it comes to attracting a partner – Campaigners’ warmth, excitement and passion are simply alluring.

In the dating phase, if Campaigners can be said to tolerate such a formal process to begin with, they will show these qualities by showering their new flames with affection, and will do everything they can to build a strong relationship by demonstrating their devotion and reliability by whatever means available.

You Cannot Live Without a Fire

Long-distance relationships are quite common among Campaigners, as they view physical distance as just another idea, no match for concepts like love. This gives them the chance to demonstrate their commitment, both by staying true despite the physical separation, and with overtures of effort to surprise their partners, crossing that distance on a whim. These are demonstrations of Campaigners’ mystery, idealism and deep emotion, and such efforts often keep the flames of a relationship burning bright.

People with the Campaigner personality type express these ideals sexually as well, exploring the physical with imagination and passion, viewing these times together as a chance to let their feelings for each other shine, sharing their love and affection. Campaigners will willingly experiment with their partners, even early in a relationship, but they can also be oddly perfectionistic, believing that these physical acts are a representation of their deeper love, and as such should not be performed carelessly. This perfectionism is also a reflection of their sensitivity, their desire to not disappoint, and Campaigners appreciate a well-placed compliment.

Not everyone can handle the excitement, occasional neediness, and emotional ups and downs that this philosophy entails, whether long-distance or long-term, mystical or physical. Campaigners constantly explore new ideas and improvements, fantasize about future possibilities – in dating, this tendency to look at potential rather than the present can be self-defeating, and their spontaneity makes it harder to stay focused on their end goal of a long-term relationship. If their partners aren’t able to reciprocate these acts of excitement and devotion, Campaigners will likely end up feeling unhappy and misunderstood.

So, You Think You Know the Real Me?

Campaigners go all-in with their relationships, and if they fall apart despite their efforts, they can end up plagued with questions about why the relationship failed and what they could have done differently – without a buoy, these thoughts can crush Campaigners’ self-esteem as they sink into depression. It’s important for Campaigner personalities, as with anyone, to remember that relationships are in all ways mutual – mutual interest, mutual growth, and mutual responsibility – and they can’t be solely accountable.

After a trial like this, Campaigners may be reluctant to open up and commit, and it can take years for a partner to navigate their bewildering depth and intensity, falsely believing that Campaigners’ enthusiasm and apparent openness means that they wear everything on their sleeves. The reality is that Campaigners’ spontaneity, the seeming inconsistency and erraticism the untrained eye sees, isn’t a product of flightiness or lack of depth, but the opposite – it is a drive to express ideas about a mystical, all-encompassing energy, in the confines of a physical world, and underlying it all is the uniting principle of love, expressed in many different ways, but unshakeable and infinite at its core.

Friendships

As friends, Campaigners are cheerful and supportive, always sharing and developing ideas, and staying open-minded, taking in others’ thoughts and feelings. This warmth and sincerity makes people with the Campaigner personality type masters of drawing people out of their shells, and as a result they tend to have a huge circle of friends.

As with other relationships, Campaigners view their friendships as opportunities to experience another angle of the universe, and tend to imbue potential friendships with that weighty and idealistic quality.

An Exciting Adventure

More outgoing types will naturally gravitate towards them, but Campaigners will also go to great lengths and be surprisingly persistent in their efforts to get to know more reserved personalities. Their ability to tune into others and speak their language with that characteristic infectious enthusiasm helps them in this endeavor, and the allure of mystery that reserved types, especially Introverted Intuitives, bring to the table will keep Campaigners intrigued for years. These personality types may never be able to reciprocate the breadth of human interest that Campaigners present, but they do appreciate Campaigners’ efforts.

But Campaigners’ interest in others can be a double-edged sword – this pure idealism comes with certain expectations, and too often Campaigners hold their friends in an unrealistic light, expecting them to keep up with the constant flow of ideas and experiences that they consider integral to life. Campaigners put their whole hearts into their friendships, and it can come as a shock for them to find that their friends aren’t the flawless Titans that they believed them to be. Whether it’s simple social fatigue or a focus on the physical and the practical instead of the mystical, people with the Campaigner personality type can find themselves disappointed by what they see as a lack of substance beneath the surface.

Campaigners tend to get deeply involved in others’ lives, going to great lengths and efforts to be the selfless, caring and supportive people they are, and all the while forget to take care of themselves. Both in terms of basic needs like financial stability and rest, as well as more emotional needs like mutual understanding and reciprocation, Campaigner personalities tend to give much more of themselves than most are even capable of giving back. This sort of imbalance isn’t sustainable, as (seemingly) one-sided generosity often leads to criticism and resentment on both sides.

Making Life Spectacular

Luckily, Campaigners are open-minded and sincere enough in their friendships, and connect with and understand even their acquaintances well enough, that they recognize that not everyone expresses themselves in the same ways, and that that’s okay. Their sensitivity may make it too challenging to play with more critical and argumentative personalities, such as strongly expressed Thinking (T) and Judging (J) types, but they do appreciate, even cherish, the company of most anyone who appreciates theirs, and the adventures and experiences they have together are the stuff a good life is made of.

Parenthood

If there is anything that makes Campaigners great parents, it’s the sense of wonder they have for all things new and beautiful, a sense that they will be able to share with their children every day as they learn and grow. Throughout their children’s lives, Campaigners provide a combination of almost overwhelming love and support, and an unstructured environment revolving around freedom and creativity. This in no way means that people with the Campaigner personality type will simply leave their children to their own devices without guidance – rather, Campaigner parents want to share in their children’s perspective, share in a world without bounds.

Campaigner parents are playful and warm, and love to see their children excited, playing in and experimenting with the world around them. It is likely that Campaigner parents will encourage this play and growth by suggesting activities and lessons.

Campaigners will embrace and encourage productive interests as they arise, sweeping away dolls and dinosaurs when interests shift to the oceans, and sweeping away the fish when tastes change again, to the stars.

While they often enough recognize the value of structure and predictability, Campaigner parents are unlikely to have the heart (or as they may see it, the lack of heart) to establish these limitations themselves. They may need to depend on their partners to provide some necessary guidelines and discipline from time to time, but Campaigner parents will always have the advantage of their open-minded and empathetic nature, making them not just parents, but friends who their children feel comfortable confiding in. They needn’t always depend on their children broaching the subject either, as Campaigners have a natural skill in spotting emotional disharmony or physical discomfort in others.

Go On, Spread Your Wings

As their children approach the teenage years, all this emotion and attention can start to cloy, and their children may seek a more private independence. This can be a challenge for people with the Campaigner personality type – they have strong emotions, and invest those emotions heavily in the things and people they care about. While they may not be big on using proven ideas, Campaigners do like to see whether or not their ideas work, and this applies to their thoughts on parenting, too. As their adolescent children withdraw, they leave an unsolved mystery that can last for years, leaving their Campaigner parents wondering if their ideas on raising their children actually work, actually result in happy, independent and creative adults.

Luckily for them, so long as they raise their children with a sense of productive independence, rather than an aimless, against-the-grain antipathy, Campaigners will find that their children have developed a strong sense of self and self-worth, going confidently out into the big, wide world at their own pace and in their own style, knowing that they have both themselves and their Campaigner parents to depend on.

Career Paths

“Can’t I fly helicopters AND be an oceanographer who writes songs and cooks?” It’s a big world out there – perhaps even a little too big. Campaigners are fascinated by new ideas, both in terms of developments in fields they are already familiar with, and when new subjects come along. The trick for people with the Campaigner personality type is to take advantage of this quality, this wonder with the magnificent breadth and detail in the world, and to use it to propel themselves further and deeper than others are willing or able to go.

If there’s a challenge Campaigners face when selecting a career, it isn’t that they lack talent or options or drive, it’s that there are so many things out there that are just cool.

The Opening of a Door Can Be a Wonderfully Joyous Moment

Chief among Campaigners’ talents is their people skills, a quality that is even more valuable now than ever. Even in traditional Analyst strongholds like engineering, systems analysis and the sciences, Campaigners’ ability to network and match the communication styles of their audience means that even as they explore new challenges on their own, they will be able to work with others, explore others’ perspectives and glean new insights into their projects. Much of modern progress stems from incorporating other studies into typically disassociated fields, and no one is better equipped to merge broad interests than talented, energetic and future-minded Campaigners.

And while Thinking types may be better at applying logic to systems and machines, people with the Campaigner personality type are able to apply that same logic to human interactions and networks, using their exceptional social perception to find out what makes people tick. This lends Campaigners a solid foothold in any human science or service, from psychology, counseling and teaching to politics, diplomacy and detective work. All of these fields have another important similarity: they are in constant development, shifting, presenting new angles and new approaches. It’s simply not possible to be good in these fields and content with the way things are, and this is where Campaigners truly shine.

Too Many Bosses, Too Few Workers

Where Campaigners do not shine is in systems of strict regimentation and hierarchy, such as military service. Campaigners thrive on the ability to question the status quo and explore the alternatives, and if this is a quality that is not just unappreciated but actually frowned upon, this will not only make them unhappy, but it may even threaten their emotional stability. Repetition, predictability, boredom… while some Sentinel types may appreciate predictability and clear hierarchies, these are not selling points for Campaigners. People with the Campaigner personality type need to feel like they’re pushing boundaries and exploring ideas, and should focus on interests and careers that encourage that.

Many more career options satisfy these needs, and not just the scientific ones – writing, journalism, acting and TV reporting all give Campaigners a chance to explore something new every day and stir the pot a little while they’re at it. It may come to pass though, that the best way forward for Campaigner personalities is to establish themselves as entrepreneurs and consultants, blazing their own trails and taking on whatever project is most fascinating. So long as they get to use their people skills, identify and achieve their own goals and inspire their colleagues and followers, Campaigners will be happy.

Workplace Habits

There are two basic things that Campaigners seek most in the workplace: The chance to explore new ideas, and the chance to conduct that exploration alongside other people who share their excitement. These qualities show through at all levels of hierarchy, though much like other Diplomat personality types, Campaigners would prefer that there be hardly a hierarchy at all. People with the Campaigner personality type possess warmth, creativity, and an open-mindedness that makes them excellent listeners. If these qualities are recognized by their employers, they will always be able to count on their Campaigner employees to innovate and boost morale.

Campaigner Subordinates

Campaigners are growth-oriented, and as subordinates they’ll impress their managers with their creativity and adaptability. People with the Campaigner personality type are excellent listeners, able to analyze and understand others’ perspectives effortlessly. It’s perhaps this quality that most makes Campaigners intolerant of micromanagement – the way they see it, they understand what’s been asked of them, and all they require is the freedom to accomplish their task. If this need isn’t met, managers may find a quickly stressed Campaigner subordinate.

To a certain extent though, some direct management is often necessary, as Campaigners are notorious for letting their attention slip from one project to the next before they’ve dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. Campaigners love exploring new ideas and learning new things, and once something becomes familiar, its allure starts to fade. But, if managers are able to maintain a spirit of guidance and camaraderie instead of "bossiness", they will find loyal and devoted contributors in their Campaigner subordinates.

Campaigner Colleagues

Campaigners are people-people, and as far as the workplace is concerned, this quality shows through best among colleagues. More than just coworkers, Campaigners view their colleagues as friends, people who they take a genuine interest in, providing support and cheer when they’re down or stressed. People with the Campaigner personality type are warm and optimistic, always searching for and usually finding win-win situations for everyone.

Brainstorms among equals are Campaigners’ forte, and they listen to different viewpoints and suggestions not just with tolerance, but genuine excitement. Their ability to relax and have fun will always make them popular around the water cooler, but what sets Campaigners apart is that they can transition that popularity into natural leadership, instinctively picking up on colleagues’ motivations and pulling their teams together, pushing them forward towards whatever truth they’ve been tasked to find.

Campaigner Managers

Campaigners are not great fans of heavy hierarchy and bureaucracy, and this is most evident when they take on the role of manager. As managers, Campaigner personalities behave much like they do as colleagues – they establish real friendships, and use their broad popularity to inspire and motivate, taking on the role of leader, working alongside their subordinates, rather than shouting from behind their desks. Campaigners will tend to believe in the concept of intrinsic motivation, the idea that things are worth doing for their own sake, not because of some convoluted system of punishments and rewards.

Unfortunately, not everyone buys into this philosophy – challenges arise when faced with subordinates who actually prefer to be closely directed, with clearly defined objectives and timetables, people who are just doing their jobs. More challenging still are those rare moments when a reprimand is simply necessary – while Campaigners prefer to meet dissent with an open ear, and to use their excellent capacity for sensing mood and morale to preempt such an act to begin with, sometimes the carrot and the stick are necessary, and using them is the biggest challenge for the Campaigner personality type. But Campaigners’ capacity for adjusting their communication to most any style will always shine through, helping to smooth things over and adapt to the needs of their team.

