for lack of alternatives that i feel like doing

anonymous asked:

I know you're already writing The Librarian, but I'm greedy. If you're still doing Flash fics - Bruce and Selina? Or Selina interacting with one of the bat kids? Thanks :)

Rating: T? Maybe G? Idk it’s pretty darn mild.

French Fries

“Just a coffee?” he repeated, to make sure. Catwoman studied her nails with a slight frown and nodded at him, a little distracted.

“That’s all,” she said. “Black.”

He didn’t sigh or shrug or give any indication that he felt any particular way about this aside from a pause that stretched out a bit long even for him.

“A coffee,” she repeated. “Un café.”

“You’re not going to steal my fries,” Batman said sternly, more a declaration than a warning or a question.

“Me?” she asked, lifting her goggles to blink at him. “Steal?”

“Hnn,” was all he said. His cowl hid any expression around his eyes and underneath the cowl, his discipline smoothed out any expression that might have dared show itself anyway, but one corner of his mouth quirked up just slightly.

Catwoman slid her goggles back down and moved closer to him. How the hell he managed cursive with a pencil while wearing the gauntleted gloves was beyond her, but his script neatly filled part of the white notepaper all the same. She tried blowing on the lower part of his cheek to see if he’d react. He didn’t.

She traced his jawline with a fingernail and he did not flinch or jerk away, but the pencil stopped moving and he exhaled long and slow and soft. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t clearly a noise of irritation. Catwoman glanced down at the paper, where the pencil mark made a long, marring gash through the words above his present line. She grinned and sat back.

Batman did not bother to erase the line, but finished the short list and then stood and stepped off the edge of the roof. Catwoman yawned and sat back, propping her weight on her outstretched arms, and a second later there was a snick as the grappling hook caught the concrete.

Down the building face, he tucked the folded paper into a windowsill while hanging from one arm, then pressed the recoil button and soared vertically with his cape fluttering around him. At the top, he swung up over onto the roof again.

Catwoman was examining a batarang and he glanced down at the compartment on his utility belt and bit off his own compulsion to sigh. He held a hand out for it and she laughed and shook her head.

“Finders keepers,” she said, spinning the flat edge around on a finger.

“That hardly applies to pickpocketing,” he retorted.

“I thought your belt was ‘impossible,’” she smirked.

“That wasn’t a challenge,” he said, turning to gaze across the city instead of look at her. If he did, she’d know how close she was to eliciting a laugh and it wasn’t exactly the sort of behavior he wanted to encourage.

“Just like ‘take off your pants and get in the van’ wasn’t a challenge?” she asked, snatching his cape and pulling hard. He actually staggered a step back before whirling to scowl at her.

“That was an emergency,” he said, irritated. “And you were wearing that ridiculous disguise. You can’t possibly think that was intended to be flirtatious.”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes,” she said obstinately. She reached up to hand him the batarang, which he accepted gingerly with two fingers as if it might explode. She shivered when she realized it had been an actual possibility, considering him and his arsenal.

He actually clicked open the eye visors in the cowl to meet her gaze.

“You know what I do during daylight hours, my reputation,” he said, as if they hadn’t had this conversation half a dozen times already. “If I’m flirting with you, you’ll know. That was a matter of safety.”

“Damn, but you’re prickly tonight,” Catwoman complained. “Are you hangry?”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said stiffly, though she guessed he had to know somehow or other. She didn’t explain.

The roof access door opened just a crack and a paper sack and drink carrier were set on the roof, then the door clicked shut.

“Delivery, too,” she said, whistling. “You don’t even really need to go home if you don’t want to.”

He ignored this and strode over to pick up the food.

This time when he rejoined her, he sat down next to her and handed her the coffee. The other drink looked like it might be a milkshake.

“Are you eating with the gloves on,” she asked, when the burger was halfway to his mouth. He froze for a second and then took a bite as an answer. She rolled her eyes. “It’s a wonder you aren’t dead already.”

For a few minutes, they were quiet and the quiet shifted to companionable, like it usually did these days. He turned his head to scan the skyline, his eye visors still retracted, and Selina snuck a French fry.

She sipped her coffee immediately after, making it soggy, but he’d looked back and she didn’t want to risk her mouth being visibly occupied with food.

It happened again, and then again. He’d let his gaze drift over the city and her hand would creep into the thin cardboard package. Even as good as she was, he had to know she was doing it, so she figured he’d stop her if it really bothered him.

