Latest Posts by icannotspelldefinnnately - Page 4

sometimes I randomly remember that Mr Ratburn from Arthur is gay married to a chocolatier and a sense of calmness and prosperity washes over me like a wave 

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I need a fic of various nations going on live tv interviews / guest staring in shit like the late night show or whatever so fucking badly

headcanon: most of the avid seafaring nations are basically gyroscopic. you know, like chickens. they have insanely good balance and are possibly immune to seasickness. this isn't a natural trait and is acquired with practice.

bonus headcanon: that PotC scene of Norrington calmly walking down the stairs as his ship gets utterly obliterated around him even though realistically the shockwaves should be knocking him around? like he's just fucking immune to the laws of physics? yeah seafaring nations can actually pull that off. Arthur does it the most because you gotta admit it's very British but Kiku and Alfred do it too on occasion. Yao used to be really good at it but hasn't been able to do it in centuries, which has resulted in a LOT of "when I was young" rants.

addendum bonus: Alfred is really, really good at mechanical bull riding too. and likely non-mechanical bull riding.

I STILL cannot settle on a birth year for Alfred but it's somewhere between 1590 and 1602 now.

absolutely love watching what having children does to the people I know. one friend in particular didn’t change at all, because he always had strong dad vibes, so the baby just completed the picture. and then you contrast it with the people who changed wildly, like my brother, who has been more patient and gentle with his baby than I’ve genuinely ever seen him be in my life. I’m 26. in my 26 years I have never seen this man so tender and every time I’m just ?????????? this is the person who used to suplex me on the trampoline?

in any case I love how Arthur goes from the utter menace the Normans made him - even if the Hundred Years’ War and War of the Roses left him a little less menacing than he was before - to, you know, a dad. a very doting dad at that. like just imagine being Erin and Morgan watching this usually mean, vicious fucker turn into someone so gentle. a man so concerned with his reputation and meticulous about how he carries himself and and what emotions he does/doesn’t show and he’s just like… shamelessly singing silly rhymes or cooing at his baby in public. baby Alfred could throw an apocalyptic fit and Arthur would just find it cute (in a pitiful way). it’s like this man has never felt annoyed in his life. the literal pirate, the scourge of the Atlantic, at one time one of the best and most brutal knights in Europe, an unrepentant and ruthless conqueror, keeps kissing his baby’s forehead and very solemnly asking if he knows how loved he is. the baby that no one really expected to exist in the first place and that Arthur gave zero indication of planning to have, but here he is and good god Arthur loves him more than he’s ever loved anything or anyone. it’s bizarre and no one understands what the hell is happening.

If you like the word “queer” reblog.

discourse in other fandoms: lgbtphobia or racism, ships, etc

discourse in stardew valley fandom: if you can fish without mods fuck you

lol Alistair and Rhys out swinging swords at ghosts and looking like a couple of nutters to the untrained eye. Do you still have the fic or maybe it was an ask about chonklet deluxe being held by a horrifying wraith and screaming like the damned?

A little bit! And it was initially an ask. This fic is brand spanking new because I forgot how cool of an idea that shitpost actually was if I took it seriously. Please be warned that this fic is gory and involves child endangerment, a bastardization of mythological creatures and just general violence. Also here on ao3.

Rural Lancashire, 1590

Dusk draped heavily over the world as the last light of day darkened into a thick grey. Arthur had ducked out the door to catch the midwife as she crossed his property on foot. If he was quick, he could often walk her as far as the edge of the village and consult her on whatever it was Alfred had done now. Teething, his first words, the seizures that had gripped him last spring, croup, the rare occasion Alfred was ever colicky. She was a steely woman with hair to match and indulged him at least, giving the best advice she had after decades of bringing children into the world. He'd hardly paid attention to the labours of women, and children so often died that there was rarely time to pay them any heed as they went from the cradle to the casket so quickly.

He had turned back to make his usual beeline for the house, pushing past and between the square hedges and sprawling kitchen garden. Some of the stronger-smelling herbs must have been finally in season; there was a reek Arthur couldn't quite identify. He had hardly cleared the fence when he heard Alfred's usual cry, demanding attention. The baby was a social thing, as personable as Rhys or Brighid and twice as bold about his want of company. He didn't like waking alone, wrapped up cozy in the cradle or otherwise.

