No. You move.

Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians called the night ngi, the stars mul, and the moon Nanna.

Four thousand years ago, the Akkadians called the night mūšu, the stars kakkabū, and the moon Sîn.

Three thousand years ago, the Hittites called the night išpanza, the stars haštereš, and the moon Arma.

Two and a half thousand years ago, the Greeks called the night nux, the stars astra, and the moon Selênê.

Two thousand years ago, the Romans called the night nox, the stars stellae, and the moon Luna.

Kings and queens and heroes looked up at them. So did travelers coming home, and little children who sneaked out of bed. So did slaves, and mothers and soldiers and old shepherds, and Sappho and Muršili and Enheduanna and Socrates and Hatshepsut and Cyrus and Cicero. In this darkness it didn’t matter who they were, or where they stood. Only that they were human.

Think of that tonight, when you close your window. You are not alone. You share this night sky with centuries of dreamers and stargazers, and people who longed for quiet. Are you anxious? The Hittites were too: they called it pittuliyaš. Does your heart ache? The Greeks felt it too: they called it akhos. Those who look up to the stars for comfort are a family, and you belong to them. Your ancestors have stood under Nanna, Sîn, Arma, Selênê and Luna for five thousand years. Now its light is yours.

HERE is the link to the Sri Lanka blood donation website (blood is needed!!!)

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-making the facial expression your character’s making and trying to describe it

-writing entire scenes in your head as you shower and not remembering most of it by the time you get to your computer

-deciding you can’t do something you’ve been looking forward to until you write what you told yourself you were going to write, resulting in you laying in your bed doing nothing

-having two completely different ideas for your story to go in and both seem equally good but you can’t do both and you also can’t choose

-having docs with stories you know you’ll never finish but not deleting them anyway, even if they’re only a couple sentences long

-getting random bursts of productivity that could go towards homework or cleaning your room or writing and you know you’ll only be able to do one

-getting inspiration from the most random things

-writing at inopportune times because a perfect line or dialogue just popped into your head and you have to get it down before you forget it

-“what are you writing?” “……..a story”

- “what do you want to do when you grow up?” “uunnghnnggguughhhhh”

It becomes a scramble on who can have a kid first and name the kid Robin/Robyn to cement the title (It’s Dick in the end, Jay is the first to have kids but his are adopted and, thus, have names already). They all suck up massively to Bruce. “look how accomplished my son is, wouldn’t you say he’s sidekick material??” “Bruce look how fast my girl solved that mystery! It looks like you have another detective to train.” And through all this Bruce is just sweating. He loves all his Batgrandbabies, how can he possibly choose one to be his partner?