He wadded up the foil wrapped from the burger and tipped the fry container up. It was nearly empty.

“Selina,” he exclaimed, sounding a little shocked. It probably would have sounded flat to most people but she’d known him a long time.

“What?” she asked, a little surprised herself that he apparently hadn’t noticed and feeling a little triumphant that she hadn’t lost her game. She raised an eyebrow even though it was pointless with the mask and goggles and she slurped his milkshake.

His jaw tightened and he reached forward and took it from her hand.

“I could have gotten you anything,” he said.

“It’s more fun this way,” she answered.

But now that the glow of victory was fading a little, she realized that he seemed…distracted. He’d sought her out tonight so it probably wasn’t that she wasn’t interesting, otherwise, he wouldn’t have wasted his time.

He was sometimes infuriatingly unromantic and practical like that.

“You okay?” she asked, bumping his knee with hers. She sipped her own coffee this time and admitted to herself that it was actually really good coffee for a midnight diner.

“Hn,” he said without looking over. “I’m fine.”

“That’s great,” she said, taking the milkshake from him and sucking down a drink again. She put it back in his motionless hand, his fingers still in a C-shape she fit the cup into. “Now how about the truth? I don’t like playing therapist so I’m not asking again.”

Batman scoped out the rooftop and surrounding buildings before setting the milkshake down and pushing his cowl off his head. His hair was slightly damp with sweat and he still wore a domino mask, but it was much more like looking at Bruce than Batman.

Selina pulled her goggles down around her neck and tugged her own mask off. She wasn’t wearing a domino but she didn’t ever care as much as he did about the identity thing.

He finished the French fries while they sat and she’d nearly given up on him actually saying anything more when he spoke, facing the city instead of her.

Their shoulders were touching after she’d scooted closer but for a brief moment, it felt like there was an actual barrier between them as he looked straight ahead; it was like being dragged to confession as a child, but as the confessor for once.

“It doesn’t matter how much I do,” he said. “It’s not enough.”

Selina wanted to tease him about midlife crises, but she held her tongue.

“There was a drive-by tonight,” he said. “I didn’t get there in time. A pedestrian died on the scene.”

“If you think that was your fault, I’m going to scratch your face,” Selina said seriously.

He looked at her then, his slight frown belying the intensity in his eyes. She didn’t scratch his face.

“It all feels like my fault,” he said levelly. “Every time I’m not fast enough. It all matters or none of it does.”

“That sounds like a shitty way to live,” she observed, she hoped neutrally.

The city had his attention again.

“It is,” he said in agreement. “But I can’t settle for the alternative. Too many already do.”

Selina opened her mouth to point out how stupid this sounded, as if his sense of guilt negated the lack of care others might show, but she reconsidered and said simply, “I’m sorry.”

His posture dipped a little and then straightened again and he nodded.

Selina put an arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. She put her hand in his free hand, intertwining glove and gauntlet.

“For the record, the apology was not for the fries,” she said quietly.

He chuckled, a coarse and cut-off sound, and said, “Noted.”

They didn’t move from the spot for a long time and when the sun began to tinge the eastern horizon faint purple against the dark sky, he lifted her chin with two fingers and kissed her.

It wasn’t hard or passionate, like some kisses she’d had from him or other men. It was gentle, for all the confidence in his movement, and when she ducked her head after he pulled back, she frowned at her hands and then looked up at him again.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked. “I know a place.”

“If it has a bed and a nap, count me in,” Selina said, stretching.

“I think that can be arranged,” he answered. “As long as you promise to not steal the blankets.”

“I can’t promise something against my nature,” she retorted, standing and stretching again. “I’ll meet you there, Bat.”

“Selina,” he said, just as she was about to run and leap. She hesitated and looked back. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she said in reply, and then she jumped.

He repositioned the cowl and made the journey alone back across the city and through the outskirts and into the Cave.

She wasn’t there.

Bruce climbed the stairs into the Manor thirty minutes later, after writing patrol reports and storing the suit and repairing a utility belt compartment. It was fully dawn outside but the house was still quiet.

He didn’t hear the shower running until he was in the hall leading to the master bedroom.

Tim was sitting on the floor, back propped against the bedroom door, looking groggy and half-asleep.

“Is this an authorized use of your space?” Tim asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Selina?” Bruce asked, holding out a hand to the teen.

Tim nodded and let Bruce pull him to his feet.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Thanks.”