Another sound, shrill and high. This one sent a spike of anxiety through Arthur's spine. He paused for the shortest moment. Then he was moving. That was not the cry of a baby who was lonely or wanted to be picked up. That was a terrified howl from his boy. He shot into the house, through the atrium, up the stairs, and into the nursery. Heaving, he flung open the heavy oak door. The smell was there again. The figure of a woman stood in relief against the low fire, Alfred cradled in her arms and screaming. For a stupid, foolish moment, he hoped it was the scullery girl he had told to mind the baby should he begin crying. But the smell. He took a step forward. At a new angle, he could see rotten eyes staring at his son, a cheek missing to decay and teeth gleaming through the gap.

"Baby." Came the garbled sound from long-dead vocal cords.

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said, cooly gesturing for her to hand him the child. His guts churned, bile in his throat. The revenants were often as confused as they were disgusting, pulling themselves out of whatever corner they had died and remained undiscovered. "Give me the child."

The Revenant turned to him. "Mine."

"You do not belong in this realm," Arthur said again, gesturing to Alfred again. He was losing patience with fear, the ceaseless screaming from Alfred turning into a hopeless, frightened sob. She tilted her head, and it fell limply to her shoulder, tendons snapping on the other side. She lifted one hand to push it back onto her neck, and he saw her hand for a moment in the light. Her fingers were torn freshly away. Oh, good Christ, this one had crawled out of her grave as they sometimes did when there was an infant's ceaseless crying above them. But Alfred had never stepped foot in the churchyard, and it was nearly a mile and a half away in the village.

"Rhys!" Arthur screamed, praying to god his brother was in the house and not out in the lambing pens.

The woman transferred Alfred almost tenderly to one arm and lunged at him, hand outstretched and her rotting jaw open. It couldn't close and Arthur couldn't hit her; Alfred was a heavy child and would fall to the floor as a leaden weight, and his soft little body would smash. Arthur was cold. Alfred was still crying.

"Give me my fucking son." He lunged, snatching at her arm. A layer of grey slime came away, and he retched even as he got fingers wrapped into the swaddling nearest Alfred's feet. He was suddenly wrestling a corpse, each of them struggling to get their hands on the blanket. One of Alfred's arms had slipped free, and he flailed, a fresh rolling scream emitting from his tiny scarlet face. Arthur had never seen him so flushed. He tried to shove her away and kick at the rotting creature, but more of something wet disintegrated from her legs. His hand was suddenly slick with gore and a piece of her fell to the floor with a putrid plop, unseen under the half-rotten chemise she had been buried in. She almost looked to grin at him and pulled Alfred closer.

"Let go!" He commanded, trying to get a purchase, but his hands were too slippery. He lunged after her as she retreated towards the door. "Let him go!"

Then a sword was through her belly. Something degassed like fetid blacksmith's bellows. Arthur's senses nearly abandoned him at the smell, but his hands closed around Alfred and tugged him to his chest, and he shot back against the wall, as far from the thing as he could get.

"I know. I'm sorry." He gasped, a clean hand cradling Alfred's head. "I'm so sorry."

The creature groaned and collapsed to the floor on its knees, struggling as its guts dissolved around the blade. Rhys stood behind her, still in his lambing clothes and boots, mother's leaf-bladed sword in his hands. He lifted it, and her head fell from her shoulders. The rotting eyes followed Arthur across the room. He watched as Rhys found one of the seams of her skull with the tip, plunged the sword in, twisted like he was splitting a log, and this time, she lay still, dismembered.

"Are you all right?" Rhys said, stepping over the body to look at him. He approached close enough to pull the blanket away to look at Alfred. Arthur tried to meet his brother's eyes. "Arthur?"

He couldn't. He could only close his eyes, hold Alfred tighter and collapse down the wall. Alfred pressed as tight as he dared against his sternum, and Arthur tried to breathe. Alfred's crying had softened, terror fading to a heartbreaking relief, and Arthur kissed his head. To close. Too fucking close.

"He's fine," Rhys said; his voice was much softer this time. "You're both fine, I promise."

Number 16 for Alfred plz

Short, contemporary set fic. Alfred wakes from a nightmare and Matt knows what to say. On ao3 here. From prompt 16. “Are you afraid to fall asleep because you think you’re gonna have a nightmare?”

21st Century, Ottawa.

