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so whats the endgoal with all this scrolling down we're doing

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Allergy Season: A Tim Drake adventure
It's not that Tim didn't find Ivy attractive. Let's be real. Who wouldn't? She's a bombshell in a leaf bodice. After years of following the Gotham Rogues on the news, and reading every study he could find on every single one of them, the one he absolutely didn't want to run into was Poison Ivy. I mean, let's be real. He's a fourteen years old pubesent boy. She wouldn't even need to use that weird plant-drugged lipstick of her to make him to whatever she wanted, he's hecking do it anyways. So after becoming Robin, a dream come true let's be real, he was beyond anxious for the day he would inevitably run into the eco-terrorist; give him Joker any day.[8:52 PM]Alas, that day finally came. He was perched outside her latest greenhouse - a warehouse she'd turned into a tropical paradise - waiting for the signal from Batman to lunge into action, secretly hoping it would never com----- oh dammit. There it was.Â
The Robin braced himself before shooting out a grappling gun, hooking it around a pipe along the roof, and swinging into action. Unfortunately, plans never seemed to work... Well.... They way we planned.... Huh.... Cause the second his boots scrapped the concrete slab, his knees bending to account for the pressure of the landing, he was hit in the face with a puff one pink, sparkly pollen - the kind you see in cartoons, not in real life - and boy of boy, y'all, Tim got a big ol' whiff of it.Â
Immediately he started coughing, falling to his knees at the spores settled in his sinuses, and clogged his throat.[8:52 PM]"Silly boy. You really think you could get a jump on me like that?" Ivy snickered, twirling curly locks of red hair between her fingers, her other arm crossed underner her chest, which only helped push her C-cups higher. Somewhere in the distance, Batman yelled for his sidekick, as Ivy approached the red, yellow, and green clad teen.Â
Now, her plan was probably to  make Tim her mind controlled minion - we all know the drill - but the second she pressed a finger to the teens chin, tilting his head up to her to lay that cursed kiss on him.... The boy let out the biggest, snot-filled sneeze in the world.Â
"A-----CHOOOO!" Robin fell back down to the group, still coughing and groaning as sneeze after sneeze burned his nostrils.Â
While Ivy should have been studdened, and rightfully disgusted, she was moreso baffled by the absolute mess of a boy at her feet. "What the----"Â
"B--" Tim sneezed into his gauntlets. "B, I'm dying."Â
"Is this a trick?" Ivy narrowed her eyes. "That plan was perfectly harmless. The order may be strong, but there's nothing poisonous about it."Â
"Baaaaatmaa---CHOO!"Â
Poison Ivy tapped the toe of her high heels against the Robin's thigh. "Is this one broken or something?"Â
"B---- my---" He coughed, reaching out a hand dramatically towards his mentor, as if he were a soldier about to be left behind in the trenches. "My---- my epipen---"Â
"....Excuse you?"Â
There was a sigh as Batman left whatever vine he'd been fighting, and casually strolled up to his sidekick. The man reached into his utility belt, produsing an EpiPen with the prescription details scribbled off with a sharpie. He made quick eye contact with Ivy. "........He has really bad allergies."Â
Open When...
Chapter 2: ... Youâre Frustrated
(Read Ch1)
Just shut up!â Robin chucked a batarang with full force, the weapon barely passing by Nightwingâs head before striking the cave wall behind him, the blade wedging itself into the stone. The young teen was seething, anger flowing off of him as he glared at his older brother through his mask.Â
The outburst had drawn the attention of the others in the cave as well. Cassandra and Duke, who had been enjoying post-mission snacks, paused mid-cucumber sandwich to turn their heads. Even Alfred, who had been passing around a tray of much needed coffee, halted what he was doing, more likely than not to avoid becoming the victim of a runaway blade. The only person who didnât turn was Bruce ăź of freaking course he didnât ăź who was inputting notes into the mission file at the main computer.Â
Dick raised his hands in defence. âWoah there. Damian, calm downăźâÂ
âNo!â The thirteen year old ripped his mask off, before slamming it to the ground. âI didnât do anything wrong! You know I didnât. They know I didnât!â He gestured towards the other member of Batman Incorporated, this sorry excuse for a family. âSo why the hell canât you just admit I did a good today?â
âThereâs always room to improve, Damiaăźâ
âImprove, my ass!â He grit his teeth together. This was ridiculous. It had been a simple mission; pop into a warehouse, beat up some drug smugglers, turn them in to the proper authorities. Easy fucking peasy. He's gone, he followed orders perfectly. He didn't step out of line, didn't cross boundaries, even when it would have been so easy to. He was a perfect Robin today. Which meant this absurd lecture he was getting right now was not only out of line, but downright insulting. "What more could you possibly want from me, Grayson? I did everything you asked tonight, with zero complaints, and a miniscule margin of error. Just admit that I did good, and leave me alone!"
