rocket-roach

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"Mommy, look at that hobo!" A child shouted gleefully on the train. She banged her fists against the closed window, pointing the man out to her mother.

The mother looked out. She quickly stopped her daughters fist from banging on the window again.

"Leave that dirty man alone," the woman warned.

John Marston glanced up at the trains squealed brake release. It was another hot day in the swamps. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for. Arthur had left flowers, of all things, in his bag.

Which was why John had gone into the swamps. Arthur had written a lot into his journal. Stories of twins, lions, veterans, and treasures had all been duly recorded into the leather-bound journal. Most of his writing led to a payout of some kind. With the bank breathing down his neck the way it was, he needed money. Besides, Abigail had Charles to look after her. Uncle as well, when he wasn't napping on the porch.

John did enjoy running into Arthur again, in any form. Hamish had been a delight, telling the story of Arthur dragging that monstrous Pike into their boat after it had nearly drowned Hamish. Those photographs on the gallery in Saint Denis. The woman up in Roanoke, whom he had taught to hunt. Even Obediah Hinton, that poor poisoned bastard up Butcher Holler. Kindness had poured from Arthur's drained cup, even until the bitter end.

John placed the orchid into his satchel, and whistled for Buell. He mounted once the brute had finally decided to join him, and turned to enter the city.

The city hadn't improved since his last visit, but he couldn't say that it had become worse. It was as all cities were, stinking of piss and shit and paved with drunkards. Arthur's entries during their brief stint in Saint Denis were full of written disdain for the smokestacks and the rat infested bars. John didn't like it either, but he had a family to care for.

Arthur had died for that. John didn't have it in him to complain. That still didn't make it less of a pain in the ass.

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costco should sell weed i want to smoke kirkland signature strain

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Arthur crawls his way into the light. He can see the dark blue night sky begin to lighten with streaks of orange and keeps moving because Dutch may have left him but the sun is racing towards him, warmth brushing against his face. Mount Shann was always cold, it seems worse now. Could be the tuberculosis, he thinks idly. But then the rays pierce the sky. The world is bright and filled with light. He can see the snow capped range in Ambarino, those thin trails that criss-cross a massive cliff face, and the songbirds began to chirp. Arthur feels it, the way his lungs seize and the blood in his mouth. Marston got out, the birdsong confirms it. Arthur closes his eyes as another warm ray hits him. Least he got one thing right.

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Going through a bit of a rebrand here. I've shifted fandoms enough that it I think I need to revamp this blog. So this bad boy is for all my fanfic. I just posted chapter one of Girls against God, and should be updating that weekly if I don't shoot myself in the foot

So fooligan-musing is now rocket-roach

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Hey yall, a school district in missouri is suddenly placing nonbinary educators on leave. Please sign this petition or even just share it. This is no doubt because of the all anti-trans legislation the monsters in Jeff city are cooking up. Please share.

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𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 / 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓   ♡   𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