Mathew's bedroom was still and dark when he woke, and he stared at the dim glow filtering through the blinds. The light of the streetlamps was tinted blue in the storm, and he wondered why he'd woken. Kuma was still dead asleep on his memory foam sheepskin bed just next to the vent. If there'd been any intrusion in his space, he'd have been up, hackles raised and howling. Oh. He had to piss. Fuck, he must still be drunk. Groaning and cursing himself for not taking a pit stop when he and Alfred had finally put the beers and video game controllers down to go to sleep, he finally peeled himself out of bed. The room was cold, and peeling off the duvet made his thoughts switch languages and wish for a quick death in French.

Shaking the drama off, he shoved his feet into his indoor boots and shuffled down the hall, rubbing at his eyes and letting the. Business completed, he was turning off the water and drying his hands when he thought he heard something. He stumbled, still groggy, down the hall, away from the bedroom. Again, Kuma didn't howl or join him.

The TV, mounted above the fireplace, was on and thew an eerie cast over the living room as Matt approached, poking his head in. There was Alfred, hunched over.

"The fuck are you doing up?" Matt asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Alfred glanced up, expression inscrutable.

"I couldn't sleep," He said, sounding wrecked, like he'd been throwing up or crying.

"You good?" Matt asked, frowning.

"Fine."

"Fucken liar," Matt replied. Alfred's gaze flashed up, the hint of Cherenkov radiation flashing in anger.

"Don't give me that face, o mighty superpower." Matt laughed, rubbing a hand down his face, incredulous. "Christ. You know, I'd normally be happy to do the usual song and dance where you deny everything until I hit a nerve. And then you can have your semi-annual mental breakdown on my couch, but it's 3 in the fucken morning. So get your ass up, turn off the TV, put your butt in a chair in the kitchen and spill your guts while I make us hot chocolate, and then we can go the fuck back to sleep. Okay?"

Whatever it was that made Alfred their kind's weird undying version of superman seemed to drain from him, and his shoulders slumped. It was like watching someone drain the water from a nuclear reactor and shut it down.

"Yeah, all right."

In the kitchen, Alfred sat at the old kitchen table. Matt raided the cabinets and dumped milk, cream, and chocolate into a pot, breathing in a bit of the soothing steam as it warmed.

"You going to start talking?"

"I'm organizing my thoughts," Alfred said as he stared at the kitchen table, tracing the grain of a knot Matt had sanded smooth himself with two fingers. He glared at the wood. "Or I'm trying too."

"Okay. Take your time. This will take a minute." Matt's heart ached, and he opened another cabinet. There was vanilla extract there, but glancing at his brother and full of something softer, he selected one of the vanilla beans he had purchased on his last trip to Mexico and scraped it clean. In it went with the chilli and clove and cinnamon to simmer away.

"Doing okay?" Matt asked. Alfred's hand had gone still on the table, balling into a fist.

"Yeah," Alfred said.

Deciding his brother needed more time, Matt took down a bowl and whipped the living hell out of the rest of the cream until his arm shook. It was always a process. His brother's emotions were structured with the strongest joy on earth on a delicate pedestal of half-processed memories. He stirred the hot chocolate, and now melted together and velvety, it clung to the sides of the pot.

"Okay," Alfred said at last. "Okay, fuck."

He quickly poured two terracotta mugs, scooped on the hand-churned whipped cream and even dusted them with more cinnamon. He sat across the table from Alfred, shaking his left hand out. It was sore from all the whisking now.

"Damn, Matt. You were busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. That's amazing."

"Have to do something while you brood," Matt replied, pulling his hoodie sleeves back down. "Now, what's the fucken problem?"

"I had a nightmare," Alfred said plainly. Well, that'd been easier than usual.

"The 'showing up to the Armed Forces Committee with no pants' nightmare or the 'I got hung for witchcraft and dad presented the head of the fuck who sentenced me on a silver platter' nightmare."

"Neither," Alfred said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He sighed and took another long drink.

"Alfred," Matt said. "Talk."

"I'm trying," He whispered. "It feels like if I say it, it'll come true."

"That's bullshit," Matt replied. "Out with it."

Alfred sighed. "You're a piss ass when you don't sleep, you know that, right?"

"I'm going to be puking chilis and tequila when I wake up. I'm allowed to be cranky." He countered. "Saint Bibiana can't do shit about it. Now, what was this nightmare?"

"I dreamt I woke up, and the world ended while I slept," Alfred said. "Russians yeet some ICBM at me, I tossed some back, the world burned."

"You've had that nightmare since the Russians dropped their first bomb."

"Yup," Alfred said. "But usually, in the dream, I cross from New York into Quebec, and you're there. A little crispier than usual, but there and mostly okay. This time..."

Matt stared at Alfred over his mug.