"Damian, it's not that simple."
"Like hell it is!" The teen snarled. He tore his gauntlets off his arms, throwing them both to the ground. Maybe it would prove a point. Maybe not. That was unimportant at this moment. Damian glared up, meeting his brother's eyes with a scowl on his face, before deciding this wasn't worth it. He knew he was in the right. "Forget this."
He didn't bother to stick around when Dick called after him. He didn't bother to see if his father was reacting in any way. Damian just left. He stormed out of the cave, as seemed to be the routine, fuming from the ears as he all but crashed his feet through the oak floorboards of the manor. Part of him secretly hoped he'd run into another one of his adoptive siblings so he could pick a fight. God, that's what he needed right now. He needed a fight. He needed to hit something; to smash something. He needed to grab his sword and turn every shrub and tree on this blasted estate into wood chips. Instead, Damian settled for slamming his bedroom door shut.
"Aaaaaaarg!" He let out a scream, and paced around the space. Part of his uniform rapidly flying all over the carpet, landing in random pieces of furniture, before he was left in nothing but his underwear. While the burst of anger hadn't exactly calmed him down, slipping into silk pajamas helped. Only slightly, but help was help. "Stupid Grayson." He muttered under his breath as he flung himself onto that king-sized bed.Â
This sucked.Â
Contrary to popular belief, Damian didn't like being angry all the time. It was exhausting. The chronic issue was that other people were simply infuriating, always catching his temper, setting him off in all the worst says. He was sick of it.Â
By chance, be it out of a need for comfort, or the desire for a better way to breathe than face shoved into an overstuffed down pillow, the fourteen year old turned his head to the side, letting his eyes scan across his room; over furniture, his own art on the walls, until it eventually landed on his desk. More specifically, a colorful wooden box that was kept neatly tucked into the back corner of his desk.Â
No. No it was stupid. Thereâs no way this could helpâŚ
Damian pushed himself up off his bed. This was ridiculous. He stepped over his desk, pulling the box closer to the edge and flicking the clasp open. He opened the lid and started flipping through the pile of letters his friend had left for him.Â
Angry? No.
Crying? Definitely not.
Offended, embarrassed, hurt.
He didnât know why he was even bothering, because there was truly no way there would be a letter forăź
âOpen When⌠Youâre frustratedâ
Huh⌠That was unexpected.Â
Damian took the letter and went back over to his bed, climbing into it and making himself comfortable before cutting the envelope open.
take your time, they said.
the words will come to you, they said.

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Making the Best of a Crummy Situation
A quarantine inspired self-isolation Wonderette fic
âWelpâŚÂ This is just⌠Great.â The sarcasm was laced thick in Cassieâs voice as she flopped back onto her bed. Sheâd landed on one of her pigtails ăź something anyone with longer hair can vouch is less than comfortable ăź so she lifted a hand, jammed it under her head, and yoinked out the ties unceremoniously. Her hair was getting way too long. She really should just shop it all off again. Of course⌠That would have to wait.
âYeah. No duh.â The other teen in the room was none other than Cissie King-Jones, Olympic superstar by day, nerd-brain student by night ever since quitting the whole Arrowette gig. âBut hey. At least weâre together.â
Why did things suck? Why was it good to be together? Why were there three suitcases stacked up on top of each other in the corner of the room, one of which was currently being opened to reveal a mess of beauty products, and more moisturizers than a Costco aisle? Well, unless youâve been in a coma since February, youâve seen that little business on the news about Covid-19, A.K.A the Coronavirus, A.K.A the Boomer Killer. Long story short, the world was going to the shitter because of this pandemic circulating the globe, with world leaders reacting by forcing massive quarantines, especially in major cities. Museums, school, restaurants, stores⌠All sorts of places were closing down.