    change any gendered language to your needs.  ♡

“   you  don’t  have  to  hide  your  tears  from  me .   ” “   you’re  doing  great ,   okay ??   i mean it .   ” “   you  are  so  strong .   ” “   please  don’t  ever  give  up .   ” “   i  will  always  believe  in  you .   ” “   why  do  you  always  think  you  have  to  do  everything  on  your  own ??   ” “   it’s  okay ,   i’m  here .   i’ll  always  be  here .   ” “   you’ve  always  been  strong  for  me .   let  me  return  the  favor .   ” “   just  listen  to  my  heartbeat ,   okay ??   ” “   come  on ,   take  a  deep  breath .   it’s  gonna  be  alright .   ” “   please ,   just  hold  me .   ” “   you  always  meant  the  world  to  me .   i’m  sorry  i  let  you  forget  that .   ” “   i  never  stopped  loving  you .   ” “   you’ll  feel  better  if  you  talk  about  it .   i’m  here  to  listen .   ” “   you’re  so  much  more  than  the  mistakes  you’ve  made .  ” “   i  forgive  you .   ” “   you  are  so  fucking  powerful .   ” “   i’m  not  leaving  you  here .   ” “   i  trust  you  more  than  anyone  else  in  this  universe .   ” “   it’s  okay  to  be  confused .   nobody  has  all  the  answers .   ” “   i’m  so ,   so  sorry .   you  didn’t  deserve  that .   ” “   healing  is  not  linear ,   but  it’s  always  moving  forward .   ” “   you  can  admit  that  you’re  hurting .   it’s  okay  to  not  be  okay .   ” “   hold  my  hand ??   ” “   you  are  my  home .   ” “   no  matter  what  anyone  else  says ,   you  are  so  important  to  me .   ” “   don’t  worry .   i’ll  protect  you .   ” “   shh ,   it  was  just  a  nightmare .   you’re  safe .   ” “   don’t  talk  about  yourself  like  that .   ” “   just  say  the  word .   you  know  i’d  do  anything  for  you .   ” “   you  are  loved .   ” “   i  just  need  a  hug .   ” “   i’ll  destroy  anything  that  so  much  as  thinks  of  harming  you .   ” “   don’t  ever  let  anyone  make  you  feel  ashamed  of  who  you  are .   ” “   you’re  not  alone .   you’re  stuck  with  me  forever .   sorry .   ” “   well ,   hello  sleeping  beauty .   you  fell  asleep  on  me .   ” “   if  you  don’t  take  your  butt  back  to  bed ,   i  will  carry  you  there  myself .   ” “   i’m  sorry  to  wake  you  up ,   but  i  really  need  someone  to  talk  to .   ” “   i  hate  seeing  you  like  this   …   please ,  let  me  help .   ” “   you  are   &   always  will  be  precious  to  me .   ” “   i  can’t  believe  that  asshole  said  that  to  you .   it’s  not  true ,   you  know .    ” “   you  want  me  to  punch  him  in  the  face  ??   ” “   you  deserve  every  good  thing  in  the  world .   ” “   you  know  i  always  have  your  back .   ” “   you  don’t  have  to  worry  about  anything ,   as  long  as  i’m  around .   ” “   stop  apologizing ,   okay ??   i’ve  already  told  you  i’ve  forgiven  you  a  hundred  times now .   ” “   don’t  beat  yourself  up  over  this .   be  kind  to  yourself ,   it’s  not  your  fault .   ”

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update

hi you guys!! sorry ive been MIA since like. forever. Just a little update on me! I’m currently migrating to the star trek fandom, and have just completed drafting up the first chapter of my first (!!) star trek fic. Basically what’s been going on is that my depression has been up and down but with medication and therapy and ive been getting to a place where i can and want to write again! I am veery sorry for up and vanishing like a fart in the wind, but this past year has been. A Year. Anyway! I hope to have new stuff up to read by the end of the week!

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A Writer’s Ask Game

Send me an ask with the number(s) you’d like me to answer!

The Basics 1.     Do you listen to music when you write? 2.     Are you a pantser or plotter? 3.     Computer or pen and paper? 4.     Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published? 5.     How much writing do you get done on an average day? 6.     Single or multiple POV? 7.     Standalone or series? 8.     Oldest WIP 9.     Current WIP 10.  Do you set yourself deadlines?

The Specifics 11.  Books and/or authors who influenced you the most 12.  Describe your perfect writing space 13.  Describe your writing process from idea to polished 14.  How do you deal with self-doubts? 15.  How do you deal with writer’s block? 16.  How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project? 17.  What writing habits or rituals do you have? 18.  If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about? 19.  How do you keep yourself motivated? 20.  How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?

The Favourites 21.  Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? 22.  Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write? 23.  Favourite author 24.  Favourite genre to write and read 25.  Favourite part of writing 26.  Favourite writing program 27.  Favourite line/scene 28.  Favourite side character 29.  Favourite villain 30.  Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

The Dark 31.  Least favourite part of writing 32.  Most difficult character to write 33.  Have you ever killed a main character? 34.  What was the hardest scene you ever had to write? 35.  What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

The Fun 36.  Last sentence you wrote 37.  First sentence or your current WIP 38.  Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had 39.  Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had 40.  Share some backstory for one of your characters

The Rest of It 41.  Any advice for new/beginning/young writers? 42.  How do you feel about love triangles? 43.  What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline? 44.  How much research do you do? 45.  How much world building do you do? 46.  Do you reread your own stories? 47.  Best way to procrastinate 48.  What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written? 49.  Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real? 50.  [Other question—ask me anything]

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Hey all, we had a lot of fun with this event this year (all the way back in January, all 57 months ago) so we’re looking to run it again in 2021. Before setting up all the details, we just want to gather some interest first, make sure all the DC Trinity fans out there are as keen as we are. The event will probably run mid-June, with a prompt for each day—art, writing, edits, whatever creation welcome of course. If you’re interested, we’d really appreciate a like or reblog to spread the word! And if you have any questions, send in an ask here or reach out to mods Ren and Rach :)

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And now, for something completely different.