Conclusion

Few personality types are as creative and charismatic as Campaigners. Known for their idealism and enthusiasm, Campaigners are good at dealing with unexpected challenges and brightening the lives of those around them. Campaigners’ imagination is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth.

Yet Campaigners can be easily tripped up in areas where idealism and kindness are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, staying calm under pressure, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder or making difficult decisions, Campaigners need to put in a conscious effort to develop their weaker traits and additional skills.

[dickie-gayson]

SHENANIGANS

DUKE VS THE SUN AND DICK’S HAREM OF OLDER MEN

Summary: After a rough night on patrol, Duke just wants the sun to go away. In trying to do so, he manages to drive Dick up the wall about his harem of older men.

Otherwise known as: In which Duke is too stubborn to just move his seat and Dick is in serious denial.

Characters: Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Luke Fox, Stephanie Brown, Harper Row

Genre: Family, Humor

Length: 4k+

Other: Just a funny, nonsense fic (that was only supposed to be like 1k wtf) i tried to give everyone speaking parts w./o making it too confusing. Dialogue Heavy.

Find It On: Ao3 Fanfiction 

All was quiet in Wayne Manor as the sun sat high in the sky. Such a thing was not odd for the mostly nocturnal family. Today, however, was a special occasion. The previous night's patrol had been somewhat strenuous for the patrolling bats and birds, and as such, they were given a day to unwind and recover from the fatigue. Naturally, after crashing for a few hours, the members started to slowly rise and shuffle about, none-too-happy about being conscious, but alas, they were never known to maintain a healthy sleep schedule. There was always something more important to be done, even on a 'day off'. A day off in the Batfamily was really just another way of saying 'paperwork and investigation day'.

Duke slumped at the absurdly long dinner table with a loud, beleaguered groan, as if the sheer act of being conscious was a great torment of some form. Slowly, deep brown eyes rose and squinted at the window that let sunshine wash across the room. It almost looked as if the force of his glare alone could close the curtains. There was a soul-deep hatred one could only get after being put through hell and having to stave off the sweet embrace of slumber for more work. That, or being so incredibly hung-over and being forced to attend a third-graders school concert. It was almost impressive, really, how much it seemed that the sun itself personally offended him.

Another person walked into the dining room, loudly munching on their choice of breakfast (and wouldn't you know that's the only sound they made?). Duke was still getting used to living in a house full of goddamn ninjas. He purposefully ignored the person as they drew closer, in no mood to converse. Really, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep off the rough night he had. That, and throw the sun in the fucking trash because nothing had the right to be that bright and cheery when he felt like he went twenty rounds with Troia.

His attempts to ignore the person were rendered useless as yet another person entered the room and he just knew shit was going to go down. No more than two (2) Bats can be in a room together without some sort of catastrophe going on. It's like a scientific law at this point. He let out another melodramatic sigh and let his head drop to the table with a 'thud'. Then, he winced and groaned again as his headache increased just a bit from the unnecessary abuse.

"Aww, what's wrong baby bird? Long night?"

That soul-penetrating glare was leveled to the owner of the teasing, baby voice. An amused smirk is what met his eyes. Of course, it'd be Jason ready to fuck with him. He was pretty sure the oldest Batkids didn't sleep. Ever. And that they had some unnatural ability to bounce back from the worst situations like goddamn bouncy balls. Duke wasn't fully convinced they weren't secret metahumans. Just last week he caught Tim trying hang-glide with one broken arm so he could meet up with Kon at four in the morning for waffles or some equally dumb shit. And then there was the time Dick walked out of an exploding building while he was on fire and just laughed about it. Duke was almost positive there was some amount of mental trauma at the very least, given all their head and non-physical injuries.

"What is wrong with all of you?"

There was no true venom behind the words; just the understandable irritation of a kid who got clotheslined by some ugly dude in an even uglier suit at two in the morning. Jason just laughed and Dick chuckled around his spoon of probably overly sugary cereal. Great, he had the two oldest to deal with. He could already feel his desire to leap out the window rising. At least he wasn't going to get beat up by a thirteen-year-old again, that's a plus.

"Before or after the Crowbar Incident? You want a list? I bet I have more problems than Dickhead."

At that, Dick gave a derogative snort and flicked some of his cereal at Jason, who dodged it. The bit managed to hit Duke in the forehead and his glare just narrowed just a bit more at the older vigilantes. Jason pointed and laughed as the piece slowly slid and plopped onto Duke's lap.

"I'm going to go out and spit on your grave."

The oldest hero laughed loudly at Duke's irritation. He had to put his bowl on the table and steady himself at the affronted look plastered on the formerly dead man's face.

"Wow, Duke, tell me how you really feel."

It was still odd, adjusting to joking about some of them having died before. But, as he learned over time, they loved bringing it up in every situation. Mostly Jason, if he were being honest. Duke was still too scared to bring it up to Cass and Damian. Cass was too nice and also fucking scary, and Damian already beat the ever-loving hell out of him once. He did not want a repeat, thanks.

The cloud formerly hiding the sun for just a bit finally passed and Duke was, once more, hit full force with the rays of the sun. His look of intense hatred was once more turned to the offending light. Without turning his angered stare from the window, he spoke up.

"Dick, call your leather daddy."

He didn't need to turn to know the eldest just choked on his food and was trying to hack it up from the wrong tube. Jason, meanwhile, was absolutely dying. Duke shifted to glance at the two. The younger of the two ex-Robins had one hand on his knee and was pointing at Dick with his free hand, laughing obnoxiously. Meanwhile, the older was glaring, face red from just having choked on Crocky Crunch.

"Shut up, Jason. And what do you mean 'leather daddy'. I don't have a leather daddy."

Just to irritate him, Jason laughed louder. The laughter seemed to have drawn others in, because Tim slipped in, looking just shy of actually dead. Behind him was Cass, looking graceful as ever. How she did it, he'd never know. Tim looked at the scene with mild suspicion, not that Duke could blame him. There was always a fifty-fifty shot that someone laughing at another member was bad. Cass just looked entertained. Her ability to read a situation so quickly was as unnerving as it was awesome.

"Why does Jason look like he's about to pass out? Did they break out the mullet pictures again?"

Dick turned his glare to Tim.

"Not you too! There were no mullet pictures this time! Jason's laughing because he's dumb."

Jason wiped a pretend tear as he straightened up slightly.

"Wrong, Dickface. I'm laughing because Duke is my new favorite brother."

Duke just looked at him with mild confusion. Tim seemed to mirror his look, though there was a bit more skepticism. Sometimes Duke still marveled at just how much like Bruce the other was. Did they teach 'paranoia' classes here or something? Was it like a required trait when being adopted by the big bad Bat? You had to be at least level 5 in either Paranoia, Nerd, or Athlete to join their cosplay group. Dick was staring at Jason as if just said the Riddler was the new fashion icon.

"That makes no sense Jason, but no surprise here. Also, why is he your favorite? He threatened to spit on your grave!"

Jason just raises an eyebrow in response. Duke wished he could do that.

"Yeah? And he didn't wear a rainbow polka-dot shirt with high-waisted jeans and dad loafers. Not to mention you had The Mullet at the time."

Duke couldn't help but let out the disgusted sound at the mental imagery. Tim visibly shuttered and even Cass looked at Dick with something akin to mild horror. Dick just put his head in his hands.

"Why? Why am I stuck with you all? Where's Damian, I need someone in my corner."

The words basically fell on deaf ears as Duke was still marveling over the atrocious mess that was Dick Grayson's fashion choices. How the man got voted the Most Eligible Bachelor and posted up as a part-time model when he was strapped for cash, Duke would never know. You could tell he grew up in a circus from the way he dressed. Not that Duke would ever say that because it felt like a really douche thing to say and he didn't want to get suplexed by the eldest. If he didn't stand a chance against Damian, he would get demolished by Dick. The guy had more fighting experience than most heroes in the business. So, for that, he could forgive his fashion crimes. But that didn't mean he forgot what he's been trying to get Dick to do before everyone derailed the conversation. Duke snapped his fingers for attention.

"Hello? Leather daddy? Call him."

Jason started to chuckle all over again, and Tim let out a startled sort of laugh, caught off-guard by the words. Dick let out an aggravated breath. Duke could see Cass laughing silently behind her hand as she watched the idiocy unfold.

"For the last time Duke, I do NOT have a leather daddy! And why do you need Midnighter, anyway?'

Everyone went dead quiet for a moment before Jason roared with laughter, almost on the floor at this point. Even Tim was having trouble remaining standing. He needed to lean on Cass to stay upright. He wheezed out between laughs.

"Oh my god, Dick. You just- He never said it was Midnighter."

Dick's face turned an interesting deep crimson, which was still frustratingly handsome. Duke didn't think it was fair, really. When he got embarrassed, he looked something like a frightened chipmunk.

"I...Uh...He's the only one I hang out with that wears leather and you guys tease me about."

Now, Duke was no expert or anything, but he was pretty sure if Jason didn't start breathing soon, he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. Being that he was too indisposed to speak, Tim had the honors of filling in for him in the 'irritate Dick Grayson' category.

"Bullshit, we keep a list."

Somewhere between the stunned look on the veteran hero's face and the surprising snort of laughter that came from Cass, Luke entered the fray. He looked around the group warily. Good instincts. While Luke was busy eating his apple and surveying the scene, Dick managed to recompose himself. He narrowed his bright eyes in distrust.

"A list?"

After a noisy bite, Luke spoke up, not content with being left out of the loop.

"A list of what?"

From somewhere near the floor, Jason managed to choke out between panting breaths.

"Dick's sugar daddies."

"Ahh, that list. You add Raptor to it yet?"

Duke slammed his hands down on the table, catching their undivided attention. The sun was hitting him just right and it was annoying as all hell. He wondered if he could convince Superman to move the sun. Or the manor. He wasn't picky.

"Focus! I'm the one with the issue here! Call up your scary leather boyfriend and tell him to bring his boyfriend here."

Dick's gaze only grew more suspicious as he eyed up Duke.

"Why do you need Apollo?"

Tim snorted and faux-whispered to Steph, who had shown up with Harper and Barbara in the time that Duke was ranting.

"He didn't even try to deny being Midnighter's other boyfriend."

If one looked closely, they could almost see a vein in Dick's head throbbing like some sort of cartoon.

"Shut. up."

Duke, in a show of almost supernatural willpower, managed to ignore them and press on with his own devastating issues. Really, they should be paying full attention to his issue. He was the new kid and this was serious.

"I need Apollo here...so I can punch him."

His voice had been so calm and serious that it actually garnered incredulous stares. Dick had to take a moment to himself out of surprise. Luke just looked at Duke with something close to disbelief.

"Wha- Why do you want to punch Apollo? You've never met him. Also, he's super-powered, my dude."

Duke gave a flat, dead-serious stare.

"I know, I don't care. I want to punch him."

This time, it was Harper who piped up.

"But why?"

"Well, I can't feasibly go outside and punch the sun, now can I?"

Dick finally seemed to recollect himself, because he took back the reigns of the conversation.

"You...want me to call Midnighter."

"Yes."

"So he can bring Apollo."

"Yep."

"So you can punch Apollo."

"Correct."

"Because you can't punch the sun?"

"You got it."

There was another beat of silence. Then, Dick decided to break it with possibly the most somber voice Duke's ever heard come from the man.

"...Duke, what, and I mean this as nicely as possible, the fuck?"

"Listen, it makes perfect sense. Back me up, Tim. You're the smart one here. I can't fight the sun, but I can fight the guy who is based on the Sun God."

It looked as if Tim was actually debating the merits of the plan when Damian spoke up. The newest addition to the batclan nearly had a goddamn heart attack because he had not seen or heard Damian come in. He eyed up the smaller boy warily.

"Wrong. You can get decimated by the guy who is based on a Sun God. Because that is exactly what will happen if you attempt to fight him, Thomas."

"Hey, all I need is one hit and I'll feel better."

At the disparaging scoff that came from Luke, Duke shot him a Look. It wasn't quite to the Bat-level yet, but he was working on it. Hey, he was pretty proud of his Look so far. It scared a few of the baddies. He'll get there one day. At the moment, however, Luke just gave him a smirk back and spoke.

"Man, you'll feel a helluva lot worse, I bet. Not only would you be fighting a superhuman, but the superhuman's angry superhuman boyfriend."

Steph piped in with a look of exaggerated and obviously fake confusion on her face.

"Dick isn't a superhuman, though."

Dick let out a frustrated growl, clearly having fallen for the bait. Steph just smiled in satisfaction.

"He meant Midnighter! I am not dating Apollo!"

"Right, you're just dating M. Who's dating Apollo."

"For fuck's sake. I'm not dating either of them!"

If Dick got any more aggravated, Duke was betting his hair would either start turning white or just fall right out. He was mentally betting on falling out. A Luthor-style Dick would be hilarious. Meanwhile, Harper figured now would be a good time to join in on the 'irritate the oldest' bonding moment they were having.