You might have noticed that little mention about schools closing. Yeah, not just a few schools here and there, but every school. Not only did this include Cassieâs standard public school, but it also hit Cissieâs oh-so-fancy all girlâs boarding school, which consequently had shut down all itâs dormitory buildings. Rather than going back home, where the archer just knew she was going to go nuts if she spent more than a day locked up with her mother, Cassie extended the invitation for her girlfriend to come stay with her.
In the immortal words of a misquoted Vine:
Oh my god they were quarantine mates.
Cassie shifted up on her elbows as she watched the blonde across from her unpack. âDid you manage to get everything before you had to leave?â
âMostly.â The other girl pulled out a violet elastic headband, tugging it down over her head, and letting it dangle around her neck as she adjusted her long hair, before pulling the band up to hold the locks out of her face. âWasnât able to grab things like posters or trophies.â
âAh yes. Because where would you be without your trophies.âÂ
âDevastated, clearly.â The next thing to emerge from the suitcase was ăź and yâall, I can not stress enough how ridiculous this crap is ăź a large shag throw pillow, patterned in pink, purple, and aqua diamonds.Â
âOk, you didnât grab your olympic gold, but you grabbed that.â Cassie couldnât help but snort. She would have probably laughed longer, except for the same offensive cushion suddenly colliding with her face. Perfect aim.
âYouâre the one that got me that, you idiot!â Even though it very well could have been a stern yell, nothing could hide the dumbstruck smile on the other girlâs face.
âNo way. I got you this?â The Wondergirl held the pillow up, pretending to examine it. Of course she remembered getting it. It was the worst anniversary gift in the world, but for some reason her weirdo girlfriend was really into this kind of stuff.
âYes, and you know I sleep with it every night.â There was a pause as Cissie looked around the small bedroom. âSpeaking of, you got a sleeping bag somewhere around here? Air mattress maybe?â
Cassie tipped her head to the side, tucking the pillow into her chest so she could lean her chin into the fluff. âWhy would we need a sleeping bag?â
The other teen made eye contact, a perfectly threaded brow quirking up. âSo I can sleep?â
âButâŚâ She let a pout fall on her lips. Cissie loved it when she pouted. It always got her everything she wanted. âI thought we could just⌠you know⌠share my bed.â
Cissie let out a snort, combing her fingers through her hair. âMmmm. As nice as that sounds, thatâs not social distancing. We gotta stay CDC compliant.â
The amazonian huffed, puffing her cheeks out. âOh come on. You and I both know weâre fine.â She patted the space on the mattress next to her.Â
âMmmmm. Nope.â With a popped âpâ, Cissie turned back to her things, organizing her box of nail polishes instead of paying attention to whatever her partner was doing.Â
âCissie.â She practically whined as she dropped the shag pillow, pushed up from the bed, and went over to grab the other girl by the arm. It was all playful, more so like a cat bothering her owner for attention than anything. âCome on. We havenât gotten to cuddle in forever.â
Apparently this girl thought she was hilarious, because she kept that way too pretty, quirky smile on her face, as she let Cassie incessantly try and pull her up. âI hope you washed your hands for the recommended twenty seconds.â
âGod youâre the worst.â Cassie rolled her eyes, before leaning down, tucking her arms underneath Cissieâs armpits ăź it wasnât exactly cute but it worked ăź and lifting her girlfriend to her feet. Having superstrength definitely paid off sometimes.Â
âBut babe,â A laugh was bubbling out of Cissie. Even though the archer was taller by an inch or two, she tended to lean on her hip when she stood, bringing her down to her partnerâs level anyways. Regardless, they were both at the perfect heights for long, slender arms to drape over broad shoulders, wrapping around Cassieâs neck. âWe have to stay six feet apart.â
âScrew that.â Cassie leaned in for a quick kiss, which Cissie thankfully let her take. Neither could help but smile as they pushed into each other. Even when it ended, they stayed close, remaining in a loose and lazy hug, foreheads leaning together, until Cassie tipped in once more and placed a soft kiss to her partnerâs cheek. âMissed ya.â
âI missed you too.â Cissie rubbed the tips of their noses together. âI was kidding about the CDC stuff.â
âI know that, you goof.â
âGood.â The girl nodded, stealing a kiss for herself. âBecause I miss being your little spoon.â
Cassie smiled wide, brushing a lock of hair behind Cissieâs ear. âLetâs fix that then.â
LOOK! ITâS CASSIExCISSIE FIC!!!