Yall know I love me some batfam but the content has been.... stale lately. On like, DC’s side. Anyway, I started ace attorney, and now im on the second game and im absolutely loving it. 

Here’s the link to my FIRST ace attorney fic and I hope you enjoy!

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May I request some fear toxin-compromised Dick with DaddyBats trying to comfort him??

I AM ABSOLUTELY SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but I have an order for fear toxin compromised dick with a very worried Dad guardian!!

Dick had been falling for hours. He’s passed his parents, who had reached terminal velocity, then he passed Alfred, then he passed Bruce and then he was somehow lapping his parents again and honestly Dick wasn’t sure how he was still screaming how he still had a voice and he wanted this fall to end at this point it didn’t stop the falling just didn’t stop he wants anything that would just stop the falling is that so much to ask for why can’t he reach Alfred why won’t Alfred take his hand and pull him from this hell and once again there’s Bruce and Dick starts screaming because he knew the moment he reached terminal velocity and somehow he seems to be going past that and--

“You’re going to be okay, chum,” Bruce’s heartbroken voice reaches his ears over the roaring of the wind. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I wish; god, I wish I could take it for you.”

The falling begins to slow. The wind doesn’t sound as loud but it’s still there as he passes his parents but this time they’re bloodied, their necks are bent inhuman angles, and this pass around their mouths aren’t open. They’re leaking blood. He shuts his eyes as he spots Alfred’s suit jacket fluttering in the wind. He wants to keep them closed. He doesn’t want to see Bruce, whatever he looks like now.

“You’re okay. You’re home. I’m right here and I’m fine.”

He peeks through his eyelashes to find that falling Bruce has grabbed his hand. His guardian presses Dick’s palm to his cheek and he has to let go or else he’ll die with Dick and it just refuses to stop he’s a car stuck on a railroad track he’s a deer in the headlights he’s going to die. Bruce needs to let go before he gets killed too.

“No,” Bruce hisses. “You aren’t going to kill me. We are okay.”

Finally, Dick opens his eyes all the way and jumps. His breathing is short and ragged, and over the sound of the timpani heartbeats drumming through him. He’s sweaty. He’s hot and cold and he’s in his room in the manor. Bruce is sitting to his right, looking the most scared Dick has ever seen him. 

“Dad?”

That single word from Dick breaks Bruce. He pulls Dick into his arms, pressing the young boy’s face against his shoulder. All Dick can hear over Bruce’s hitching sobs are thank you’s and I don’t know what I would do without you’s.

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"it takes a lot to exhaust clark" (as smutty or angsty or whatever you desire)

papa nova you said smutty and my brain literally died 

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. BY FOLLOWING THIS LINK YOU ARE CONFIRMING THAT YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD.

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Hey. Hey Rach. Hey. Bruce and Tim “Which part of me wasn’t enough?” 😈😈

hey. hey ren. hey. Have Bruce and Tim fighting in a house that also functions as a mausoleum

Tim thinks that the popcorn texture walls are the second worst thing to happen to interior design. The first worst thing to happen to interior design was obviously mid-century colonial styling, but lucky the manor no longer has that weird fruit and baskets wallpaper. At least, not in the wing they’re all in.

He runs his hand over the bumps, occasionally stopping the pick at the bigger ones. It’s not like he has anything better to do. Bruce is back and running Wayne Enterprises, Damian is Robin, Dick is Nightwing and everybody has dropped back into their Pre-Bruce-Stuck-In-Time roles. Which means Timothy Drake has nothing better to do than feel up the walls.

That thought unnerves him so much he quickly moves his hand. With nothing else to do, Tim starts packing up. He puts clothes into his Atlantic suitcase, tucks the tablet and laptop into their carrying case, slides his film camera back into it’s bag, and finishes up by tossing all the toiletries on top of the clothes. Once it’s all packed, he leaves. Alfred is at the store, so he doesn’t have to trying to explain why he’s moving out. The Drake Estate is still his. It’s not a home, but it is a house. 

Ten minutes later, he drops his bags in the foyer.