"This time, what?"

"This time... nothing. No survivors. No glowing zombies, no gas-masked raiders, nothing." He paused, and Matt was silent.

"No you either," Alfred said, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and leaning into the table. "Just ash."

"Alfred," Matt said gently, softly. His brother didn't look up. "Alfred, look at me."

Watery blue eyes appeared from behind his hands. Alfred sniffed, and Matt gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm not going to die,"

"I'm stronger than you," Alfred said. "I'm stronger than everyone. If anyone would survive and be alone, it'd be me."

"So you're afraid that if you go to sleep, you'll have another nightmare about this?"

"I'm scared that if I fall asleep, I'll wake up alone." Alfred scrubbed his hair and looked on the verge of tears again. "Just me on planet earth."

"Alfred, you didn't die on me. I won't die on you, much less the entire planet."

"When the hell would I have died?"

"Does the American Civil War ring a bell?" Matt replied. "You were dead for four days after Gettysburg. But you lived."

"No one was firing nukes at Gettysburg."

"No one is firing nukes now," Matthew said. "If you're okay, I'm okay."

"Can you just... can you promise me you won't die?" Alfred said. Sometimes there was something so childlike about his mind. "Just promise you won't leave me here by myself."

"Cross my heart and hope to live, bud." Matt made the motion of the cross over his heart. He smiled. "Happy?"

Alfred nodded. "Swear to god, though, I will fucking kill you if you die before me."

"Hard same." Matt returned. "I'll set your ass on fire and make DC look like a bathroom candle if you leave me here alone."

Alfred took another sip of hot cholate and shook his head. "You're a firebug, you know that, right?"

"Well yeah, I had to settle for pyromaniac since my big brother is the one with the nuclear hellfire in his back pocket." Matt knuckled his chest and swallowed bile. "But I might be getting there. Holy shit, this is giving me heartburn."

"It's not even spicy." Alfred laughed.

"You know damn well chilli powder, and I don't get along." Matt exhaled, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in his mouth.

"Why'd you make it if you knew it'd give you heartburn?"

"I'm not the one who needed cheering up," Matt shrugged. "Hang on a second. I need antacids."

"Jesus Christ, gringo."

"Hey," Matt flung open the drawer he kept various bottles of over-the-counter pills and tablets and popped something he'd hoped would help. "That's tabernaco to you, Tex-Mex."

Alfred snorted. "Did Mari start calling you that before or after you vomited Salsa Verde all over her nice floor?"

"I put in that floor for her," Matt said. "And it was before if you must know."

"You've got too much slav in you."

"Eh," Matt countered, sitting back down, this time with a glass of water. He shoved his still-hot mug at his brother, and Alfred took it to finish it off. "Katya hasn't pegged me in a while, actually."

Alfred snorted hot chocolate so hard he choked. "Ew, dude, gross."

Matt smacked him on the shoulder. "Finish that up, and you can come huddle for warmth like we're fucken four,"

"Fucking heat-seeking missile,"

"Goddamn right."

love reading about the Great Rapprochement. Arthur spends 1895 to 1915 metaphorically kneeling on the ground going pspspspsps in Alfred’s general direction mostly getting ignored but occasionally getting an increasingly half-hearted “go fuck yourself” in response. it’s fantastic. look at this.

German Ambassador Bernstoff, a shrewd observer, reported in 1911, “The British efforts [to cultivate America] are meeting with a certain return of platonic affection. The old rooted dislike to England is gradually vanishing… But it is not accompanied by any wish to offer anything in return.” In hard diplomatic coin, the Americans took but they did not give. British ministries from Salisbury to Asquith made important concessions of substance and form to the United States. These statesmen gained not alliance nor even true reciprocity, but the elimination of grounds of conflict, occasional and essentially “platonic” or negative support in world politics, and above all a transformation of American attitudes which would pay immense dividends after 1914. While other factors propelled America in the same direction, British policy from 1895 to 1914 was the indispensable element.