YES IT IS AND YOURE WELCOME
Incredibly fucking slow at it đ¤§
i fixed it
Making the Best of a Crummy Situation
A quarantine inspired self-isolation Wonderette fic
âWelp... This is just⌠Great.â The sarcasm was laced thick in Cassieâs voice as she flopped back onto her bed. Sheâd landed on one of her pigtails ăź something anyone with longer hair can vouch is less than comfortable ăź so she lifted a hand, jammed it under her head, and yoinked out the ties unceremoniously. Her hair was getting way too long. She really should just shop it all off again. Of course⌠That would have to wait.
âYeah. No duh.â The other teen in the room was none other than Cissie King-Jones, Olympic superstar by day, nerd-brain student by night ever since quitting the whole Arrowette gig. âBut hey. At least weâre together.â
Why did things suck? Why was it good to be together? Why were there three suitcases stacked up on top of each other in the corner of the room, one of which was currently being opened to reveal a mess of beauty products, and more moisturizers than a Costco aisle? Well, unless youâve been in a coma since February, youâve seen that little business on the news about Covid-19, A.K.A the Coronavirus, A.K.A the Boomer Killer. Long story short, the world was going to the shitter because of this pandemic circulating the globe, with world leaders reacting by forcing massive quarantines, especially in major cities. Museums, school, restaurants, stores⌠All sorts of places were closing down.
You might have noticed that little mention about schools closing. Yeah, not just a few schools here and there, but every school. Not only did this include Cassieâs standard public school, but it also hit Cissieâs oh-so-fancy all girlâs boarding school, which consequently had shut down all itâs dormitory buildings. Rather than going back home, where the archer just knew she was going to go nuts if she spent more than a day locked up with her mother, Cassie extended the invitation for her girlfriend to come stay with her.
In the immortal words of a misquoted Vine:
Oh my god they were quarantine mates.
Cassie shifted up on her elbows as she watched the blonde across from her unpack. âDid you manage to get everything before you had to leave?â
âMostly.â The other girl pulled out a violet elastic headband, tugging it down over her head, and letting it dangle around her neck as she adjusted her long hair, before pulling the band up to hold the locks out of her face. âWasnât able to grab things like posters or trophies.â
âAh yes. Because where would you be without your trophies.âÂ
âDevastated, clearly.â The next thing to emerge from the suitcase was ăź and yâall, I can not stress enough how ridiculous this crap is ăź a large shag throw pillow, patterned in pink, purple, and aqua diamonds.Â
âOk, you didnât grab your olympic gold, but you grabbed that.â Cassie couldnât help but snort. She would have probably laughed longer, except for the same offensive cushion suddenly colliding with her face. Perfect aim.
âYouâre the one that got me that, you idiot!â Even though it very well could have been a stern yell, nothing could hide the dumbstruck smile on the other girlâs face.
âNo way. I got you this?â The Wondergirl held the pillow up, pretending to examine it. Of course she remembered getting it. It was the worst anniversary gift in the world, but for some reason her weirdo girlfriend was really into this kind of stuff.