It’s just like when Jack and Janet went on trips, he tells himself as he pulls protective sheets off the couches, the island in the kitchen, and in his old room. You know how to cook, you know how to clean, and you know where Mrs. Mac kept all the good recipe books. It’s better for me here. I have a place here.

He walks out to the garage, where his mom’s old Benz still sits. He opens the car door, and Janet’s perfume hits him like a Mack Truck. His knuckles go white as he tries to stabilize himself, as he tries to keep himself in the here and now and not at his mother’s hospital bed where she laid dying for months and not travelling the world looking for signs that the only good father he’d ever known was still alive and--

Tim gets in the car, starts it, and leaves. It’s low on gas, but there’s enough to get him to the nearest gas station and then on to the Bristol Shoppes. The car handles the roads as if it’d been driving on it just last night. He steers around the familiar curves, keeping his eyes on the road and his newest goal in his head. He’d survive on his own. He’d get back to work, pulling Drake Industries from the grave. Maybe rebrand it as a tech company. He could do that. He knows enough contacts from his stint as Wayne Enterprises C.E.O., to help reestablish his family’s company. This is fine. He’s taken care of himself before, and he can do it again. 

He’s going to need a lawyer.

He’s going to have to check his bank accounts.

He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice. He’s ignoring his buzzing phone. He’s pulling into the parking lot. Then he’s heading into the store, his cell safely stashed and locked into the glovebox. 

Later on, when he’s home and the Bagel Bites have been cooked and burned the roof of his mouth, the doorbell rings. Tim pauses, half a bagel in his mouth. He had taken all the important things, right? His phone, his tablet, his laptop and clothes. It has to be somebody from the manor, with something he’s forgotten.  His mind is so busy whirling around that the front door locked is picked, and moments later, a thunderous looking Bruce Wayne is standing in his kitchen. He still has half a bagel bite in his mouth.

“Tim,” Bruce starts stiffly. “What are you doing.”

“Eating,” Tim says after he swallows his bite. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce’s mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out.  Finally, Bruce steps forward and crosses his arms, fingers tapping on his biceps. He’s looming over Tim now. Tim wishes he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t like to be loomed over in his own home.

“Why are you here?”

Well, that’s a loaded question that Tim doesn’t want to answer right now.  He nibbles on another bagel bite instead, and realizes he has his email pulled up, with the email to Drake’s old family attorney. He tries to close it out, tries to hide it because Bruce can’t know about his plan because Tim isn’t ready to execute it now and he’ll be a legal adult soon but Bruce right now still has the power to say No and have the law support him.

It usually takes a week for Bruce to catch up to his plans. How the hell did he get here after a few hours?

“Tim. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?” Bruce drops his arms, but he still looks like an August thunderstorm.

“Manor was feeling kind of crowded. I thought it’d be a good time for me to, y’know,” he waves a pizza bagel around. “Start my own life. I have this perfectly good house, a car, and Drake Industries. Drake Industries needs me. They could probably want me.”

“Start your own life?” Tim doesn’t like how strangled Bruce sounds. He keeps watching his plate. “Tim… I need you. You must know that you’re wanted at the manor. With your family. We need you. I’ve been wondering why you aren’t joining us on patrol. I haven’t seen you at dinner recently, and it’s felt like you’ve been avoiding us. I didn’t want to push it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but when I got home and saw your bedroom empty… It scared the hell out of me.”

“How could you possibly need me?” Tim snarls, “You’re back. Damian is your Robin. Everybody is back to their original roles. Everybody has their place at your side again. You just noticed that I wasn’t patrolling? I lost Robin to Damian, and you backed Dick up on that call. I fought for months to find you, to bring you back to us because without you nothing made sense. Then you came back. I was so happy. I hadn’t been that happy in years. Then you all carried on. And I started to wonder, which part of me wasn’t enough? Which part of me had lost me a place at your side?”

The worst thing is, all Bruce does is blink.

“When we first met, I told you that Batman needs a Robin. You have your Robin now. You don’t need me. So, yeah, I left,” Tim finally meets Bruce’s eyes, and does his best to hide the pain and fury that’s nearly reached the overflow point. “Not your problem anymore. You can go.”

“Tim--” Bruce starts.

“No!” Tim shouts as he stands. “Get out!”