"Yeah, he's clearly dating that one angry dude who worked with him when he was a super spy or some shit."

Babs gave an entertained look to Harper at the words. She seemed to be having the time of her life messing with her ex. The look in her eyes made Duke mentally remind himself not to piss her off anytime soon.

"You mean Tiger?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"NO I'M NOT!"

He had to idly wonder where Bruce and Alfred were. They were being obnoxiously loud for being bats. Dick looked like his head was going to pop, either from aggravation or embarrassment, and the rest were having a blast. 'Nothing like family bonding over dragging a sibling.' Jason finally seemed to come out of his laughter-induced coma.

"Duh, if Dickie were smashing anyone, it'd be Constantine."

The look of sheer incredulity on Dick's face was priceless. Duke would admit this one threw him for a loop. He's heard of the tricky magic-user who sold his soul however many times. But, he's never heard of the Brit liking Dick. Not that it'd be a surprise. Duke could probably throw a rock in any direction and hit someone who wanted to bone the original Robin.

"What the hell? John Constantine? Where did that even come from?!"

Jason just gave him a serious, flat look.

"He totally has the hots for you."

Babs gave a sage nod, as if nothing truer had ever been spoken. Even Luke gave a sound of agreement. Dick couldn't help but look at them in surprise.

"No, he does not. Where did you hear that?"

"I heard it from Kyle who heard it from Simon. Apparently, during a meeting of some form where he was with John, John wouldn't stop talking 'bout how much of a beefcake you are."

"Oh my God, just end my life already. For real this time."

Tim snapped his fingers, as if remembering something.

"Oh yeah! I heard about that! It was the talk of the Watchtower for a bit there."

At this point, Dick had his head in his hands once more and looked ready to resign from life in general.

"I hate you. I hate you all."

Duke cleared his throat and waved his arms to garner their attention.

"Guys, we're getting off track. We can talk about Dick's Harem of Older Men later. I have a sun to punch."

"I do NOT have a Harem of Older Men! Where do you guys get this information?!"

The joined 'siblings' shared a look. The fact that this might have been discussed before left a look of true horror on the first Boy Wonder's face. Duke apparently hadn't been around long enough to enjoy these sessions. He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or disappointed about that fact. Cass started ticking off sources, much to Dick's shock.

"Other heroes. Villains. Oracle. Watching you and enemies. Very obvious."

Babs looked from her successor to Dick with a growing look of amusement.

"They're not wrong. We're keeping a tally on who's in the Dick Grayson Older Men Fan Club. Fifty bucks say you get a new member in the next two months."

"There is no fan club."

Tim shook his head, as if saddened that Dick couldn't accept the obvious. Steph was having a ball needling Dick.

"There totally is. Slade's the president, M's the treasurer, Thomas Wayne Jr. is the VP, Constan-'

At that, Duke shot the blonde a look of confusion. He was still going through the list of criminal profiles and hadn't made it to that name yet. It was the fact that he recognized the name Thomas Wayne as Bruce's father that caught his attention.

"Wait, Thomas Wayne Jr.? Who the hell is that?"

Steph, as if realizing that not everyone gathered witnessed whatever fuckery brought the man around, took pity on Duke and explained just a little.

"Oh, Bruce's older brother from an alternate universe or some shit. Evil. Totally has a hard on for Dick, anyway-'

"That's so fucked up, man."

He marveled yet again over the sheer level of absurdity this family went through on a near daily basis. And he willingly submerged himself into it. Great.

"GUYS! SHUT UP! THERE IS NO HAREM OR FAN CLUB.-'

"I think we established that there is."

'-SLADE IS DEFINITELY NOT THE PRESIDENT-'

"Oh, please, he liked invented your fan club."

'-AND BRUCE'S BROTHER DOESN'T HAVE THE HOTS FOR ME."

"Yeah, cus just anyone goes to an alternate universe to stalk the alternate version of their old partner and kidnap them to keep them."

"That is NOT what went down."

"Suuuuure."

Duke really didn't want to think about ANY of that for more than three seconds, because honestly, what the in the fresh hell. How is Dick alive with that many crazy creeps after him? If it were Duke, he probably would have just hung up the tights and called it a day. He does not need whacked out assassins after his ass, no thanks. Shaking his head, as if it'd rid him of disturbing images of way-too-tight suits and creepy old men, he spoke up. Duke still hasn't gotten to punch the overly cheerful ball in the sky or its metahuman counterpart. This is unbelievable. Bats got shit done except when he needed to beat someone up.

"DICK. Bring your boyfriend's boyfriend here! I need to hit him! This shit is too bright. Gotham ain't ever this bright, what the fuck."

"Oh, for the love of- Duke, if you want to hit someone, go punch Jason."

At that moment, Damian shoved his way to the front and center of Dick's view. There was a look of disgust and irritation scrunched up on his otherwise adorable features. Duke subtly (or tried to be subtle) scooted back from the duo. That look meant he was unhappy. And if it was involving his precious oldest brother/father-figure, Duke was not getting in the middle of that. He wasn't suicidal, despite what his late-night activities might suggest.

"Grayson, we need to discuss this harem of older men dedicated to you."

Dick took a deep breath and tried to appear calm for the youngest of the family. He gave the boy a patient look that only came with years of practice.

"Damian, there is no harem, they're being dumb."

Clearly, that wasn't the answer the young hero was looking for. He gave one of his infamous little tongue clicks and rolled his eyes.

"That isn't new knowledge. However, I have seen and heard things that would coincide with their stories. I do not approve."

Just like that, Dick's calm facade shattered. Honestly, he was impressed it held for even half of the sentence.

"I swear to god, there is no harem. There isn't even a fan club. None that I've heard of, at any rate."

Damian merely gave a contemplative hum. There was that look in his eyes. You know, the look of a Bat who just became obsessed with a case. It was almost worrying because Duke was positive the kid was going to take this way too seriously.

"I need find this 'fan club' and dismantle it before they attempt anything."

Jason was practically vibrating in his seat in an attempt to hold in his raucous laughter. This was clearly the best day he's had in a while.

"That's right, baby bat! Go get 'em! They're out to steal our precious big bird."

Dick shot him the patented 'Batglare', though years of exposure lessened the effects to the smartass vigilante.

"Do NOT encourage him, Jason."

It was obvious Jason heard him, but he pretended not to and merely kept his attention solely on the youngest Robin. Tim, seeing this as a wondrous and golden opportunity to fuck with Damian, pitched in his two-cents.

"In fact, I think you should join the fan club. Work your way up the ranks, like a sort of double agent, and then bring them all down."

"Hmm...this plan has merit, even if it's coming from Drake."

"Thanks, Dami."

Jason scoffed from his position against the table.

"He only wants to join for the t-shirt."

"Tt, no. If I wanted any Grayson merchandise, I could simply go to the dollar store and buy something. I need to ensure that these...miscreants have nothing nefarious planned. Grayson often leaves himself open in such stupid ways around them."

"Excuse me? I do not. And for the last damn time...you know what? Never mind, have fun trying to find this imaginary club. And you,-'

He pointed directly at Duke, the one who started this whole thing. Duke just gave him a squinted look, still waiting for him to call Midnighter for him.

'have fun trying to fist fight something that would destroy your ass. I'm out."

With that, the eldest stalked out of the room, having hit his quota for irritation and insults for the day. Though, Luke managed to slip one more in before he was out of hearing range.

"Try not to pick up any more older men while you're out!"

"FUCK OFF!"

There was a moment of silence in which they all just kind of reveled in the shared amusement. Then, Duke turned his squint to Tim as the sun still burned his retinas.

"Hey Tim, you think you can call Superboy?"

[unavenged-robin]

Ephemeral

Ephemeral (n) short-lived.

Or the one where Bruce gets to be a husband and a father for a night.

Read on AO3

He doesn’t know how he makes it back to the cave. His head is spinning, his hands are trembling around the wheel, everyone’s screaming at him.

We thought you were better than this, his mother says.

You made a promise to us, is this how you keep it?, his father asks.

Bruce grits his teeth, doesn’t answer. Fighting with the dead is never a good idea, they have nothing else to lose, so they always win.

He stumbles out of the car as soon as it stops, he meets the cave floor with his hands and not with his face just out of a combination of good reflexes and sheer instinct.

That’s pathetic, Damian comments, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

Give him a break, kiddo, Dick scolds him. He’s getting old.

Old, Cassandra repeats with a knowingly tone.

“Shut up”, Bruce growls, propping himself up on his elbows. The walls of the cave catch his voice and send back echoes of it at him, taunting him. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

You shut up, old man, Jason retorts. I’m not above kicking you while you’re already down, you know.

Bruce, the poison is acting faster, Tim butts in, always the voice of reason. You need to find the antidote now.

“I know”, Bruce replies with another growl. It’s a lie. He had forgotten about the poison. Just for a moment.

He raises his head, looking for his children. They may not always be on the best of terms, but they would always help him in a crisis. He knows that.

He’s alone.

Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone. Flew the nest long time ago. Dick has his own city, Tim his own life, Jason his own battles. Bruce never really had a choice with them. As for Cassandra and Damian, well. Cass had always done her thing, and Damian’s just starting to understand what is like not to have a destiny, what life tastes of when you can shape its course and not just follow orders. Bruce’s choosing to let them go.

Right, Damian snorts, leaning towards the computer’s console and looking at him trying to get back on his feet. Because otherwise you would definitely have a say in what I decide to do, Father.

Be nice, Little D, Dick cuffs him lightly on the back of his head.

Yeah, kid, don’t you see he’s dying? Show some respect for the fucking dead, Jason snickers.

You are gonna die if you don’t act quickly, Bruce, Tim agrees. Cassandra only hums.

“I know”, Bruce repeats. His head feels light, his legs are not working correctly. He knows he has an antidote somewhere, but he has to force his mind into focussing on remembering where and what it looked like. He wonders where Alfred is, and if he’s going to find him in time.

He blacks out somewhere between the car and the stairs.

*

He wakes up in a bed, surrounded by darkness. He barely has the time to recognize his own bedroom, then both body memory and instincts set in and he’s running towards the bathroom before he even realizes his stomach is turning inside out.

He throws up on white marbles and fine porcelain indiscriminately. Alfred is going to be mad at him even if he’s not going to say it. Normally he would clean up after himself but he feels hot, like he has a fever, and he feels weak, weaker than he’s been in years.

You don’t look good, beloved, a woman’s voice agrees.

Bruce raises his head and Talia’s there, standing in front of the sink, long red dress and bare feet, leaning towards the mirror, a tube of mascara in her hand.

Perhaps we should cancel the dinner, I’m sure the Major will understand.

She does her eyes slowly and with great care, mouth slightly open, lips as red as her dress. The bracelets on her wrists jingle everytime she moves, and she looks so beautiful and so real Bruce has to run away from her.

His bedroom is still dark, but he can see a lump on his bed. Selina blinks back at him from under the linen sheets and she yawns and stretches in that cat-like way she does everything.

‘Morning darling, where were you?, she smiles.

Bruce sways on his feet, reaching for the wall for support. Closes his eyes, tries to separate reality from hallucinations.

It’s not easy.

The click of the light switch and a hand on his shoulder makes him turn. In the soft light of their bedroom Talia looks at him with concern in her eyes.

Bruce, do you want me to call a doctor?, she asks.

Bruce looks back at the bed, but it’s empty now. Selina’s gone. He notices other things, though. A wedding ring on the nightstand. Woman clothes on the chair. An open box of jewelry on the dresser.

“I’m fine”, he answers.

Talia looks at him dubiously, but she doesn’t insist.

He watches her sitting down and start brushing her hair, and suddenly he remembers hundreds of nights just like this one, getting ready for dinners and parties, and how she would always let him choose the necklace to go with her outfit.

(His parents used to this, Bruce remembers. And his father always chose pearls. Said he just loved them so much. It drove his mother crazy sometimes, but she would always wear them when he asked, because she loved him so much.)

He moves towards the jewelry box to indulge into their ritual one more time, but then he hears the laughing of a child and the sound of tiny bare feet running on old, polished wood. He remembers this too, and he knows it’s Damian even before the toddler barges in the room. It was only three weeks ago when Damian took his first walk without their help, but now he’s already running around the manor, giving heart attacks to everyone.

“Mama, mama!”, he screams.

Talia immediately turns towards her son and catches him with a laugh, scooping him up in her arms and spinning him around, making him giggle in that bubbling way that never ceases to amaze Bruce.

Damian is such a cute baby too, all chubby cheeks and big blue eyes, and Bruce knows that every parent says so, but he’s secretly convinced that his son is the most beautiful child in the entire world.

(He knows what Damian looked like as a baby because Talia showed him a photo, once. Refused to give it to him when he asked, told him he didn’t deserved it, that Damian’s childhood was hers, and hers alone.)