“M’going to bed,” Tim mumbled in reply. “Don’t let her steal the silverware.”

“Has she ever stolen the silverware?” Bruce asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“No?” Tim said like it was a question. He disappeared around the corner.

Bruce went into the bedroom. The bathroom door was cracked open and the shower was still running and on his bed was a paper bag. Curious, he wondered over and tipped it to look inside.

It was full of French fries.

anonymous asked:

What is your biggest critique of your own artwork? What is your biggest artistic worry/anxiety that you face? What are you doing to overcome this? In this push to improve yourself, do you find the biggest barrier is external or internal? Alternatively, what is your favorite thing about your artwork/art style? What is your greatest strength and how are you improving it?

Woah, a 6-parter. Ok, buckle up…its about to get wordy.

-“What is your biggest critique of your own artwork?”
My biggest critique would be that it often lacks as much exaggeration (contrast, boldness), solidity (volume, perspective), and unique design as I wish I could do. I also feel that my work is inconsistent; some days I feel like I am improving, and some days I feel like I’ve forgotten how to draw anything at all!

-“What is your biggest artistic worry/anxiety that you face?”
That by the end of my life I will feel like I missed out on making a personal project I am proud of. I also fear that one day I will offend someone or stick my foot in my mouth by doing something really stupid. Also I fear that one day everyone will realize I have no idea what I’m doing and fire me, lol.

-“What are you doing to overcome this?”
I am working on Pat & Ivy, which gives me a lot of joy–even though I am not sure what their final outcome will be. A book would be really sweet, or an animated thing of some kind. And I’m working on illustrating a children’s book that has been written by a friend of mine, because I would like to be a hermit one day and make children’s books in a cabin… :)
Otherwise, I am pushing myself towards positions in my career that I wasn’t originally aiming for. I didn’t think I would want to direct, but I actually do want to try it now– in large part because others have encouraged me to do so. Hearing encouragement from other people whom I admire is probably the most valuable form of inspiration I could ever receive. It’s the fuel that can keep me going for years.

-“In this push to improve yourself, do you find the biggest barrier is external or internal?”
Internal. I found that I second-guess myself too often, so I made a New Years resolution to be more decisive. No matter what it is, just choose something, and commit. It can always be amended later if it doesn’t work.
Right now, there is no external barrier keeping me from reaching my potential. It’s all on me.

-“Alternatively, what is your favorite thing about your artwork/art style?”
I can feel pretty satisfied with my drawings of characters acting and interacting. I have the most fun doing these!

-“What is your greatest strength and how are you improving it?”
I guess my strength right now is loose character drawings and clear story drawings. Thankfully, that’s a big part of storyboarding. So I’m just gonna keep doing storyboards and hopefully improve that way!

And there you go. Tough questions! Thanks for ripping into my psyche and revealing all my greatest vulnerabilities. It’s good for me! 😂

Asexual Obi-Wan being just completely bewildered by Anakin’s lack of aceness is my favorite thing


“Master…  I’ve been having… feelings…”

“Try meditating.”

“No, not those sort of feelings, like - other feelings.”

“What?  What sort of - ?  Oh.  OH.  Oh.  Jedi don’t have those sorts of feelings.”

“I’m fairly certain they do, Master.  Master Vos - “

“La la la I can’t hear you.”

and anyway long story short that’s how Anakin ended up getting all his sex-ed from a drag queen in the Undercity who is also a Jedi informant

Durarara Alternates

I received an ask concerning who the alternates are and, since I typed so much, I decided to share in case there is anyone else out there wondering how things came to be. 

If I’m wrong on anything please feel free to correct me, this is all knowledge I gathered either first or second hand so some people might think differently from me on how things came to be. 

To get down to business, as I mentioned in my previous Alternates post the Durarara Alternates are based on official art that Yasuda/the Durarara Anime have released throughout the years when and after the anime was airing. Here, in chronological order, is a complete listing of all the alternate character’s original art written by Rukawagf. Pretty much as new art came out the fandom (both japanese and english fandoms) grabbed a hold of them and gave them personalities and names. For some of the characters, when the art was released with the anime dvd’s etc, they also came with a character song (which all the character songs are actually covers of older japanese songs that the seiyuu sang) and it was these songs that gave these alts their names and personalities.

(read more'ing due to length as I explain each alternates origins).

Keep reading

burn out

There has been a lot of talk lately at my program about burnout prevention. Nobody, of course, addressing the root problem which is that we work too much.