Tim thought the worst part of this entire conversation was Bruce blinking. He was wrong. It was when the heavy oak front door clicked shut behind Bruce. Tim tips his head back, eyes shut as tears stream down his face.

When he looks up, he sees the popcorn textured ceiling. He finally boils over.

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23 for Dick and Bruce with Bruce being a good dad?? (Or at least trying a lot)

i got a number 23 with a splash of insecurity and fear of abandonment!!!!!

Dick sees some news about an adoption, decides to call the adopter in question (even though he’s definitely NOT talking to bruce right now)

Dick had expected a lot of things when he moved out. Because he moved out. Definitely moved out before Bruce could kick him out. Before he could get disowned, or whatever the equivalent was for a ward of the state. But he didn’t expect for Bruce to just up and adopt another kid.

He crumpled the paper in his hand. Focus on your breathing, his therapist’s voice sounded in his head. He wanted to focus on his breathing. He wanted to feel the oxygen rush into his body, he wants to feel himself breathe it out. He wanted to focus on how tightly his fists were clenched in his sweatpants but he can’t focus on anything except for that headline screaming, BRUCE WAYNE ADOPTS, FIRST WAYNE TO DO SO, and he wanted to ignore it all to throw on some dark clothes and line up some molotov cocktails and hit that damn building in the middle of Gotham’s downtown and then he wanted to go to the manor, get Alfred out, and tear that manor down brick by brick until he’s trapped Bruce enough to tell the damn truth for once.

Dick leaned back, sucking air between his teeth.

His phone was suddenly in his hand, the hand where the newspaper once was. He blinked, jumping at the chaos around him. Books, old photos, and clothes had all been thrown around and he just realized he was calling Bruce.

“Bruce,” Dick’s voice cracked, once he heard the click of Bruce answering. “How- how do I make you love me again?”

That wasn’t the question Dick wanted to ask, but it was one that he needed to be answered. One of hundreds, but probably had about ten more seconds before Bruce hung up.

“I just- I’m- I’m happy that you… took in Jason. I know I haven’t been the best person to him, and you don’t know how sorry I am about that. But.. the adoption. You adopted Jason so quickly.”

Dick paused, sucking in a calming breath.

“Was it because I left?”

Dick could hear Bruce’s blankets rustling as he moved. If this were a better world, he could be asking Bruce this face to face. If this were a better world, he would have already been adopted by Bruce. If this were a better world he would actually be a brother to Jason.

But this isn’t.

“It was… It’s not because of what happened,” Bruce said, sounding still asleep. “I told you when I took you in that I could never replace your parents. I never wanted to. Your parents were good people, who raised an amazing boy. I love you as my son, and I didn’t plan on that love running so deep. I didn’t adopt you because I didn’t think I was worthy enough to call you mine. I love you more than anything in the world. I’ve seen you as my son for years. I loved you as my son for so long. But I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to replace them. I’ve never stopped loving you, chum. I don’t think I could.”

Dick swallowed hard, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. This call was too much. He was tired. Dick was heartsick. This wasn’t some backhanded attempt to invalidate Dick’s place at his side. This wasn’t what Dick thought it was. Bruce saw him as a son and that was more than Dick had ever anticipated. His mind was flying, thoughts jumping from bar to bar. He fell back against the bed. With his pulse going from a roar in his ears to a low hum, he began to talk to his Dad.

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Excited to read your writing again! Could you do number 6 for Jason to Dick?

order for a #6 with Jason to Dick is UP

COME GIT YER SLOP 

Wowow also thank you so much for you kind words??? I hope you enjoy!

This late in the night, it’s usually only Jason in the kitchen. He’s the only one that Alfred allows to sneak in and grab some snacks. Alfred knows. He knows that some habits die hard. Habits like hoarding food in secret cupboards because you don’t know if that food is gonna be there in the morning.  Apparently, Jason thinks as he checks on his limón flavored Lays chips, his Milanos, a few Lunchables and some chocolates, not even dying can change your habits.

It’s all still there.

He’s in the manor. He’s Jason Wayne now. He’s technically an heir worth a few billion dollars. 

This isn’t Crime Alley. His mom is dead, and so is his piece of shit father. He has a good roof over his head, designer pajamas; because apparently such a thing exists, a full sized bed,  and three meals everyday.

Jason places his hands on the counter, sighing too long for a person so young.

Then somebody sniffs.