“Sorry, little guy’s faster than I expected”, another known voice says.

Jason looks at them from the doorframe, an indulgent smile on his lips. He’s sixteen - seventeen at most - all long hair and clothes getting too short for him day by day. He’s growing tall, almost can look his father straight in the eyes. Bruce doesn’t like that.

(Bruce never saw Jason at sixteen. He only knows the child and the man, not what was in between. Teenager Jason belonged to Talia too.)

“It’s okay”, Talia says, Damian still wriggling on her lap. “I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss anyway.”

Damian babbles something at her and keeps playing with her hair. He’s fascinated with her earrings but by now he knows better than to try and pull them. Talia smiles down at him and cradles him closer so she can pepper his little face with big, smacking kisses, making him squeal in delight.

“If I tried that he would pull all my hair off, the little demon”, Jason huffs, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fondness in his voice.

Talia only grins and gestures for him to come closer. When Jason comes standing beside her she stands up and brushes a kiss on his cheek, making him blush.

“Thank you for babysitting him tonight, Jason”, she says, handing Damian over to him.

“It’s fine”, he dismisses her. “I really don’t mind.”

Jason takes the child easily, with the familiarity coming from years of experience. Damian settles in his arms with the same confidence, and as if on a cue, he reaches for Jason’s hair and pulls, loving the sound of his big brother’s yelping.

(No white-streak in Jason’s hair, Bruce notices. This Jason has never died, this Jason grew up here, in this house, with loving parents and a bunch of brothers who refused to leave him alone. This Jason is happy.)

*

His heartbeat is slowing too much. Bruce is usually able to control it and adjust his body function accordingly, but now he’s too weak to fight both the poison and his heart’s mutiny.

That’s why he has Alfred, he supposes, as he watches his old friend moving around him with not so much as a frown. He’s always envied that calm.

You weren’t there, he tries to say, but Alfred shushes him like he would with a child.

In my other life, you were the only one missing.

He doesn’t know if he’s speaking or only thinking those words because he can’t tell the difference between the two things anymore. Speaking and thinking. Reality and hallucinations. Fears and hopes. Nightmares and dreams.

Alfred doesn’t answer anyway. Just strokes his cheek with his hand the way he used to do when Bruce was a kid.

Long, long time ago.

*

He’s blind.

He can’t move his hands, he can’t speak.

(By now his blood has completely absorbed the toxin, so the effect of the poison must have reached its peak, Bruce reasons. It’s going to take an hour or a little less from the last inoculation for the antidote to start to work, but it’s going to be a long, long hour.)

He’s not alone.

He feels lips on his chest, hands on his hips. Can’t feel his arms or his own face, but he knows there’s a rope tied around both of his wrists and a piece of something soft and expensive covering his eyes.

“Surprise”, a woman’s voice whispers, soft and full of laugh.

It could be Selina, or Jezebel, or Talia, and Bruce hates that he can’t tell them apart. He should be able to. In another life he would be able to.

“We need to celebrate, Bruce.”

Celebrate what?, he wants to asks, but he can’t speak. He bites down on the piece of leather between his teeth, tries to imagine himself right now, naked and blind and tied up to his own bed, completely defenseless. Thrown at the mercy of the woman he loved (Selina, Jezebel, Talia) and who loved him back (maybe, and not really, and once upon a time).

“Love it’s the best way to die, don’t you think, darling?”, she says.

Warm fingers make him arch and moan and fight against the bonds that force him to suffer this assault without being able to to defend himself or attack back. And he likes it. He loves it. The complete lack of control. The trust. Because he trusts her (them) in a way he never considered possible. In a way that was never possible before.

(Before what?)

There are teeth against his neck and he thinks he recognizes Talia’s mouth, but then long, sharp nails come down scratching his shoulders, and that’s Selina’s way to touch him. Kisses and bites and whispered words in his ears, and he doesn’t know anymore, and he likes the idea of not knowing too.

She tortures him for an hour or a little less.

Then he dies.

Finally.

(Something’s beeping in the distance. Someone’s talking. It’s all white noise, though. He really doesn’t have the strength to pay attention to it. He’s a dead man, he has nothing else to lose now.)

*

The white flash of a sunbeam hits his closed eyes and Bruce jolts wide awaken. He didn’t even know he was sleeping. There are voices around him, all raised in excitement. But it’s not fear. Nothing bad is coming.

The door of his bedroom swings wide open with a little bang of expensive brass knocking against equally expensive wood, and a reproach automatically comes to his mouth, but before he can speak another voice beats him on the spot.

“I’m home!”

And Bruce smiles, scratched furniture completely forgotten. It’s some sort of reflex when Dick’s around.

“Dick”, he calls, standing up to welcome his oldest son.

“In flesh and blood”, Dick grins, as he spins on his heels and bows his head. “Ta-da!”

Bruce laughs and hugs him to his chest hard, like he’s never letting go, and Dick hugs him back with equal determination.

(There were discussions with this Dick too, Bruce knows that much. Shouting matches and weeks of silence, lots of angry words that were never supposed to be spoken. But this Dick never left this house slamming the door behind him. This Dick always knew that Bruce was his father and that he loved him.)

“How’s college?”, Bruce asks after a moment, slowly untangling himself from the hug.

“Good. Not as hard as you pictured it and not as easy as I hoped”, Dick answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nothing I can’t fix”, he adds quickly when Bruce frowns. “I just need a little time to adjust.”

Bruce opens his mouth to offer him his help, but in that moment a delighted screech pierces his ear.

“Dick!”, Cassandra shouts, smiling and showing off her new shiny braces.

“Hey princess!”, Dick shouts back, turning towards his sister and opening up his arms.

Cass doesn’t need further invitations, and she launches himself into his brother’s embrace. She barely comes up to Dick’s chest, but that’s never been a problem for his oldest son. Bruce watches them spinning around the room three times, laughing like crazy, and then the rest of the flock appear on his door.

“Welcome home, Richard”, Talia greets him, Jason and Tim at her side. In her arms Damian squeals happily, reaching for Dick, who reaches right back at him with a big smile, Cassandra still pressed into his side, and Talia promptly holds out the baby for him.

Dick picks Damian up with one arm, fist-bump Jason with his free hand and kisses Tim’s forehead when the kid wraps himself around his waist.

“Hello, family. I’ve missed you”, he laughs, and he’s clearly so happy to see them that Bruce’s heart hurt a little. But it’s not a bad kind of hurt and he approaches the little group from behind, absently ruffling Tim’s hair before placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

He looks at Damian, who’s sitting on Dick’s hip, making grabby hands at his face.

“Dada”, he calls him, trying to reach his hair.

“No”, Dick laughs. “I’m not your dada.”

“Dada”, Damian insists.

“Well, okay then. Whatever you say, little guy”, Dick yields, then he tilts his head and submits himself to Damian’s vicious hairpulling, much to Tim’s disdain.

“You really shouldn’t let him do that”, the kid protests, frowning and looking remarkably like Bruce in doing so, even if he’s only eight years old.

“I know, I know”, Dick answers with a sigh, but he doesn’t do anything to stop his baby brother who, for his part, just keeps pulling his hair calling him dada, dada with genuine contentment.

Dick doesn’t try to correct him again, so Bruce pulls a face and Talia laughs. She knows he’s jealous, and it’s easy for her to laugh it off. Damian never calls anyone else mama but everyone except Tim is dada. Bruce, Dick, Jason, sometimes even Clark, when he comes visiting. There is really no difference for Damian.

Bruce’s suspicion is that Damian does it on purpose. They all find it so cute when he calls them dada, so they’re all incapable of refusing him anything when he addresses them like that, and Bruce thinks that’s exactly why Damian doesn’t bother with using their real names, even though he knows them very well by now. Then again, Damian is only fourteen months old and maybe Bruce is reading too much into it.

(He and Dick never talked about it, and Damian would deny there’s even something to talk about. But Bruce remembers the first time he saw them together, remembers how his first thought was that Damian looked different from how he remembered him. A lot less like him, a lot more like Dick. It was a crazy thought, but also a legitimate one. After all he knows better than anyone else that fatherhood doesn’t have anything to do with blood.)

*

“Master Bruce?”

“Mh?”

“Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to wake up?”

“Mh.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wake up anyway.”

“Mh.”

He keeps dreaming.

*

Lowered head, tensed shoulders, fingers pressed against his eyelids. He must look like a living dead. Which is fair. The migraines are killing him.

The floor creaks under familiar footsteps, and when he raises his head from the work on his desk, Cassandra is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, fighting with the ribbons of her pointe shoes.

“Need space”, she only says, and Bruce doesn’t protest. He knows she loves to dance in a lot of strange places and he’s not surprised to learn that his bedroom is one of them.

“Do you also need the stereo?”, he asks. She shakes her head no, and again, he’s not surprised at all. Cassandra is the only one of his children who shares his love for silence. She could do anything without emitting a sound, from running to dancing. It’s quite disturbing sometimes, but he tries not to let her know.

(But she does know. Always. Even - especially - without words. That’s probably why she understands him better than her brothers.)

The quiet lasts all but five minutes, then Tim gently knocks on the door, shy smile and big eyes hidden behind a mop of hair.

“Hi. Sorry”, he starts, then he bits his lips. “Are you busy? If you aren’t, can you help me with my homeworks?”

And Bruce smiles because yes, that’s something he can always do. Would always do. Be there for them, take care of problems too big for his children.

(If only they would let him do so.)

“Of course”, he answers, pushing away the papers from his desk to make space for Tim’s math book.

He spends the entire afternoon that way, with a migraine threatening to split his head in two, Tim sitting on his lap, and Cassandra dancing quietly around them.

(This Tim shouldn’t be here, he knows that. He had parents, and a home, and Bruce had no right to call him his son, not back then. Same goes for Cassandra. “Father” at this age was a word for another man, not a good one, but still not Bruce. They all came to him through tragedies and heartaches, but a dream is a dream is a dream. He’ll remember this as one of the nicest day-that-never-happened he ever had.)

*

It’s morning. A new dawn’s shining over Gotham, and Bruce is alone again, standing in the wet grass. The side effects of the poison are getting weaker by the hours, the antidote worked. The fever is almost gone, the headache is still there, but he’s healing faster than expected, so he’s not going to complain too much.

The new day didn’t take all remnants of the night away from him, though. If he closes his eyes he can still see them. Dreams or hallucinations, he can’t really say anymore, but they were real for a few hours. Few hours worth a lifetime.

He feels Alfred approaching more than hearing him.

“You should be in bed, Master Bruce”, he only says.

Bruce shakes his head.

“Sorry, Alfred. I needed to get out of there.”

Too many people in that bedroom, he wants to say, and he could actually say it. As crazy as it’d sound, Alfred would understand it in his usual mysterious, sort-of-omniscient way.

But Bruce just doesn’t want to share it. Not yet.

*

It’s night again, and he’s wandering the halls of his own house like a ghost. Patrol is out of question at least for a few days, and Bruce doesn’t know what to do with himself in the meanwhile. So he walks. And he listens. There are always a lot of noises in old houses, and Wayne Manor is a very normal house on that regard.

The creaks of old wood and the ticking of the ancient clocks. Tree branches brushing against the windows, the distant calls of the owls hunting, and then something else. Feeble whimpers behind a closed door.

Bruce stops in his tracks and frowns. The hallucinations should be totally gone by now, his blood is clean, is head is finally clear. Even the migraines are gone.

He sighs and opens the door of Damian’s room anyway. Real or not, he could never turn his back on a child crying alone in the dark.

And Damian’s right there, of course. Holed up under the covers, tiny fingers gripping the sheets as hard as he knows how. He’s older now. Four, maybe five years old, blue eyes round with fear, his bottom lip is trembling, and tears are obviously on their way.

“There’s a monster under the bed, daddy”, he whispers to him, and Bruce knows it’s true. Knows what it looks like too. Because there’s always a Batman to a Bruce Wayne, and hallucinated worlds make no exception. It makes sense that he would refuse to be set aside and forgotten, even if only for a night.

He sits on the bed and carefully strokes the child’s cheek in attempt to reassure him. He’s not good with it, even if he should be. After all he’s seen this Damian’s birth, he was there through all his life. His first laugh, his first word, his first steps, his first day of school.

(Never for his first kill, or for the first blow that showed him what happens when you are not up to expectations.)

He helped changing diapers and singing lullabies, soothing temper tantrums and kissing scratched knees better. He was there for all the little things, bedtime stories and night terrors and the first time in the snow. He taught him how to ride a bike and how to tie his shoes, how to count up to ten and how to write his own name.

(How to disarm a man three times bigger than him, what bones are easier to break and what spots hurts the most when hit in a fight.)

Damian looks up at him, scared and defenseless, and the only thing he can think about is that Damian never called him daddy and he never would, not even under torture.

This Damian is Bruce’s son, not Batman’s.