I love it. Arthur hasn’t been this nice to Alfred since 1754 and Alfred is completely weirded out and has absolutely no idea what to do with this. so he just keeps being belligerent and Arthur just keeps being nice until eventually Alfred is sitting at a table in Arthur’s garden wondering how the fuck he came to the point where he’s having literal tea parties with the old fucker. 

meanwhile Matthew, Jack, and Eliza are just as weirded out. maybe Matthew less so than Jack and Eliza but like. it’s still really fucking weird when Alfred says things that would get Jack sent to boot camp in the most remote part of the Canadian wilderness and Arthur just smiles. Duncan, Morgan, and Erin are much less surprised, since obviously they remember how much Arthur loved Alfred as a child. on the whole, Duncan thinks it’s funny, Morgan is relieved and pleased, and Erin is utterly disgusted lol. like c’mon, Al, don’t listen to him. he’s so full of shit you know he’s full of shit. 

alas, the end of WW1 proves Erin right and Alfred goes right back to belligerent and aloof (though perhaps not near as much as pre-1895).

Losing my mind over this article

Please reblog this so that I can get a bigger sample size, but DO NOT include anything in the tags about the results, as that could influence other responses

Petitions - UK Government and Parliament

Petition: Reverse the decision to block the Gender Recognition Reform (Scotland) Bill

I want the Government to reverse their decision to block the Gender Recognition Reform (Scotland) Bill, as this legislation contains importa

hey if you're a UK resident can you sign this petition and if not please rb to spread the word

this is an official UK government petition that they have to respond to if it reaches 10,000 signatures

apple.news

Biden signs "historic" executive order to protect LGBTQ people — Axios

President Biden signed an executive order Wednesday to strengthen protections for people in the LGBTQ community as states attempt to pass a

This is genuinely a major good story that needs to be shared! Biden has also been active in pushing the DOJ to fight in the courts the Republican laws that have been set up against lgbt youths and their families across republican led states.

she warned u bro

BOOST!

leftist antisemites are really everywhere on this hellsite making & reblogging their posts like “the Jews have too much power and privilege and actually their very recent genocide was not that bad compared to what my group experiences and antisemitism doesn’t even exist in my country and especially not in liberal spaces”

I think we’re down to three days now, and Governor Stitt has been refusing to meet with Julius’s family

"Parking Lot Pimpin| On the Wrongful Conviction of Julius Jones This Friday we get into the wrongful conviction of Julius Jones, a Black man who has been on death row in Oklahoma for 19 years for a 1999 murder that he’s always denied taking part in. Julius will be wrongfully be put to death in SIX DAYS if we don’t take action now. 🚨 Reach out to the Governor’s office at 405-521-2342 and urge Governor Stitt to stand by the recommendation of the Pardon and Parole Board and grant Julius Jones clemency. Time is of the essence. What you can say or speak from the heart: I would like to urge Governor Stitt to stand by his own word to follow the recommendation of the Pardon and Parole Board and grant Julis Jones clemency. Please save Julius from wrongful execution. RT @so.informed - Let’s also discuss how the judge is literally messing over the Kyle Ritttendon trial. His overly chatty disposition can lead directly to an appeal if Kyle is in fact found Guilty." - @lyneezy

TAKE ACTION NOW:

➡️ Call the Oklahoma City Governor’s office at 405-521-2342 and urge Governor Stitt to stand by the recommendation of the Pardon and Parole Board and grant Julius Jones clemency

➡️ Sign this petition Justice for Julius petition

➡️ Complete this form to send an e-letter to the Pardon & Parole Board.

FUCK YOU DISNEY

Anyways, y’all better start saving your fave fanfics and fanart under the Disney labels cause it looks like they’re trying to curb fair use/fanworks and I’m sure there’s going to be mass panicked deletions even though it’s probably unnecessary cause AO3′s legal team will fight for us.

PLEASE DO NOT THINK FOR EVEN A SECOND THAT YOUR VOICE WILL NOT HAVE AN IMPACT THIS IS LITERALLY THE BARE MINIMUM

I'm sorry for putting this in the BLM and stop Asian hate tag but in the last few days posts tagged with "Palestine" have not been showing up.

i genuinely can't get over teen! dad bruce wayne so please consider the following:

18 year old bruce wayne deciding to foster 2 year old dick grayson after seeing the fateful circus incident.