He flips around, hands going to his holster-less thighs because he’s in these goddamn pajamas. Jay lunges for the knife block, pulling the largest knife he can. Then, he spins on his heel and charges, only to realize he’s holding a knife to Dick’s throat.

“It’s me, Jay. It’s Dick,” he whispers. “This isn’t a--”

“You caught me at a bad time,” Jay clears his throat, taking a step back and lowering the knife. “I was just-- listen, you didn’t see me doing anything?”

“No,” Dick says as he rubs his eyes. “Unless there was something very important in the countertop.”

Jason feels something unclench in his gut, giving him just enough time to breathe before shame floods through him. He’s Jason Wayne, and he just held a knife to his older brother’s throat. His older brother, who looks like he’s been crying?

“Uh,” is the brilliant question that escapes his mouth. “You… you okay?”

It’s quiet enough for long enough that Jay finally puts the knife back. He walks to the fridge, grabbing two leftover smoothies, and places them on the marble island. Jay sits, patting one of the stools for Dick to join him.

“It’s.. it’s been twenty years, Jay.”

Jason watches as Dick sits. He rubs his hand down his face, then takes the smoothie and takes a big, long, slurpy, sip that would make Alfred’s combover run for shelter.

“Why are your eyes so red?” Jason asks, because he knows tearstained eyes and knows what marijuana does to eyes. “Dick,”

“It’s been twenty years since they were killed,” Dick blurts. “Twenty years of being the good kid. Twenty years of having an amazing life filled with the most incredible people and ‘m still not over it! I’m tired of being the ‘perfect’ child. Of everyone fucking thinking that I’m not angry!”

Jason sips his smoothie much quieter than his brother did.

“‘Cause I’m always fuckin’ angry. I’m angry that this city took my parents. I’m angry that I wasn’t around for you. I’m fucking angry because I’m working a job where my goddamn coworkers can get away with abusing people who were dealt a shit hand. This entire goddamn world is calling for justice, and fuck, the cops aren’t justice. Those people I’ve arrested? That could have been me if Bruce hadn’t picked me. That could have been you. ‘Nd I’m terrified because of how many people I might have led to their deaths. So, I quit. Turned in my badge and that goddamn gun Bruce hates so much, because I can’t be complicit! I just can’t. Y’know what some people said to me as I walked out?”

“No,” Jason manages.

“They said, ‘You’re goddamn lucky you’re a Wayne, or else we’d throw your gypsy ass in here.’ I didn’t say anything back, because I know the goddamn laws, and that was before the academy. I went back to my place, packed up my shit, and hit up one of my old snitches. Told him what happened, he gave me a contact, yadda yadda.”

Jason sets his smoothie down.

“Dick,” he says as calmly as he can manage, because he’s about two seconds away from going full blown F-5 tornado on him. “Are you telling me that you got high?”

“Yeah. I didn’t plan on you. I was just gonna, y’know, grab some snacks and go to bed. Jay, I really- I know how horrible this is, I don’t blame you for getting mad. You can punch me if you want to.”

Jason briefly considers this. Also, he briefly considers everything Dick said. His anger at Dick using is still simmering, he can feel the anger and betrayal rising and popping and trembling the lid. But Dick is in pieces. 

Jason can count the amount of times he’s seen Dick fall to pieces in front of him. It’s the same amount of times he’s died.

He can yell at Dick tomorrow. He plans on it. Right after they plan how they’re gonna get Dick’s stuff from his place. Bludhaven cops were no doubt watching his place, if they hadn’t already trashed it.

“Dick, listen. I’m pissed about the drugs, and we’ll talk about that tomorrow. But tonight, we’re gonna get celebratory snacks to honor the fact that you’re no longer a pig,” he elbows him, a small grin on his face “and then we’re gonna head upstairs, where your nice big bed is, and then I’m gonna put on River Monsters. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get your stuff from your old apartment. I’ve been wanting a safe house in the ‘haven for a while. Okay? And your anger right now? Those bullshit cops that said that horrible stuff to you? Fuck ‘em. You did the right thing by quitting. You can’t do anything about the past cases. ‘Sides, we can always check the batcomputer to follow up on them. Anyway, back to your anger,” Jason yawns. “It’s completely understandable. You’re entitled to that anger. Just, put it into fixing the system. I know you already do; don’t lie, dude, I’ve seen you punch Two-Face too many times. But, right now, we’re gonna eat, and you’re gonna fall asleep, and tomorrow I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”

Dick leans into him, his head resting on Jay’s shoulder.