...and Bruce doesn’t know what to say to him.

So he doesn’t say anything.

He closes his eyes, feeling a little guilty, and when he reopens them the bed is empty. His Damian was never there.

Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone.

Not too far away, though, he thinks with a smile.

He can always visit.

And most importantly, they can always come back.

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Ontario: Catching up with time.

There is a scene in Big Fish, in which Edward, the main character, explains the old cliche “Time freezes when you meet the love of your life”. He muses further, saying “what they don’t tell you is that it has a nasty habit of speeding up after, to make up for lost time”. Being one of my favourite films, I think of this moment often… and often find that it appears in similar ways in my life.

It happened first in Mexico. I looked at a calendar and found myself more than halfway through my trip. Of course, it is a glass half-full, half-empty situation. But time is like water, the more we cling to it, the more it slips through our fingers. The only way to enjoy it, is to jump in- head underwater, for as long as you can. The times I checked my watch, a calendar, it was like taking breaths- necessary, but also stole those moments of subversive bliss. The more I breathed, the more I wanted to never leave the moment. And with that, my writing practice faltered too.

For the sake of my future self, who undoubtedly as just as flimsy as a memory of myself at the present, I find it important to reflect on the two weeks that have flickered by since the last I wrote. They are mostly about Ontario, even though I find myself currently in Amsterdam (with an ever-expanding mind-ramble).

So I shall start where I left off:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When it comes to my own story, I doubt there is anyone that is more surprised by my path as myself. The biggest part of healing my emotional wounds came in the form of delicately unraveling my own narrative. Re-evaluating what I gripped onto as “me” or what I “like” or, more so what I didn’t. Toronto cleansed me in that sense, freeing myself of my ego, and changing my mind, about how much change within a person is really possible. (I, others, the “stationary” memories I had of this city previous to this visit).

I found myself reflected back to me in different facets of the city- version that I recognized, but abstracted from the forms I thought I knew. I lingered around Kensington market, more times than I expected too. On the first few days I did so, I took my brother out to help him pick out shoes & new clothes. He is a senior in high school now. As we shifted through clothes on the rack, I found my mind flickering with memories of myself in the same spot, at the same age. I remembered how I felt & thought. Those parts still sit in my mind, but like some strange film that I once acted in. I am not ashamed or disappointed, in anyway, of the teenager I was. I am, very glad to be changed now- by experiences both bright & darker. The ghosts of my former selves followed me throughout the city- and then the countryside.

Though I really wanted to go see Homeshake with my brother, I decided to let him go with his friend instead. I remember Ali & I going to every concert we could get our hands on in high school. Though Isaac doesn’t seem to get into much trouble, I figure it best to at least give him the opportunity to if he feels the need ever. So I stayed at home and chatted with my mom about ordinary things. While we spoke, I cuddled up to our (now quite elderly) dog Harley. My overalls quickly became covered in blonde retriever hair, which I have not yet been able to get all off. As I drifted to sleep on the dog bed, my mother & I mused about the day we adopted him. How strange it is, that that was 13 (nearly 14) years ago now.

I often borrowed my mother’s red flannel hunting jacket, as I was without a coat & Toronto was still to host a few more light snowstorms. As I didn’t actually experience much of ‘true’ winter, I was glad to see the snow. I could tell those that had been in the city over the winter, were quite finished with it.

Though I grew up there, I always feel at a loss for who to reach out to when I am in town. I’ve fallen out of touch with many of my old friends there- mostly because many of my friends were friends of circumstance, and without our shared context, there is not much tying us together in conversation. Toronto, in my mind, was always more about family than friends. That being said, I did hang out with a few friends in the city.

I even hung out with an old lover of mine. There was a funny tension certainly, but it was a pretty nice hangout. Mostly, he just showed me around his studio space & all the projects he’d been working on since we last saw each other a couple years ago. It was nice to see a friendly face, especially a friend that could remind me of who I am in my adult life. We talked about a lot of things, but one that we shared is that we were both processing deaths of people close to us. It was nice to talk about, not that I needed more people to talk about it with, more so, because it gave me a huge sense of perspective. I was able to witness how far I’ve come in grounding & processing those deaths.

The days following, I found myself deep in introspection. My Aunt Jeannie is a ceramic artist & she invited me to play around in her studio to keep her company. I was more than happy to keep her company. With a head so full of thoughts, it was nice to able to translate them into molded forms. I built pots & bowls for my new apartment, and less practical things too. I built lace- inspired vases to host dried flowers in the fall. And most excitingly, many faces & hands that I hope to make into dolls when I am able to finally get them to Halifax. It was nice to spend one on one time with Jeannie as well- family gatherings can quickly become so loud & hectic; it’s hard to have a properly threaded conversation.

When I got home, my brother & I had our picture taken (quite formally) by my mom. It was kind of goofy, but nice. I’m starting to realize how important it is to actively capture memories (with a memory like mine)- yes, in ways, it’s true, it is kind of an act of “un-presencing��, but one for posterity’s sake. In a way though, also helps celebrate the present.

After another long day at the studio, I did end up making plans with another friend of mine. I met my friend Rachelle at work, but we have quite a bit in common. She just moved to the city from Halifax to pursue a career in Costume design- which is actually what I was studying when I first moved to Halifax. I did my best to help give her insight into Toronto, and what area she should look at moving to. We met up in the west end- the area that she was looking at. A friend of my sister’s, Eliza Nemi, just put out a really awesome EP called ‘Vinegar’. Eliza was playing a show at the Monarch Tavern with another friend of a friend called Luka. I’ve loved his music for so long- His song ‘Oh my heart is full’ is one that is pretty permanently stuck in my head.

Being at the show was, again, strange but lovely. A space between two worlds. Two different versions of my own past, combined. It was very quiet at first, but that made it easier to find Rachelle, who had brought along her friend Jaya. A few other girls from costume studies met up with us & it quickly became a conversation exclusively about that. I honestly didn’t mind, because by that time many people rolled into the room. There were, surprisingly enough, a whole bunch of familiar faces from my Halifax world. I chatted with my sister’s friend Nicholas, then Peter. Not long into it, I also spotted my friend Allie, who I haven’t seen since university. It was nice seeing everyone, but I also found myself seeking moments alone, to just feel the music & keep my own company. Eliza’s set was as if an elf had come experience city life. Before her, was another talented female songwriter Le Ren- who did some country-pop tunes that I was actually very impressed by.

During the tail end of Eliza’s set, I pushed my way towards the bar to grab a glass of water. There was a woman in front of me who, herself, was getting a glass. She spun around to offer me the pitcher. It was quite comical how we both did an over-dramatic triple-take. She shouted over the music “I know you! I know your hair. How do I know you?” I have always been rather good at names and faces- and it didn’t take long for me to shuffle through circumstances to figure where she fit in. Last fall, she had come down to play a house show in Lunenburg with an old boyfriend of mine. We quickly fell into conversation & she told me she was about to leave to go on tour with Tim Baker & invited me to the show they are playing in Halifax. I do hope I am able to go, but I am unsure of the timing & how that will work with my schedule. Regardless, its funny circumstances like that that give me comfort in the workings of this tiny world we have. (something I have been learning A LOT about recently).

There were more familiar faces still lingering around the bar- but I felt it was the time to leave, so I did. It’s good I did too- because, as it happens, I somehow drained both my prestopasses without realizing. By sheer dumb-luck, or rather a startling act of kindness I’ve never experienced in Toronto, the bus driver just waved me in the street car without any form of payment. I’m not entirely sure why, but I didn’t ask questions and ran to the back to make myself as small as possible- as if hiding in case he changed his mind.

I was quite tired by that point, and missed my stop somehow.

By time I found myself getting off the bus I was terribly impatient to be home and so I ran the rest of the way. This impatience echoed the feeling I was getting about the city itself- a general restlessness. As if I had come to the city to accomplish something, despite me not being specifically clear what that was. These thoughts raced through my mind as I ran down the dark of the avenue I grew up on. I lay on my parent’s front porch for a moment to still my mind & heart. When I walked through the door, my brother was sitting on the velvet couch singing a song that was so familiar I teared up instantly.

As kids, my cousins, siblings & I watched the movie Dan in Real Life whenever we had the chance- and notably on every thanksgiving since it was released. Sondre Lerche wrote the soundtrack, and we’ve listened to the album more times than I could possibly count.  So, my brother sat and played ‘Modern Nature’ over and over throughout the evening. We worked on harmonies until the early morning hours. It was so lovely to work creatively with my brother in that way. It is not often we find moments to do so.

The following day, Isaac played in the New Orleans Jazz band at Massey Hall. Regrettably, I missed it, because Morgan had finally charged his phone. Which meant he called me & came to whisk me off to the woods of Willow Beach, Ontario. An adventure, I was eager to fall into, though it would have certainly been nice to see Isaac perform once more.

[wayneooverton]

9 amazing reasons to visit Bright, Australia (besides its name)

Australia tops the bucket list of many, and as someone who has been down under many a time, I’ve yet to tick off some of the most iconic spots like the Sydney Opera House, the trendy city of Melbourne or Uluru.

Personally, I love to get off the beaten track, and when the chance came to explore Victoria’s High Country, I jumped as high as I could.

Victoria is one of the states in Australia, home to Melbourne, but once you get out of the big city, you’re in for a real treat.

A lovely mountain town set in the foothills of the Victorian Alps, Bright is the perfect base for exploring Mt. Buffalo and the surrounding Alpine national parks.

It is also the base for visiting Mt. Hotham in winter to ski. While I have yet to visit Victoria in the snowy season, I can heartily attest to the fact that this place is just

Wineries, good foodie spots, friendly locals galore, beautiful views and epic adventures, Bright and the surrounding area really does have it all!

25 photos that will inspire you to visit the Victoria High Country

1. Sunset at The Horn, Mount Buffalo

It seems fitting to begin with the first of several all-time favorite places in Bright (yes, I have more than one, I’m allowed!) The Horn, at Mount Buffalo.

This spectacular lookout is what dreams are made of. With truly breathtaking views you’ll feel (quite literally ) on top of the world. While you can drive most of the way, to reach the lookout you’ll have to don your hiking boots for a short steep hike from the final picnic area to get to the top.

If you had to pick a time of day, chose sunset!

Showcasing sweeping panoramas of Mt Hotham, Mt Buller, Mount Featherton and the valleys beyond, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in Europe, or even the wilds of China!

At 1,723 meters elevation (or just over 500 ft) The Horn is the highest point in the Mount Buffalo National Park and a definite ‘must do’ when you’re in the area.

As the rolling mountains disappear into the distance, you really feel like you’re on top of the world here.

2. Dip your toes at Ladies Bath Falls

There’s just something about standing under a waterfall in the heat of the day, surrounded by birdsong and native forest. Am I right?

The ultimate bathing spot, Ladies Bath Falls are practically an institution round here.

As the story goes, in the late 1940’s the trains from Melbourne would stop so the ladies on board could ‘refresh’ themselves in the falls before the final leg of the journey to Mount Buffalo. I can heartily attest that that water is, indeed, fresh. It’s freaking cold!

Set just 400 meters back from the road up Mount Buffalo, these crystal clear springs trickle over smooth granite boulders and make for a tranquil detour.

Be warned though, the water is icy! Not shown in pic: My very numb feet. 

3. Get nice and cozy at the Kilnhouses

My accommodation near Bright was extraordinary. The Kilnhouses are a unique experience where contemporary luxury and design is combined with the stunning beauty of the high country landscape on a cattle farm.

And I’m not really a ‘cow’ kind of girl, usually preferring sheep farms, but after this – I think I’m converted.

I stayed in the Sorting Shed which was designed to mirror the old style of tobacco sorting sheds, with amazing views of the farms and mountains around it.

Let me ask you something. When I say ‘Australia’ you picture beaches and kangaroos right? Me too. Well, I used to.

Now, when I think of Australia, my mind often wanders back to The Kilnhouses.

Rolling green fields as far as the eye can see, edged with gumtree forests and snowy mountain peaks. Morning mists, and the sounds of a working farm right outside my seriously luxurious room. Can I hide here forever?

4. Be welcomed by the friendly locals

Down to earth, generous and some of the most welcoming people I’ve ever met, the locals in Bright are a huge part of what what make this place so special. From the baristas who made my daily coffees to the people I met on the trails, I left Bright with such a sense of joy for my fellow humans.

Here I felt safe and happy.

Which is actually saying a lot considering I’m the biggest introvert out there. 

5. Tuck in for a big feed at the Wandi pub

Now getting to one of the more important points – the food. Which, by the way, was exceptional. Topping my list is the Wandi Pub.

Yes, guys, a pub.

The perfect mix between down-to-earth watering hole and inner city gastro-chic, the Wandi delivers in every regard. The portions are big, the garden is delightful and the decor is en pointe (although seriously, what do I know about pub decor?)