âYes, and you know I sleep with it every night.â There was a pause as Cissie looked around the small bedroom. âSpeaking of, you got a sleeping bag somewhere around here? Air mattress maybe?â
Cassie tipped her head to the side, tucking the pillow into her chest so she could lean her chin into the fluff. âWhy would we need a sleeping bag?â
The other teen made eye contact, a perfectly threaded brow quirking up. âSo I can sleep?â
âButâŚâ She let a pout fall on her lips. Cissie loved it when she pouted. It always got her everything she wanted. âI thought we could just⌠you know⌠share my bed.â
Cissie let out a snort, combing her fingers through her hair. âMmmm. As nice as that sounds, thatâs not social distancing. We gotta stay CDC compliant.â
The amazonian huffed, puffing her cheeks out. âOh come on. You and I both know weâre fine.â She patted the space on the mattress next to her.Â
âMmmmm. Nope.â With a popped âpâ, Cissie turned back to her things, organizing her box of nail polishes instead of paying attention to whatever her partner was doing.Â
âCissie.â She practically whined as she dropped the shag pillow, pushed up from the bed, and went over to grab the other girl by the arm. It was all playful, more so like a cat bothering her owner for attention than anything. âCome on. We havenât gotten to cuddle in forever.â
Apparently this girl thought she was hilarious, because she kept that way too pretty, quirky smile on her face, as she let Cassie incessantly try and pull her up. âI hope you washed your hands for the recommended twenty seconds.â
âGod youâre the worst.â Cassie rolled her eyes, before leaning down, tucking her arms underneath Cissieâs armpits ăź it wasnât exactly cute but it worked ăź and lifting her girlfriend to her feet. Having superstrength definitely paid off sometimes.Â
âBut babe,â A laugh was bubbling out of Cissie. Even though the archer was taller by an inch or two, she tended to lean on her hip when she stood, bringing her down to her partnerâs level anyways. Regardless, they were both at the perfect heights for long, slender arms to drape over broad shoulders, wrapping around Cassieâs neck. âWe have to stay six feet apart.â
âScrew that.â Cassie leaned in for a quick kiss, which Cissie thankfully let her take. Neither could help but smile as they pushed into each other. Even when it ended, they stayed close, remaining in a loose and lazy hug, foreheads leaning together, until Cassie tipped in once more and placed a soft kiss to her partnerâs cheek. âMissed ya.â
âI missed you too.â Cissie rubbed the tips of their noses together. âI was kidding about the CDC stuff.â
âI know that, you goof.â
âGood.â The girl nodded, stealing a kiss for herself. âBecause I miss being your little spoon.â
Cassie smiled wide, brushing a lock of hair behind Cissieâs ear. âLetâs fix that then.â
Open When...
Chapter 1: ... I leave you alone
The box appeared seemingly out of nowhere.Â
One day, after spending too much time frustratedly thrusting every sharp object he could get his hands on into any training dummy he could find, Damian finally retreated up to his bedroom, drenched in sweat and desperately needing a shower. His plan was to dump his athletic wear on the floor, leaving a trail of clothes across the floor, leading to his ensuite. Instead, as he kicked the heavy wooden door shut behind him, hands cross, grasping at the hem of his Under Armour tank top, his eyes caught a glimpse of something on his desk that was definitely not there when heâd left.Â
A scowl grew on his face. He hated surprises. He especially hated them when he was already in a bad mood to begin with. Yet here he was, face to face with a⌠box. A weird, random, wood box that was clearly homemade, seeing as the hinges on the back were screwed in completely unevenly. It was unfinished, pine laying completely exposed to the elements, save for blue paint smeared across the lid, and a poorly done cartoonesque heart taking up space in the top left corner. Underneath, thick black sharpie scrawled out the words âOpen Whenâ. Damianâs eyes narrowed at the writing. Heâd recognize that chicken scratch anywhere:
Jon.
Thus bringing him to why he was upset in the first place. Now, Damian Al Ghul Wayne understood the necessity to train better than more. He regularly preached discipline, and the obligation of other vigilante types to commit themselves to constant practiceâŚ. That didnât mean he was pleased to see Jon leave.
That was the issue. His comrade, his partner, the one individual he dared to call a friend, just up-skipped and left for some sort of training exercise. There were several very large issues with this, the primary being that Damian had not been informed of this. How rude could you be? After nearly two years of devotion and teamwork, and this damned corncob couldnât even be bothered to say goodbye? Obviously there was just no possible way he could, gee, I donât know, need that stupid kryptonian hybrid? He couldnât possibly have planned the majority of his group tactics on the presence of an eleven year old power house? Truly, this was just so inconsiderate. The second most prominent issue the young Wayne had with this, was that Jon hadnât just gone into the mountains for a week. No, it wasnât a simple trip to Smallville, consisting primarily of stacking hay bales, and building barns. No. Not at all. No, Jon had to go on an indefinite expedition in outer space.