I just had my first weekend off in a month, and it’ll be another month before my next one. I’m starting my first ICU rotation tomorrow, knowing that I will likely face more heavy shit – death and dying, grim family meetings – in three weeks than I have so far in almost six months of doctoring.

I do not feel up to this right now. I am entirely lacking in both energy and curiosity. Doing it anyway, of course, because what is the alternative?

I would cry if it would help.

[2/3] Enstars: B’s-Log March 2016

Released in January 2016.

Unit Song CD Vol.8: Trickstar Cast Interview

Comment from Mr. Kuwabara, the music director:

Rebellion Star
“It’s a unit like a newly-born star, comprising of boys who want to change and create a new history in their school, so I wanted to make a song that has a sense of hope and future.”

“I imagined it as a song that is sung in the event “Spring Storm! Dancing Petals, Sakura Festival” after they managed to surpass their opponents. It is a song that is infinitely cheerful and can cheer you up.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

what is "autistic nonverbal communication and behavior"? I saw this on the alternative diagnosis thing floating around tumblr and... very confused what is being talked about, since only neurotypicals tend to teach nonverbal communication and behavior.

it’s not a very well defined thing because, as you say, only neurotypicals tend to teach (and study) (their own) nonverbal communication and behaviour.

but that doesn’t mean that autistics don’t have it. of course, there is a lot more variation among autistic nonverbal communication and behaviour than among allistics. and for every common example that i give, there will be loads of autistics who do not do this specific thing at all. 

however, there are certain behaviours and certain types of nonverbal communication that quite often seem to happen naturally between autistics and that frequently work very well among us, but that make neurotypicals go “????” at best. 

specifically for nonverbal communication, some examples:

copying, echoing or mimicking stims, doing the same stims at the same time or doing sort of “complementing” stims, for example one person swaying side to side, the other swaying back and forth.

using stims as nonverbal communication. squeaking when excited. flapping hands when scared. swaying when agitated. the combination between feeling and stim is highly individual, but many autistics express feelings with stims. 

alternatively, complete lack of body language. communicating even highly emotional things while not doing any facial expressions or moving our bodies at all. 

autistic posture. i made a post with photos about this a while back, here’s the link. many autistics move their bodies in ways that appear “weird” or “tense” to allistics. 

apart from nonverbal communication alone, there are many other communication behaviours that are common among autistics. we have modes of conversation that autistics don’t have, for example “parallel conversations”: everyone is talking about a different subject. mutual infodumping works like this too. i may be talking about computers, my friend may be talking about birds at the same time and we’re having a good time together.

there are probably many more examples, you’re welcome to add to this.

personally, i spot these kinds of behaviour and body language quite easily and then i get very excited because it makes it so easy to engage in interaction with people who behave like i do. i’m just comfortable with them from the start. 


anonymous asked:

my brain is a little black and white so sorry if this question lacks nuance. But do you resent clients for wanting their egos catered to? Isn't that basically the service you are offering? what is the alternative? or is there no way to say, go to a strip club or watch porn ethically? obs the answer is ending capitalism, but short term is there any acceptable reason to go to strip clubs?

Reading the notes on that, forget I asked. It seems like I misunderstood. seems like the post is about men expecting women to engage in things outside the job description and them feeling compelled to comply due to the dynamics of strip clubs.


It’s a fair question and it’s one I think about a lot. 

So the service I offer as a stripper, as far as I’m concerned, is proximity to my naked or scantily clad body, along with my attention and some physical contact. 

When customers come in and part of the service they need is for you to act like money is absolutely no part of the equation, and that no boundaries is something I consented to with my presence in the club, that’s when things get hard.  The physical contact is limited.  40 and even 500 dollars does not get an all access pass to my body in the club–it doesn’t even grant an all access pass in my bed.  Certain things are off limits without further conversation and cash. 

And asking (indirectly, thru their behaviour) that I participate and actively maintain the fantasy that money has nothing to do with it is actually asking for a lot more labour on my part, for less money.  It means I can’t ask for higher pay for things that I don’t like or that are more taxing, it means I have to play along with a fantasy that Actual Me doesn’t play a part in, it means I have to listen to a lot of nonsense about their fantasy of whatever my presence is standing in for.

And to a lot of people, especially clients, that would appear to be part of the job, but there are enough people who are happy to accept my company and proximity as quid pro quo that I know it isn’t everyone, it’s Authentic Pleasure Men. 