I don’t know what I was expecting when I parked outside the Wandi pub, and I could see heaps of local utes and farm vehicles. Expecting a rural farm kind of pub like we have in New Zealand, you know, with antlers on the wall, a big pool table and a lot of men in plaid and short shorts.

I wasn’t disappointed, except I wasn’t prepared for the incredible beer on tap and the delicious and fresh menu inspired by owner’s Tim and Paddy’s travels.

If I could have ordered everything on the menu, I would. However, I’m unashamedly all about ordering food that looks good on camera (not a curry then) and I went with the Zaartar cauliflower and omg guys it was amazing.

6. Go for a wander at sunrise at the Mount Beauty Gorge Walk

If you’re after an easy hike that really delivers on epic terrain – this one’s for you. Roughly six kilometers of sheer granite cliffs, cool green canopy and clear waters, the Mount Beauty Gorge Walk takes you through the heart of a natural canyon.

Starting out you’ll traverse the Kiewa River via swingbridge, before the track descends into the belly of the gorge. Be sure to pack a pair of shoes you don’t mind get wet for wading – there are several river crossings on this hike. 

There’s also a fair bit of boulder hopping! And also it’s Australia, so snakes!

As you continue on, the sun is filtered through the trees, creating the most beautiful light. I’ve been on a lot of hikes, but I was really struck by how magical this place felt.

The further you go, the sides gradually get steeper, and you’ll come across a series of natural pools, perfect for taking a dip along the way! I recommend taking a picnic to enjoy on the rocks post-swim – Everything tastes better with the sun on your face!

7. Enjoy all the colors 

If there was ever a town to embody the essence of landscape diversity, it would be Bright. As happy as its name suggests, I can’t help but make my number seven point all about the color palette.

The soft pastels of dawn give way to a vibrant orange sunrise, which transforms the landscape into a patchwork of greens and browns.

The constant dust in the air mean that during sunset, the horizon is painted every shade of purple and yellow.

Everything is sharp here, bolder and brighter, pun intended.

The vineyards, mountains, red dirt roads, bare rock and lush undergrowth all meld seamlessly, creating a truly wonderful snapshot of Australia at its finest.

It’s also not unlike my hometown of Wanaka, so possibly that explains my affinity with the land.

I know that it’s probably glorious come autumn when the leaves begin to change.

8. Take in a sunrise at  Tawonga Gap

Ok, this one was a happy coincidence I stumbled upon while driving one day and knew it’d be a great spot for sunrise.

Halfway between the towns of Mt Beauty and Bright, on the Tawonga Gap Road is a secluded little lookout with the most sensational views over the surrounding mountains.

It’s extra special because most of the drive you’re shrouded in forest, so when you reach this tiny clearing it makes the panorama seem all the more remarkable.

Native bush turns to lush farmland, turns to mountains and endless skies. I managed to catch the sun as it first appeared, but whichever time of day you choose, the Tawonga Gap is an ideal spot to stretch your legs and get a dose of vitamin N. Plug in into maps on your phone and you’ll find it. 

9. Explore as much of Buffalo National Park as you can!

A natural paradise of walking tracks, waterfalls, wildflowers and wildlife – Mount Buffalo National Park is another essential addition to the ‘must see’ list.

Regardless of your fitness levels, this vast park has something for every hiker.

Tracks range from short 45 minute strolls to steeper six hour treks. Interesting granite formations dominate the craggy peaks, and its endless gum forests provide shelter for the wildlife. If you’re lucky you may spot a kangaroo or two, wallabies, possums and variety of native birds and wombats. Yes, I said wombats. 

I repeat, WOMBATS.

Contained within the park is an old chalet, built in 1910. Surrounded by beautiful gardens it has sweeping views of the landscape and adds a touch of charm.

Camping is allowed, and there are a range of campsites both with basic facilities and others more remote. Oh, and there’s a lake! In the warmer months you can swim or kayak – or simply just relax with book on the water’s edge.

From wombats to wineries, mountains to waterfalls, Bright is a real gem and definitely worth checking out on your next trip to Australia. You won’t regret it.

Have you ever been to Victoria or heard of Bright? Is this the kind of place that appeals? Have anything else to add? Spill!

The Feast High Country Festival coming up from May 3rd to May 19th, 2019 and is an amazing time to explore, eat and drink around the Victoria High Country

Many thanks for Tourism North East for hosting me in Australia – like always I’m keeping it real – all opinions are my own, like you could expect less from me!

The post 9 amazing reasons to visit Bright, Australia (besides its name) appeared first on Young Adventuress.

from Young Adventuress http://bit.ly/2Umr6lc

[jessicakehoe]

From the FASHION Archives: Lady Gaga Was Always Going to be Famous

Since its launch in 1977, FASHION magazine has been giving Canadian readers in-depth reports on the industry’s most influential figures and expert takes on the worlds of fashion, beauty and style. In this series, we explore the depths of our archive to bring you some of the best fashion features we’ve ever published. This story, originally titled “Gaga” by Elio Iannacci, was initially published in FASHION’s February 2014 issue.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY INEZ AND VINDOOH AND STYLED BY BRANDON MAXWELL, LADY GAGA WEARS A JACKET, PRICE ON REQUEST, BY COME DES GARCONS AND GLASSES, PRICE ON REQUEST, BY EARLY HALLOWEEN. HAIR BY SHAY ASHAUL BY TIM HOWARD. MAKEUP BY YADIM FOR ART PARTNER. MANICURE BY JIN SOON CHOI FOR JED ROOT.

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been five years since Lady Gaga released her first album, The Fame. The sheer number of images, hits and sound bites the 27-year-old has ushered into popular culture is uncanny. The New York native’s wardrobe choices have inspired lookalike fans and popularized collections from such designers as Jean Paul Gaultier and Hussein Chalayan. Her first fragrance, Fame, launched in 2012, sold six million bottles during its first week. University courses have analyzed her socio-political significance. She’s the only chart-topper to have used the word “transgendered” in a Billboard number one hit (2011’s “Born This Way”), and her 40 million-plus Twitter followers and 60 million Facebook fans have witnessed her fight for equal rights for women and the LGBT community. Last year, Time Magazine’s readers named her the second most influential person of the decade (beating out U.S. President Barack Obama). Unlike so many in her line of work, Gaga’s affection for fashion is not a flirtation. Whether donning legendary labels, new technologies or message-based garments, the woman formerly known as Stefani Germanotta is a living, breathing canvas. Which is probably why Donatella Versace chose Gaga as the new face of her label. Before her upcoming world tour, Gaga sat down with features editor Elio Iannacci to talk about her latest obsessions and her current album, Artpop.

You once said you wanted to be regarded as the female Andy Warhol. Do you feel closer to that goal? When I said that, I didn’t have a concept of where my career was headed. When I was writing Artpop, I was really looking at where we are now as a culture. I was in H&M the other day, looking around just to see the effect that Monster culture has had on street fashion. People used to say, ‘Who is this weird girl with her crazy outfits?’

How did the subsequent surge of fame affect you? I never let anyone change who I was. I was always willing to go down with my own artistic ship. I create things that I really care about—I fight for images, for music and for the community of fans. Born This Way was all about equality and being yourself from the inside out, but now there’s a need to celebrate that. Artpop is a celebration.

You have a mandate to make a space where high and low art, fashion and music can live together. To many, this is still seen as a radical act. This is the dilemma. I don’t believe there’s pretension in art. You don’t have to know anything about art to love it. You just have to be next to it and feel it. I want my fans to know that we don’t have to succumb to what people think a pop star should be in order to be successful.

You were accepted into The Juilliard School as a child, but your parents placed you in a private Catholic school. Had you gone through that classical training, would there be a Lady Gaga? Probably. There’s this implication that if I wasn’t so successful I would have to stop. But I never would have stopped. I would be in some bar, being Lady Gaga.

You’ve recently taken workshops with Marina Abramović—the performance artist who has risked her life for her art. How have they changed your perceptions? I thought that after The Fame, The Fame Monster and Born This Way, it had all worn me down. It felt like my mind and every muscle in my body had been taken by the noise and the cameras—but it hadn’t. I went into the woods with Marina [for an artistic workshop] and I realized how strong I really was. [Marina] will balance on a stick between her legs for nine hours and go numb in the name of art. For her, it’s all about creating this experience with the audience where they’re watching her suffer for her work. Once I was out there with the sound of the river and Marina’s calm, sweet voice telling me to close my eyes and find my way home, I knew I could do anything.

Let’s talk about the paintings of you hanging in the Louvre in Paris. You sat with Robert Wilson to recreate some historic works. Which were the most challenging? I have a connection to old souls, so there was sort of a séance element where I asked artists of the past to give me permission to feel their pain. When I was doing [Jacques-Louis David’s] The Death of Marat, I lay in each position for six or seven hours. I also did my own piece, where I hung upside-down for 45 minutes in bondage. It wasn’t meant to be sexual. I believe everyone has the power to be an art hero. You don’t have to wait until you’re dead to be appreciated, [even though] this is the age when they wait until you die to write nice things about you.

At a time when you were criticized for gaining weight, you created the body revolution movement and asked fans of all body types to post photos of themselves on your site. Did seeing their bravery help your self-esteem? My self-esteem was fine. I didn’t have a problem with my weight—the world did. The body revolution was just my way of liberating myself from that criticism. That’s what I wrote ‘Do What U Want’ about. Did it heal me? No. But I was happy to see so many fans stripping naked to show they didn’t care either. I want to remind everyone that the people who win Nobel Peace Prizes and cure diseases are not supermodels. Your legacy does not need to be a perception of beauty that’s not realistic.”

In 2009, you gave a speech at the National Equality March in Washington and called it the most important moment of your career. The rage in that speech was directed at U.S. President Barack Obama. Do you think it had an effect? You don’t know exactly where your activism is going to land. I was just one person speaking out. I grew up with gay friends, and when I started to come out with my music, they were still there, supporting me. How could I sit down every night making money off a ticket that they’re buying for my show, knowing that they don’t have the same rights that I have? I can’t do that.

Donatella Versace once told me you are today’s quintessential role model. You’ve written a song about her on Artpop that hints at how misunderstood she is. Why do you think she’s so misjudged? Nobody really knows anything about her. She is the most kind, loving, sweet woman. The point I am making with a song like ‘Donatella’ is that you love to love her and you love to hate her. It’s this thing we have in common. The truth is, we’re having a blast doing what we are doing, so that’s our silver lining. We don’t mind being these blonde martyred icons as long as we have our champagne and our Marlboro cigarettes whenever we’re together. I went to her house in Milan last year, and I was having a really tough time. I was exhausted on the Born This Way tour and she opened her home to me and had 50,000 white roses in the house. I don’t always have anyone to look up to, but seeing Donatella, where she is and how far she’s come, I get to have a role model.

You’ve managed to give the Fashion Police less power by showing up on the red carpet in meat dresses and giant eggs. Was this a conscious choice? My whole life is a fucking red carpet. The red carpet has become ridiculous. All these women are starving themselves to look amazing because this is their big moment? Why shouldn’t the press adore them every day for being entertainers? I use the red carpet as a stage. I was supposed to do something at the VMAs that they didn’t let me do. I was very upset about it. I wanted to have five or six Gagas walk the carpet in all my looks from all my videos. A lot of exciting things happened at the VMAs, so it was strange that I couldn’t do that.

You’ve written three songs with the word ‘fashion’ in the title. What keeps drawing you to this contradictory, extreme, egotistical and often magical world? It was always the thing that made me feel like I could be anything, no matter what anyone said about me. When I felt small or unimportant, my ability to sew things and invent myself like an art piece meant everything. That’s why I’ve always cared about my costumes and my show. It’s never been marketing… fashion gave me a sense of who I am.

The post From the FASHION Archives: Lady Gaga Was Always Going to be Famous appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

From the FASHION Archives: Lady Gaga Was Always Going to be Famous published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[laurellgem-blog]

When StubHub loses your Kendrick Lamar tickets... it's for the best

I love going to concerts, but I have strong feelings about paying hundreds of dollars only to watch a favorite artist on a jumbo screen, and to give you a hint, they aren’t positive ones. Frankly, I figure I’d have better sound and visual quality watching that type of thing from home, so my general rule has been that if the actual size of the performer will amount to a single pixel in my field of vision (or a conglomeration of pixels on a screen), it’s a no-go. 

I could proselytize on the incredible talent, soul, and artistry that is Kendrick Lamar, but I won’t. Suffice it to say I bought a single ticket in the nosebleeds to see the Tacoma/Seattle show of Kendrick’s DAMN. tour on August 1st, featuring Travis Scott and D.R.A.M. If that doesn’t tell you who I’m Loyal too, then I don’t know what does. 