(according to new jersey law people from the age of 18 and up can be foster parents with no further age restrictions)

he does most of his training carrying dick around and dick spends the entire time just monologuing about dora the explorer while bruce is like "that's nice"

(after a few months he gets totally into it he's like: "oh jeesh, i can believe swiper did that, how horrible of him, you did tell him no swiping right?")

alfred initially is like "ah master bruce, decided to sign up for teen mom season 4 have we?" but two weeks in he's dressing dick up in 'i love my butler grandpa' t-shirts and is already favouring him over bruce.

bruce at first just tells dick "i'm going to try and be a big brother to you, etc etc" but dick understands like 60% of what he just said and is calling him "dad" within 3 months.

he still goes to train with the league and has to justify to ra's al ghul why every 10 minutes he has to use the satellite phone to talk to a toddler about the plot developments of blue's clues.

him becoming batman is just increasingly harder because he has to spend an hour trying to convince dick that "no the guy in the weird suit is also me- i'm the guy in the weird suit"

by the time dick is like 3, bruce has found him hanging from a chandelier at least four times and he still doesn't know how dick managed to get up there.

bruce just hanging out with dick and being like "yeah this little dude is my best friend and what about it?"

when dick eventually gets older and is like "i wanna be a superhero and fight crime" bruce is like "you don't wanna be associated with those dweebs, go be a ballerina or something"

(clarks first reaction upon meeting dick and realising that oh wait isn't bruce like, 24? and this kid is like 8? is "that must've been quite a shock for your parents" and he immediately flings himself into the sun.)

Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.

So to further out myself as a Fandom Old ™

I’m browsing ao3, as one does, and this one image struck me to the core and I just stared at the screen for like a solid 20 seconds

Oh how the world has changed

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

I was tagged by @sohotthateveryonedied, thanks for the tag!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I’m not going in a particular order, except #1 is my #1 right now just because my head is so stuck in that story and I’m obsessed lol 

1. Reclaiming Innocence 

This idea came to me while I was writing Not All Kidnappings and pretty much the first chapter was jotted down in my notebook in early August and left there until I started flipping through it in like October or whenever I started posting and I got re-obsessed with the idea and wrote three chapters in about a day. I just love Jason-joins-the-family fics and recovery-from-abuse fics and so I guess it’s natural I love this story with my entire heart. 

2. Jason and the Three Terrors

I LOVE this AU. The basic premise was given to me in a prompt over 2 years ago at this point, and I wrote like the first 40k words in 2019, but I didn’t start posting until 2020 so I think it counts. I really want to get back to it and finish up part one so I can start drafting part two, but I’ve bitten off more than I can chew when it comes to writing so it’s sitting on hiatus at the moment. :( but i LOVE Mara with my entire heart and really look forward to the first time Jason tells her he loves her because both those children deserve family and love and happiness and 😭 (and same with damian and athanaisa as well. and I can’t wait for Bruce to meet them all. ahhhhhh I really want to write the (alternate scene) where jason takes them straight to bruce and bruce is like !!!!!!! jason??????? and jasons freaking out because he knows bruce hates him and he’s sorry he’s there but b you just have to take these kids okay? and bruce just wraps jason up in a hug completely ignoring the three kids for the moment because ‘omg jason how– how are you here? i miss you so much.’ and 🥺 but again that’s just an alternate scene because jason moves the kids to metropolis per the prompt first.) but anyway, I love this story, I daydream in it all the time, and I can’t wait to get back to writing it.

3. Not All Kidnappings Are Bad

This was really fun to write. I had no idea I could write an entire book so quickly, but I wrote this in about three weeks? It also is what spawned the Reclaiming Innocence idea, and I’ve had a lot of fun daydreaming in the AU. Like I imagine Jason became friends with Billy, and maybe Garfield later. Does he become Robin? Dunno, but he certainly hangs around the team a lot, and he’s everyone’s little brother, not just Dick’s. What a cutie pie. 

4. Second Chance

Honestly I think this is my best one shot. I just… i love it so much. It might be because I wrote it at like 2 am one day, and was extremely sleep deprived, but I just feel like it was so emotional and compelling and I love it so much. Talia being a good mom and Bruce getting to meet his baby son (and being so happy about it) and baby Jason getting a little brother is ❤️   I reread this one all the time.

5. To Cheat Death

Jason doesn’t die Au!!!!! I’m obsessed with this idea, too. I have so many plans for a second chapter, but no time to write it so I haven’t. I also screwed up by making Bruce sing and say he discovered Jason liked it on a road trip, but like Jason was supposed to be excited Bruce suggests they both take a break and go on a trip because he’s ‘never been on a road trip’ so that’s lame, but yeah. This was another emotional fic that made me tear up while writing it. Bruce’s absolute gut-wrenching fear when Jason was dead in his arms, to his overwhelming relief when he started crying again was just 🥺 I go back and reread this one a lot, too. 

I tried to tag people but I chickened out, so if ANYONE wants to do this, feel free! I tag you!!

This blogger has ZERO sympathy for Fascists, White Supremacists, Racists, and the so-called Alt Right.