So yeah. Damian was a tad pissed off. Never in all thirteen, nearly fourteen years of his life, would he ever have left the planet without sending out a memo to his teammates.Â
The teen looked down at the box again and snarled. âOpen when? Open when, what, Kent?â With a click of his tongue, he practically snatched the clasp that held the box shut, harshly flicking it open to see what could possibly be so important, that a shitty, oh-so-mysterious box would appear in his room.Â
Damian didnât know what he had been expecting, truly, but he knew he wasnât expecting⌠This.
Despite the box being approximately eight by eight by six inches 㟠twenty by twenty by twelve centimeters would be a more accurate measurement 㟠it seemed almost bigger on the inside, as it lay before him, absolutely filled with⌠envelopes?
Cards, letters of various different sizes and colors were stacked on top of each other in no particular order. Perplexed, Damian picked the stack up, filing through them and reading what had been written on the front. Firmly pasted in the top left corner of each envelope, without fail, were the words âOpen WhenâŚâ, while the center, which would normally contain some kind of address, seemed to complete the sentence.
Open WhenâŚ
Youâre angry
Youâre upset
Youâre sad
You canât sleep at night
You feel alone
Youâre frustrated
A mission goes wrong
You need a confidence boost
The list went on, each handling a different subject matter. Damian counted fifty letters total.
This⌠This was absurd. How dare Jonathan leave such rubbish behind for him? What kind of stupid, sentimental garbage was this? That idiot should know better than to believe Damian was anything less thanăź
Open When⌠I leave you alone
...Thatâs not fair.
Damian tugged open the top drawer of his desk, removing a pair of scissors. He held them open before using the blade to cleanly open the letter, leaving the others to rest in the box.Â
Heâd expected simple lined paper, low and behold, thatâs exactly what he got. Three hole-punched, loose leaf paper tri-folded and stuffed into an envelope. How classy. Damian unfolded the note with a sigh. This could only be so good.
I know fanfiction is like this big joke and everything, but man, have I read some fics that have completely knocked the wind out of me. New York Times Best Sellers could NEVER.
@princessofgayskull
:) :) :) :) :) :)
@akari-hope @cruciferousjex and a good few others whose tumblrs I donât know. Yâall are @âed in spirit!
hey thanks!
I must @thewitchoftherock
@chimie-chat you already know itâs you
I-------------- WHAT THE HECK DO YOU MEAN I KNOW ITS ME?!?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKINN ABOUT?!?!
Yes!
Definitely you @chimie-chat
ICJVOENWOWPCOVJRNWNQPXOCKALX OH HUSH YOU

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic
Of course Iâm ok with that!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Finally updated this thing!!!!!!!!! Sorry I was MIA for so long XD
Reblog if you are a fic writer who welcomes moodboards, playlists, remixes, art and any other type of gift based on your stories.
Oh absolutely! Please always feel free to!
Yes! I adore each and every fanart I get for my stories. I post rhem on my AO3 profile and promote them when I can. I feel like one of those moms who gets a picture of them drawn by their kid. It makes me so happy. I cherish each and everyone one of them.
Yes! I would die if someone would create art for my stories!
I just want a good Damian Wayne and Jon Kent fic, No Dying, No Wolves, Nothing gross, and something in English, could you by any chance recommend me any?
This Thrilling Day by DawnsEternalLight - While on vacation Damian and Jon are left alone to fend off some wanna be thieves. Chaos ensues.
I personally love this one with the Home Alone-style nostalgia
Christmas Is For Everyone by brightwhiteparabolas - Damian does not care that Gotham People has just published a widely-read hit piece on Wayne Manorâs animal menagerie. Damian knows that hyenas cannot be abandoned on Christmas, no matter who loves them.
Musketeers by Chimie_Chat - Damian, Jon, and Billy have been friends forever. Well, âfriendsâ. Sometimes they get along, and sometimes they definitely donât. But as time passes, the three of them remain inseparable.
Uno Master by Karupinthecat -Â Damian went to the movies with his father and the Kents. Now they are driving home. Also Jon is being a big child and Damian is even worse.
One of my favorite humor pieces
Itâs For Science by Karupinthecat -Â Jon and Damian wonder if Jon can get drunk.
Drive by Queerbutstillhere -Â Damian and Jon get dragged on a road trip with their parents. Jon sets Damian up with Bart and then suddenly realized that he doesnât really like that.
Good slow burn with them as teenagers
Suspicions by DaenaBlackfyre -Â For a while now, Clark had been suspicious that his son was doing something weird and those suspicions were confirmed when he heard a conversation with Robin.