 As I shuffle through the metal detector line outside of the Tacoma Dome, the crowd complains that traffic and accidents made us miss D.R.A.M. and most of Travis, to which someone beside me (who apparently does not share my mega-concert aversion) adds that Travis Scott is a better performer than Kendrick anyway. Having just spent my rent money to see Kendrick (at a mega-arena, no less) I strongly protest, to which he nonchalantly says “No he is. Travis is on a bird right now”. 

 Um, ok? 

Fifteen minutes later an animatronic bird of prey charioting a harnessed, blinged-out Travis Scott is hovering just feet away from my slack-jawed face. Oh wow, that dude was serious. As the music blasting through the speakers competes with the feverish screams of an entire arena, sending visceral pulses of energy through my body, my single thought is, “How did I get here?” That’s a great question, actually, because didn’t I just say I bought nosebleed seats? Let’s back up. After weeks of entering sweepstakes and radio concerts in a vain attempt to win prime Kendrick tix, I spent $220 just to be in the same arena as K-Dot. The night before the concert date, however, StubHub emailed me saying that my tickets were no longer available (cue heart sinking to floor), but not to worry, they think they found tickets I’ll like even more. 

 Understatement. Of. The. Year. 

When I enter from the balcony, I immediately scope out the floor of the stadium. I am still disbelieving that the hazy, undulating press of bodies next to the stage will be where I sit—or rather, stand. There would be no sitting. Approaching the usher guarding the entry into my section, I am reluctant to even let the ticket out of my white-knuckled clutches; its existence contains redemption for an entire life of never-winning-anything disappointment. She looks at me dubiously before scanning the ticket, then escorts me all the way to my seat. Each step is an exhalation of awe that we haven’t stopped yet, that we keep getting closer and closer until suddenly she is pushing back a gaggle of rapt high school kids who had unknowingly migrated into the realm of my aisle seat. Yes. Aisle seat. That aisle is the only thing between me and the projecting stage diagonal to me, which also serves to guarantee that not a soul can get in front me.

Meanwhile, Travis Scott is on a bird and the crowd is LIT. To my left is the likely singer of a screamo band. She is so belligerent that I conclude she is definitely “on one”. Or two. Best guess: MDMA with a side of bath salts. And, while I am vaguely afraid this aggressive short chick will eat my face, I silently applaud the absence of Effs she gives and am inspired. Bitch don’t kill my vibe and I won’t kill yours. 

The concert-enthusiast wasn’t wrong about Travis. He clearly understands performance and the power of spectacle, as any mega-show must, and he commands all of our attention. Travis signals for us to put two arms in the air from his lofty stage and then he motions that we should bounce them to the beat. Full disclosure, this is my first rap concert, and apparently they posses their own unspoken etiquette. I have a background in choreographed hip-hop, so I don’t do half-assed dance moves. I’m starting to really get into it… until I realize that no one else is on my level—not even the bath-salts-girl. Apparently this motion is universally understood in the rap community to be a casual up-and-down; it looks nothing like the jagged crumping I was doing. My bad. 

 No worries, I don’t flatter myself that anyone is focused on anything but the stage—that is until intermission. 

The lights turn on and a broad swath of fabric titled “DAMN.”cloaks the stage. Amidst a surplus of anticipation and a vacuum of stimuli, my neighbors and I transform into a crowd of possessed Furbies. We swivel our necks at odd angles to assess our surroundings; I am fascinated by what I observe. 

On the center left (my section) stand a crowd of young people who look like they saved up two paychecks working at Jamba Juice and Forever 21 in order to afford tonight. A mélange of older people, beautiful people, and their beautiful children occupy the center front section. They look like they have one thing in common: connections. My row eyeballs me like they’re wondering why my single-aisle-seat, mid-to-late twenties, industry-girl ass isn’t sitting with all the other schmucks in the center who only know “HUMBLE.” and can’t possibly tolerate the $800+ noise someone paid for them to hear without earplugs. I glance right and a girl already wearing earplugs is passing out the brightly colored status symbols like cocaine at a Hampton’s party. Great, now I’m self-conscious that I look like them…I had hurriedly exchanged my scrubs for something rap-concert-appropriate in a gas station on the way down to Tacoma, but I think I erred on the Boujee end of the “Bad and Boujee” spectrum. 

I, however, am not about to be caught dead with earplugs, and my evil side secretly hopes Kendrick calls out their half-hearted participation like he did to this VIP section in Montreal. 

Suddenly, the room goes dark and a short-film begins to play on the jumbotron. Punctuating the night’s performance, these mock-serious flicks gradually establish Kung-Fu Kenny’s (Kendrick’s alt. persona) directive to find the Glow “where the black is darkest”. The first short blinks out and the suspense becomes palpable in the dim arena. I am basking in the surreal knowledge that Kendrick is about to be five feet in front of me when a massive bang and several jets of fire burst from the stage. After returning to the skin I had momentarily jumped out of, my eyes alight on a crouched Kendrick ascending through a cloud of smoke. Needless to say, the crowd goes wild and I forget how to breathe. 

 Now THAT is how you go digital to physical on all ya’ll, ay? We were warned.

As the first refrains of the track play I lose it. It’s “DNA.”, my favorite song off the entire DAMN. Album (2017). Kendrick makes his way out to the projecting stage where he performs most of the righteously angry single. Is my face melting? I don’t care. Kendrick then migrates upstage for the rapid-fire verse of “DNA,” where he gets busy spitting bars while simultaneously dodging katas from an actual ninja. Kendrick keeps the energy high by seamlessly transitioning to “ELEMENT,” another popular track from DAMN. 

In keeping with the tour’s namesake, Kendrick primarily showcases songs off his latest album, but he also sends the crowd into convulsions by throwing it back to albums like To Pimp a Butterfly (2015) and untitled unmastered. (2016). When he performs one of the title tracks off good kid, m.A.A.d. city (2012), I could die happy. 

I have gone to many a concert, sang and danced along like no one was watching, but this is an entirely different experience. The one person that actually has the vantage to see me IS Kendrick Lamar, and I am so glad I know the words because I’m pretty sure I will probably turn to stone if he catches me slippin’. One song I only half-know, and it transports me back to that one time at Watershed I snuck to the front, touched Tim McGraw’s hand, faux-sang lyrics I did not know and proceeded to look like a gaping fish out of water. 

 At Kendrick’s show you genuinely get the sense that he is watching you, feeding off your participation. In an unforgettable moment, Kendrick cuts the music during “HUMBLE.” and extends the mic to his audience. We spout out every word to the verse and he appears thoroughly, well… humbled. He even makes an effort to include the cheaper seats by transitioning to a central B- stage where he slows the tempo down to perform “FEEL.” and “LUST” from a light strewn cell. 

Similar to Kendrick’s dynamic vocals, his performance lives on a broad spectrum that ranges from subdued to emotional to belligerent. He uses each tone strategically to achieve a masterful performance. The sheer technicality of a mega-concert like this handicaps his capacity for improvisation (which some may have enjoyed at other Kendrick concerts). Regardless, he is anything but mechanical; sweat coats his face, he occasionally loses breath and every motion he makes is electrified with intent. Sure, there is the occasional pyrotechnics and he does perform part of “PRIDE.” frozen sideways in mid-air, but Kendrick Lamar relies less on gimmicks and more on his sheer charisma and musical genius to captivate the room. Should we even be surprised? Kung-Fu Kenny is a virtuoso of his craft.

[unavenged-robin]

Ephemeral

Ephemeral (n) short-lived.

Or the one where Bruce gets to be a husband and a father for a night.

Read on AO3

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Selina Kyle Additional Tags: Hallucinations, alternative reality, Light BDSM, bruce’s subconscious is a weird place, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad

He doesn’t know how he makes it back to the cave. His head is spinning, his hands are trembling around the wheel, everyone’s screaming at him.

We thought you were better than this, his mother says.

You made a promise to us, is this how you keep it?, his father asks.

Bruce grits his teeth, doesn’t answer. Fighting with the dead is never a good idea, they have nothing else to lose, so they always win.

He stumbles out of the car as soon as it stops, he meets the cave floor with his hands and not with his face just out of a combination of good reflexes and sheer instinct.

That’s pathetic, Damian comments, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

Give him a break, kiddo, Dick scolds him. He’s getting old.

Old, Cassandra repeats with a knowingly tone.

“Shut up”, Bruce growls, propping himself up on his elbows. The walls of the cave catch his voice and send back echoes of it at him, taunting him. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

You shut up, old man, Jason retorts. I’m not above kicking you while you’re already down, you know.

Bruce, the poison is acting faster, Tim butts in, always the voice of reason. You need to find the antidote now.

“I know”, Bruce replies with another growl. It’s a lie. He had forgotten about the poison. Just for a moment.

He raises his head, looking for his children. They may not always be on the best of terms, but they would always help him in a crisis. He knows that.

He’s alone.

Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone. Flew the nest long time ago. Dick has his own city, Tim his own life, Jason his own battles. Bruce never really had a choice with them. As for Cassandra and Damian, well. Cass had always done her thing, and Damian’s just starting to understand what is like not to have a destiny, what life tastes of when you can shape its course and not just follow orders. Bruce’s choosing to let them go.

Right, Damian snorts, leaning towards the computer’s console and looking at him trying to get back on his feet. Because otherwise you would definitely have a say in what I decide to do, Father.

Be nice, Little D, Dick cuffs him lightly on the back of his head.

Yeah, kid, don’t you see he’s dying? Show some respect for the fucking dead, Jason snickers.

You are gonna die if you don’t act quickly, Bruce, Tim agrees. Cassandra only hums.

“I know”, Bruce repeats. His head feels light, his legs are not working correctly. He knows he has an antidote somewhere, but he has to force his mind into focussing on remembering where and what it looked like. He wonders where Alfred is, and if he’s going to find him in time.

He blacks out somewhere between the car and the stairs.

*

He wakes up in a bed, surrounded by darkness. He barely has the time to recognize his own bedroom, then both body memory and instincts set in and he’s running towards the bathroom before he even realizes his stomach is turning inside out.

He throws up on white marbles and fine porcelain indiscriminately. Alfred is going to be mad at him even if he’s not going to say it. Normally he would clean up after himself but he feels hot, like he has a fever, and he feels weak, weaker than he’s been in years.

You don’t look good, beloved, a woman’s voice agrees.

Bruce raises his head and Talia’s there, standing in front of the sink, long red dress and bare feet, leaning towards the mirror, a tube of mascara in her hand.

Perhaps we should cancel the dinner, I’m sure the Major will understand.

She does her eyes slowly and with great care, mouth slightly open, lips as red as her dress. The bracelets on her wrists jingle everytime she moves, and she looks so beautiful and so real Bruce has to run away from her.

His bedroom is still dark, but he can see a lump on his bed. Selina blinks back at him from under the linen sheets and she yawns and stretches in that cat-like way she does everything.

‘Morning darling, where were you?, she smiles.

Bruce sways on his feet, reaching for the wall for support. Closes his eyes, tries to separate reality from hallucinations.

It’s not easy.

The click of the light switch and a hand on his shoulder makes him turn. In the soft light of their bedroom Talia looks at him with concern in her eyes.

Bruce, do you want me to call a doctor?, she asks.

Bruce looks back at the bed, but it’s empty now. Selina’s gone. He notices other things, though. A wedding ring on the nightstand. Woman clothes on the chair. An open box of jewelry on the dresser.

“I’m fine”, he answers.

Talia looks at him dubiously, but she doesn’t insist.

He watches her sitting down and start brushing her hair, and suddenly he remembers hundreds of nights just like this one, getting ready for dinners and parties, and how she would always let him choose the necklace to go with her outfit.

(His parents used to this, Bruce remembers. And his father always chose pearls. Said he just loved them so much. It drove his mother crazy sometimes, but she would always wear them when he asked, because she loved him so much.)

He moves towards the jewelry box to indulge into their ritual one more time, but then he hears the laughing of a child and the sound of tiny bare feet running on old, polished wood. He remembers this too, and he knows it’s Damian even before the toddler barges in the room. It was only three weeks ago when Damian took his first walk without their help, but now he’s already running around the manor, giving heart attacks to everyone.

“Mama, mama!”, he screams.

Talia immediately turns towards her son and catches him with a laugh, scooping him up in her arms and spinning him around, making him giggle in that bubbling way that never ceases to amaze Bruce.

Damian is such a cute baby too, all chubby cheeks and big blue eyes, and Bruce knows that every parent says so, but he’s secretly convinced that his son is the most beautiful child in the entire world.

(He knows what Damian looked like as a baby because Talia showed him a photo, once. Refused to give it to him when he asked, told him he didn’t deserved it, that Damian’s childhood was hers, and hers alone.)

“Sorry, little guy’s faster than I expected”, another known voice says.

Jason looks at them from the doorframe, an indulgent smile on his lips. He’s sixteen - seventeen at most - all long hair and clothes getting too short for him day by day. He’s growing tall, almost can look his father straight in the eyes. Bruce doesn’t like that.