BUT.  Because of the way the club is currently structured, our consent IS performed as already given and a lot of problems come out of that, and they’re worth discussing bc they are problems of capitalism and misogyny and it’s worth trying to think of ways around them.

YOI Hogwarts AU??????

Do we have an alternate universe for it already?

C’mon guys.

Okay then, i’ll put my ideas here:

Yuri = Gryffindor

I think this one fits him the best because at first he lacked confidence and stuff, and then like he’s slowly gaining it and i just feel like he’s a gryffindor????

Viktor = Slytherin

I mostly did this bc i don’t really think he fits in the other lol, but stil, i guess this kinda fits.

Yurio = Slytherin

Do i need to explain myself.

And obviously they’re doing Quidditch.

Feel free to add stuff

or disagree lmao i’d love to hear some opinions

Why It's Important To Take Mini Breaks From The Interwebz

I haven’t been posting much lately. Mostly because I work all the time and get home by 9pm and all I want to do is relax and not put any effort into anything (including writing out my thoughts). But I have also been spending less time intensely indulging in social networks and spending more time enjoying my time offline. I think everyone should take a break from the internet every now and then and here’s why:

1. Spending too much time on the internet alters how you deal with shit in real life. 

The internet is awesome, but can also create an alternate universe for some people. That alternate universe can be beautiful; one filled with way too many hilarious gif sets, posts that validate your existence, and beautiful selfies. However, as beautiful as this world is, if you get too wrapped up in it, you’re not going to know how to deal with life outside of this alternate universe called the internet. Yes, I know life can be really shitty. But not dealing with life actually just makes dealing with it 10x harder. Love your alternate universe and use it when you feel the need to. Just know that your life outside of the internet still exist and whether we like to admit it or not - we have to deal with it.

2. Constantly reading about how fucked up this world is can actually start to take a toll on you.

Listen, I am a community organizer. So not only do I constantly hear/read/talk about all the fuck-shit (for lack of a better word) in real life, I see it all over my Facebook feed, Tumblr dashboard, and Twitter timeline. As much as I enjoy educating myself and staying in the loop about what this racist white person, sexist piece of shit, transphobic asshole did, it makes me angry and breaks my heart. I take pride in being a community organizer and I know that as hard as it is to read about what’s happening in the world, it’s so much harder living it. However, I believe everyone deserves to give themselves a little bit of happy. 

Drilling every event that displays some system of oppression into your head can take a toll on you physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s okay to not want to read every post about someone who was murdered by a racist cop. It’s perfectly okay to indulge in bad reality television and eat a pint of ice cream instead of staying up all night talking about politics. It’s okay to try to turn your brain off. You don’t need to feel bad about it; you shouldn’t. Taking care of yourself is just as important as fighting the good fight. Sustainability and balance - say it with me.

*this is the part where you say this in your head*

3. Being happy only on the internet is not really serving you happiness in real life. 

Hear me out. I’m not judging anyone that can only feel safe on the internet. That’s real. Some people don’t have the privilege of having a community and/or a safe space in real life. I completely understand that feeling. However, I think it’s important to find some happiness within yourself for yourself. If the only time you are happy is because of someone else, especially someone who is a trillion miles away and can only be seen through their selfie game, then there’s some soul searching you need to do.

Everyone has some magic hidden inside of themselves. Sometimes you have to spend some time with yourself and/or people that you know can physically be there for you to find that magic. Spend 5 hours doing your make-up just because it makes you feel good. Go out to the park with some friends even if you’re all broke. Take a bunch of selfies because you can. Do little things in real life to make you feel good. Don’t rely on the internet alone because when you go to sleep at night, you still have to be you. You’re still in your skin; body, mind, soul. Do what you have to do to feed it. I promise you will feel the difference between giving yourself some love and appreciation and sitting waiting and wishing for some person on the internet to notice you. 

The internet can be a double edged sword sometimes and I have realized that the less I get consumed by things and/or people (whether that be in real life or on the interwebz), the more energy I have to put into myself and deal with my life off the internet. As much as I love finding online communities, I have to learn how to deal with people and myself offline as well. I’ve learned that it’s vital for me to take social network breaks here and there - even if it’s just for 24 hours.

— lee j.

anonymous asked:

aren't alistair & cullen both straight?

imagine aliens. imagine them landing in the sahara, and flying back home to share their discovery. imagine another group of aliens. aliens #2, because i’m that original with names. imagine them landing on a beach, and returning home to tell their people about earth. now imagine aliens #1 and aliens #2 crossing path. imagine them in a conversation.