Haunted Manor by DawnsEternalLight -Â The manor was not haunted. It couldnât be. Damian would know. Wouldnât he? He wasnât sure anymore, not after he and Jon ran into one on a tour of the manor. It was supposed to be a boring night, where Damianâs main concern was sneaking out to join his Father on patrol. How had he ended up so wrapped up in this ghost mystery?
Oh heck thanks for the shout out!!!!!!
Clark keeps a shrine to all the people he couldnât save in the fortress to remind him that he always needs to be better. His friends and family think heâs to hard on himself but Clark has to believe that one day he will be able to save everyone.
"Dad?" Young Jonathan Kent was just shy of his tenth birthday when he noticed a crack in the door, leasing to the extra room in the house no one ever used; the room he thought no one used. He had never bother to think on it much. The door was always locked, meaning he wasn't allowed inside, but it was probably just storage or something. At least, that's what he'd believe. That is, until he saw that crack in the door, and suddenly curiosity stuck harder than a hurricane. He had to look inside.
Small hands gripped onto the doorknob, pushing just enough for the hinges to squeak, and the bottom of the poorly framed slab to scrape along hardwood floors. The light inside was dim, but he could still clearly see the shadowed frame of his father, who stood slumped by one of the walls. "Dad? What are ya doin'?" The boy stepped inside. It was then that he noticed the finer details of the room.
Of the four walls, two and a half of them were lined with photographs, newspaper, and magazine clippings; all of which were framed. Greeting cards were delicately taped to the walls. As Jon looked around, he couldn't recognize a single face. How strange. Why would dad have a room like this? Jon stepped closer to the man. He could feel the nerves start to build. He wasn't even supposed to be in this room, so maybe Dad would be mad? But something.... Something wasn't right. For some reason Dad justâ His fatherâ Superman stared at the wall, looking utterly defeated. There was another picture frame in the man's hands.
"Daddy?" Jon tugged at his father's shirt when he got closer. That seemed to snap his father right out of whatever trance he'd been in, because the man looked down at his boy, quite shocked to see his son by his side. "What is this? Who is that?"
"Who is what?" Clark knit his brows together, his jaw tightening before looking back towards the freshly printed photograph he was carrying. The man took a deep breath. He then passed the frame down to the boy. "This... This, is Nevaeh."
Jon took the picture in his hands â it was heavy â and looked down into the bright hazel eyes of the young girl in the frame. It was clearly a school picture. She didn't look much older than him â they could've gone to school together, but he didn't recognize her â with a bright smile, and braids perfectly tied back. Jon looked up at his dad once more, waiting patiently for a better explanation.
"She..." The hero took a breath. "She was at the earthquake site the other day."
"Oh." Jon remembered that from the news Mom watched. A lot of Justice League heroes had gone to rescue people from the rubble. He had been super excited to watch the footage of his Dad saving so many people. "Did you get to meet her? Is she a fan of yours?"
That, apparently, was the wrong question to ask. Clark's jaw wired itself shut. "No. No I didn't."
"Oh..." That didn't make sense. "That why do you have her picture?" Jon looked at all the other other frames on the wall. "Who are all these people, Daddy?"
"These people," Clark took the frame of Nevaeh back, before lifting it up and hanging it on an empty space on the wall, "are the ones Daddy couldn't save."
Jon's eyes went wide. "You mean they're..." His little voice dropped into a whisper, as if what they both knew was some kind of secret. "They're... Dead?"
Clark nodded, perhaps unable to say anything else. It was hard to tell with grownups, but Jon was good at reading people. He reached out for his father, and grabbed into the man's hand with both of his own.
"Do you need a hug, Dad?"
Clark let out a breath. He wiped his face with the edge of the flannel shirt he was wearing. "Yeah. A hug would be great, champ. A hug would be great."

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2020 Mood: I want to read my fics but they arenât written yet.
Hm....
hello writeblr tag!Â
could you do me a favor and reblog this if you are a queer writer? iâd love to follow you! also - i do have an active writing server for queer writers called the queer library! weâre all a bunch of fun people and the server is for all ages! feel free to let me know if youâd like to join - but also, just reblog this so i can follow all the queer writeblrs out there!