(Bruce never saw Jason at sixteen. He only knows the child and the man, not what was in between. Teenager Jason belonged to Talia too.)

“It’s okay”, Talia says, Damian still wriggling on her lap. “I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss anyway.”

Damian babbles something at her and keeps playing with her hair. He’s fascinated with her earrings but by now he knows better than to try and pull them. Talia smiles down at him and cradles him closer so she can pepper his little face with big, smacking kisses, making him squeal in delight.

“If I tried that he would pull all my hair off, the little demon”, Jason huffs, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fondness in his voice.

Talia only grins and gestures for him to come closer. When Jason comes standing beside her she stands up and brushes a kiss on his cheek, making him blush.

“Thank you for babysitting him tonight, Jason”, she says, handing Damian over to him.

“It’s fine”, he dismisses her. “I really don’t mind.”

Jason takes the child easily, with the familiarity coming from years of experience. Damian settles in his arms with the same confidence, and as if on a cue, he reaches for Jason’s hair and pulls, loving the sound of his big brother’s yelping.

(No white-streak in Jason’s hair, Bruce notices. This Jason has never died, this Jason grew up here, in this house, with loving parents and a bunch of brothers who refused to leave him alone. This Jason is happy.)

*

His heartbeat is slowing too much. Bruce is usually able to control it and adjust his body function accordingly, but now he’s too weak to fight both the poison and his heart’s mutiny.

That’s why he has Alfred, he supposes, as he watches his old friend moving around him with not so much as a frown. He’s always envied that calm.

You weren’t there, he tries to say, but Alfred shushes him like he would with a child.

In my other life, you were the only one missing.

He doesn’t know if he’s speaking or only thinking those words because he can’t tell the difference between the two things anymore. Speaking and thinking. Reality and hallucinations. Fears and hopes. Nightmares and dreams.

Alfred doesn’t answer anyway. Just strokes his cheek with his hand the way he used to do when Bruce was a kid.

Long, long time ago.

*

He’s blind.

He can’t move his hands, he can’t speak.

(By now his blood has completely absorbed the toxin, so the effect of the poison must have reached its peak, Bruce reasons. It’s going to take an hour or a little less from the last inoculation for the antidote to start to work, but it’s going to be a long, long hour.)

He’s not alone.

He feels lips on his chest, hands on his hips. Can’t feel his arms or his own face, but he knows there’s a rope tied around both of his wrists and a piece of something soft and expensive covering his eyes.

“Surprise”, a woman’s voice whispers, soft and full of laugh.

It could be Selina, or Jezebel, or Talia, and Bruce hates that he can’t tell them apart. He should be able to. In another life he would be able to.

“We need to celebrate, Bruce.”

Celebrate what?, he wants to asks, but he can’t speak. He bites down on the piece of leather between his teeth, tries to imagine himself right now, naked and blind and tied up to his own bed, completely defenseless. Thrown at the mercy of the woman he loved (Selina, Jezebel, Talia) and who loved him back (maybe, and not really, and once upon a time).

“Love it’s the best way to die, don’t you think, darling?”, she says.

Warm fingers make him arch and moan and fight against the bonds that force him to suffer this assault without being able to to defend himself or attack back. And he likes it. He loves it. The complete lack of control. The trust. Because he trusts her (them) in a way he never considered possible. In a way that was never possible before.

(Before what?)

There are teeth against his neck and he thinks he recognizes Talia’s mouth, but then long, sharp nails come down scratching his shoulders, and that’s Selina’s way to touch him. Kisses and bites and whispered words in his ears, and he doesn’t know anymore, and he likes the idea of not knowing too.

She tortures him for an hour or a little less.

Then he dies.

Finally.

(Something’s beeping in the distance. Someone’s talking. It’s all white noise, though. He really doesn’t have the strength to pay attention to it. He’s a dead man, he has nothing else to lose now.)

*

The white flash of a sunbeam hits his closed eyes and Bruce jolts wide awaken. He didn’t even know he was sleeping. There are voices around him, all raised in excitement. But it’s not fear. Nothing bad is coming.

The door of his bedroom swings wide open with a little bang of expensive brass knocking against equally expensive wood, and a reproach automatically comes to his mouth, but before he can speak another voice beats him on the spot.

“I’m home!”

And Bruce smiles, scratched furniture completely forgotten. It’s some sort of reflex when Dick’s around.

“Dick”, he calls, standing up to welcome his oldest son.

“In flesh and blood”, Dick grins, as he spins on his heels and bows his head. “Ta-da!”

Bruce laughs and hugs him to his chest hard, like he’s never letting go, and Dick hugs him back with equal determination.

(There were discussions with this Dick too, Bruce knows that much. Shouting matches and weeks of silence, lots of angry words that were never supposed to be spoken. But this Dick never left this house slamming the door behind him. This Dick always knew that Bruce was his father and that he loved him.)

“How’s college?”, Bruce asks after a moment, slowly untangling himself from the hug.

“Good. Not as hard as you pictured it and not as easy as I hoped”, Dick answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nothing I can’t fix”, he adds quickly when Bruce frowns. “I just need a little time to adjust.”

Bruce opens his mouth to offer him his help, but in that moment a delighted screech pierces his ear.

“Dick!”, Cassandra shouts, smiling and showing off her new shiny braces.

“Hey princess!”, Dick shouts back, turning towards his sister and opening up his arms.

Cass doesn’t need further invitations, and she launches himself into his brother’s embrace. She barely comes up to Dick’s chest, but that’s never been a problem for his oldest son. Bruce watches them spinning around the room three times, laughing like crazy, and then the rest of the flock appear on his door.

“Welcome home, Richard”, Talia greets him, Jason and Tim at her side. In her arms Damian squeals happily, reaching for Dick, who reaches right back at him with a big smile, Cassandra still pressed into his side, and Talia promptly holds out the baby for him.

Dick picks Damian up with one arm, fist-bump Jason with his free hand and kisses Tim’s forehead when the kid wraps himself around his waist.

“Hello, family. I’ve missed you”, he laughs, and he’s clearly so happy to see them that Bruce’s heart hurt a little. But it’s not a bad kind of hurt and he approaches the little group from behind, absently ruffling Tim’s hair before placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

He looks at Damian, who’s sitting on Dick’s hip, making grabby hands at his face.

“Dada”, he calls him, trying to reach his hair.

“No”, Dick laughs. “I’m not your dada.”

“Dada”, Damian insists.

“Well, okay then. Whatever you say, little guy”, Dick yields, then he tilts his head and submits himself to Damian’s vicious hairpulling, much to Tim’s disdain.

“You really shouldn’t let him do that”, the kid protests, frowning and looking remarkably like Bruce in doing so, even if he’s only eight years old.

“I know, I know”, Dick answers with a sigh, but he doesn’t do anything to stop his baby brother who, for his part, just keeps pulling his hair calling him dada, dada with genuine contentment.

Dick doesn’t try to correct him again, so Bruce pulls a face and Talia laughs. She knows he’s jealous, and it’s easy for her to laugh it off. Damian never calls anyone else mama but everyone except Tim is dada. Bruce, Dick, Jason, sometimes even Clark, when he comes visiting. There is really no difference for Damian.

Bruce’s suspicion is that Damian does it on purpose. They all find it so cute when he calls them dada, so they’re all incapable of refusing him anything when he addresses them like that, and Bruce thinks that’s exactly why Damian doesn’t bother with using their real names, even though he knows them very well by now. Then again, Damian is only fourteen months old and maybe Bruce is reading too much into it.

(He and Dick never talked about it, and Damian would deny there’s even something to talk about. But Bruce remembers the first time he saw them together, remembers how his first thought was that Damian looked different from how he remembered him. A lot less like him, a lot more like Dick. It was a crazy thought, but also a legitimate one. After all he knows better than anyone else that fatherhood doesn’t have anything to do with blood.)

*

“Master Bruce?”

“Mh?”

“Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to wake up?”

“Mh.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wake up anyway.”

“Mh.”

He keeps dreaming.

*

Lowered head, tensed shoulders, fingers pressed against his eyelids. He must look like a living dead. Which is fair. The migraines are killing him.

The floor creaks under familiar footsteps, and when he raises his head from the work on his desk, Cassandra is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, fighting with the ribbons of her pointe shoes.

“Need space”, she only says, and Bruce doesn’t protest. He knows she loves to dance in a lot of strange places and he’s not surprised to learn that his bedroom is one of them.

“Do you also need the stereo?”, he asks. She shakes her head no, and again, he’s not surprised at all. Cassandra is the only one of his children who shares his love for silence. She could do anything without emitting a sound, from running to dancing. It’s quite disturbing sometimes, but he tries not to let her know.

(But she does know. Always. Even - especially - without words. That’s probably why she understands him better than her brothers.)

The quiet lasts all but five minutes, then Tim gently knocks on the door, shy smile and big eyes hidden behind a mop of hair.

“Hi. Sorry”, he starts, then he bits his lips. “Are you busy? If you aren’t, can you help me with my homeworks?”

And Bruce smiles because yes, that’s something he can always do. Would always do. Be there for them, take care of problems too big for his children.

(If only they would let him do so.)

“Of course”, he answers, pushing away the papers from his desk to make space for Tim’s math book.

He spends the entire afternoon that way, with a migraine threatening to split his head in two, Tim sitting on his lap, and Cassandra dancing quietly around them.

(This Tim shouldn’t be here, he knows that. He had parents, and a home, and Bruce had no right to call him his son, not back then. Same goes for Cassandra. “Father” at this age was a word for another man, not a good one, but still not Bruce. They all came to him through tragedies and heartaches, but a dream is a dream is a dream. He’ll remember this as one of the nicest day-that-never-happened he ever had.)

*

It’s morning. A new dawn’s shining over Gotham, and Bruce is alone again, standing in the wet grass. The side effects of the poison are getting weaker by the hours, the antidote worked. The fever is almost gone, the headache is still there, but he’s healing faster than expected, so he’s not going to complain too much.

The new day didn’t take all remnants of the night away from him, though. If he closes his eyes he can still see them. Dreams or hallucinations, he can’t really say anymore, but they were real for a few hours. Few hours worth a lifetime.

He feels Alfred approaching more than hearing him.

“You should be in bed, Master Bruce”, he only says.

Bruce shakes his head.

“Sorry, Alfred. I needed to get out of there.”

Too many people in that bedroom, he wants to say, and he could actually say it. As crazy as it’d sound, Alfred would understand it in his usual mysterious, sort-of-omniscient way.

But Bruce just doesn’t want to share it. Not yet.

*

It’s night again, and he’s wandering the halls of his own house like a ghost. Patrol is out of question at least for a few days, and Bruce doesn’t know what to do with himself in the meanwhile. So he walks. And he listens. There are always a lot of noises in old houses, and Wayne Manor is a very normal house on that regard.

The creaks of old wood and the ticking of the ancient clocks. Tree branches brushing against the windows, the distant calls of the owls hunting, and then something else. Feeble whimpers behind a closed door.

Bruce stops in his tracks and frowns. The hallucinations should be totally gone by now, his blood is clean, is head is finally clear. Even the migraines are gone.

He sighs and opens the door of Damian’s room anyway. Real or not, he could never turn his back on a child crying alone in the dark.

And Damian’s right there, of course. Holed up under the covers, tiny fingers gripping the sheets as hard as he knows how. He’s older now. Four, maybe five years old, blue eyes round with fear, his bottom lip is trembling, and tears are obviously on their way.

“There’s a monster under the bed, daddy”, he whispers to him, and Bruce knows it’s true. Knows what it looks like too. Because there’s always a Batman to a Bruce Wayne, and hallucinated worlds make no exception. It makes sense that he would refuse to be set aside and forgotten, even if only for a night.

He sits on the bed and carefully strokes the child’s cheek in attempt to reassure him. He’s not good with it, even if he should be. After all he’s seen this Damian’s birth, he was there through all his life. His first laugh, his first word, his first steps, his first day of school.

(Never for his first kill, or for the first blow that showed him what happens when you are not up to expectations.)

He helped changing diapers and singing lullabies, soothing temper tantrums and kissing scratched knees better. He was there for all the little things, bedtime stories and night terrors and the first time in the snow. He taught him how to ride a bike and how to tie his shoes, how to count up to ten and how to write his own name.

(How to disarm a man three times bigger than him, what bones are easier to break and what spots hurts the most when hit in a fight.)

Damian looks up at him, scared and defenseless, and the only thing he can think about is that Damian never called him daddy and he never would, not even under torture.

This Damian is Bruce’s son, not Batman’s.

...and Bruce doesn’t know what to say to him.

So he doesn’t say anything.

He closes his eyes, feeling a little guilty, and when he reopens them the bed is empty. His Damian was never there.

Empty house and empty shadows. All the kids are gone.

Not too far away, though, he thinks with a smile.

He can always visit.

And most importantly, they can always come back.