  • aliens #1: um, but isn’t there only sand on earth?
  • aliens #2: wtf dude, there’s water too.

do you see, anon. do you see through my shitty analogy. because if you don’t, please allow me to quote theprettynerdie (entire post here, very interesting discussion on bisexual representation), who has very eloquently explained what i’m trying to say:

Well he’s not canonically het just because he was a female-only romance option. Sexuality isn’t defined by the gender of your current partner. […]  Remember, Kaidan Alenko was a female-only romance option until Mass Effect 3, but that doesn’t mean he was straight until a male Shepard could romance him.

A lot of people are saying Cullen can’t be canonically bi because it’s not in the game, but him being heterosexual isn’t in the game either; he never says he only likes women. You don’t become queer only once you announce it, just like Dumbledore wasn’t straight until JKR announced he was actually gay.

alternatively, here’s something i wrote months ago, with more links and babbling. because i feel like we’re running in circles at this point. i don’t know what else to say, anon, and my eyes are still puffy from a terrible lack of sleep, so i’m gonna end this here and wish you a good day.

noctswife  asked:

I'm a roleplayer, and I can't seem to find confidence in my writing. I always feel inferior, like if I have room few characters or my word count is too low. I think I lack the fancy things other writers have, such as years of experience and fancy commissioned pictures of my characters. How can I improve my writer's self-esteem?

Do you write about your character when not actively RPing? Your own side stories? Have you gone beyond whatever character sheet you might have used per your GM and fleshed out your character even more? Get comfortable with your character. Play around with them in a setting or even an AU (alternate universe) of your own creation. 

A little writing every day is better, in general, than trying to write 5000 words at one time, too. So do a little bit whenever and wherever you can. Don’t be afraid to just sit down and daydream about your character(s), either. 

This will get you more comfortable with your character, but you have to remember that those 97 pages of backstory are all in your head; it’s now up to you to get some (probably not all, lol) of that information into the game/story. 

This is a good guide about being a good player, although it’s meant for tabletop RPGs so some of the points are irrelevant if this is an online game. Here’s a little more about building a story about your character, too. 

We have a tag for roleplaying; the first post you’ll see has an incredibly long list of resources. I recommend sitting in front of a computer screen rather than your phone, because it is a lot to take in. Check the links for topics that look interesting and helpful. Take notes, by hand or in a document. You might want to go to the main tags page and do the same thing there, too. 

Once you’re comfortable with your character, ask around to see if someone in the group or fandom or wherever you are RPing might want to practice RP with you. This will give you a chance to ask questions, like “am I missing cues about what I should be saying or doing or typing?” without worrying about interrupting a story flow. Because you might just be suffering a little stage fright if you are expected to “perform” during a special event with lots of people. 

emileesaurus  asked:

my heart yearns for some dick and wally doing literally anything that isn't heartwrenchingly sad because the reblogs today are killing me; help me brella-wan kenobi, you're my only hope

“I really cannot fathom this bizarre problem you have with asking for directions,” Dick grouses from the passenger seat, examining the miles of empty cornfield on either side of them with annoyance now instead of smug lack of interest. “I feel like you might need to talk to Canary about this.”

“We are not lost!” Wally insists, eyes scanning the road ahead. “We’re just, uh, this is an alternate route!”

“Wally, we are past the point of being lost. ‘Lost’ is waiting at an intersection right about where you decided to forgo the reliable GPS on your phone and the exponentially more reliable GPS on my phone. ‘Lost’ is probably already in New York City by now. ‘Lost’ is sitting at the top of the Statue of Liberty waving at us—” 

"Okay, point taken!” Wally lets out a loud groan, slumping back in the driver’s seat and steering one-handed, his sour glare visible even behind his sunglasses. “I don’t have a problem with asking for directions; I just know where I’m going. Kind of necessary, with the whole inhuman speed thing, in case you forgot that existed. Which reminds me: I hate cars. I hate driving. And I also hate you.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Dick whimpers, clapping a hand over his chest like Wally’s just landed a fatal blow. “Betrayed even by the best pal I dreamed of taking a post-grad road trip with. How very, very trage.”

"Tragic. The word is tragic, you mutant, and I refuse to let you guilt-trip me,” Wally grumbles. “Fine. Fine, take out your stupid Bat-GPS that works in space and find a diner, for Pete’s sake; I’m starving.”