“When did you get so big,” Dick murmurs with a thick voice. “When did you get so smart?”

“When I die--”

“When you died,” Dick says at the same time, then starts giggling. “What a weird fucking life we have huh?”

“Cover your eyes,” Jason orders as he stands. Once Dick’s covering his eyes, still giggling, he stands and heads to the cupboards. “Yeah, if you wrote our lives in a book, nobody would believe it. Not even a comic book. You can uncover your eyes now.”

Dick smiles at him, then gapes as he catches sight of the Milanos in Jason’s hands.

“You get these once you're in bed. Now go on.”

[rocket-roach]

50 Angsty Questions Prompt List

“And that makes it okay?”

“Are you afraid to die?”

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

“Do you know what it’s like?”

“Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage already?”

“Why are your eyes so red?”

“How do you think this ends?”

“Why would I ever want to be with you?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Do you know what a gunshot wound feels like?”

“How am I supposed to go on?”

“Can’t you see how fucked up this is?”

“If I told you I hate you, what would you do?”

“Should you be drinking that much?”

“What if we just crash this car and make it all stop?”

“Do the drugs still get you high?”

“Am I the reason you cry every night?”

“When did you stop loving me?”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“How did things go so wrong?”

“When did things fall apart?”

“Which part of me wasn’t enough?”

“How do I make you love me again?”

“How much does it hurt knowing you lost me?”

“We’re you trying to destroy us?”

“How do you want to die?”

“Is the weight of it all finally too heavy?”

“Are you okay with having blood on your hands?”

“How do you sleep at night?”

“Can you still sleep at night?”

“Is being high all the time worth losing everything?”

“Can you feel the blood draining from your body?”

“Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?”

“Will you miss me at all?”

“Can I have one last kiss?”

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“Is this how you thought your life would be?”

“Did you expect this to turn out better?”

“Can you really blame me?”

“How could you do this?”

“Can you be the one to do it?”

“Does this mean what I think it means?”

“Are you leaving?”

“How do we fix this?”

“Would you hate me?”

“Do you want to die?”

“How many more innocent people have to die?”

“Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?”

“Are you satisfied now…?”

“Do you even know what love feels like?”

[rocket-roach]

Writing Prompts - Fantasy

“Oh, so, I am the monster? You just straight up murdered a person! Sure, I might change into a wolf, but you need to relax!”

“Can we not try and kill the king today? I am tired.”

“What if, and get this, we do nothing against the queen and her army?”

“Just because we are knights now, doesn’t mean we are nocturnal, that isn’t what it means!”

“I am scholar of these sorts. I just want to let you know, you dead bruh.”

“I may not be the smartest in the bunch, but I know how to knock your teeth out.”

“Maybe the dragon is right, maybe you are just a bitter old person.”

“So, are you like a pirate? Or what?”

“Maybe the prophecy wasn’t clear enough, you gonna die bruh.”

“So you need a crow’s feather, a blue rock, goat cheese and piece of bark from an elm tree before you help us? Well that’s just a little absurd.”

“Just because I am the chosen one doesn’t mean I am above killing you.”

“Ever heard a good night story? Yeah, me neither.” *Knocks person unconscious*

“I am not like other nobles, I’m actually funny.”

“So, you’re saying no? To the queen? Now that’s death.”

“Behold! The new inn!”

“Can’t I murder someone? Come on, they are all so stupid anyway!”

“My sword isn’t sharp enough!”

“This dagger right here? Yeah? You see this? You see this right here? Guess what? I murdered your family with it.”

“And so we set off north tomorrow morning at first light!”

“This isn’t a tavern, this is a cemetery.”

“Can you not read a map properly?”

“Perhaps we should have listened to the orc, those clouds look murderous.”

“I am in fact the royal heir, so either give me my cake or I’ll slice you.”

“So, have you always sucked at sword fighting?”

“Did that skeleton just look at me? Look at that skeleton! It turned its head! Look!”

“Can you brew any faster? I am getting impatient!”

“I should have turned you into ash the first moment I laid my eyes on you.”

“Can’t we just, you know, kill them?”

“Maybe we should rebel against the crown? That would make our day less boring.”

“Ever heard of poison? Guess what? Give it an hour.”