Au Idea

For the ask game:

Supercorp fic where Lena runs a popular webseries/blog about plants and plant care and Kara (one of her avid subscribers) is absolutely hapless when it comes to keeping plants alive and is constantly asking Lena for help only to fail spectacularly. Lena is *convinced* Kara is fucking with her on purpose, and kinda sorta hates her virtual guts

Lena isn’t naive.

When she made the decision to set up a discord server for her plant vlog’s followers, she knew there was a possibility things might get messy. After all, even while remaining anonymous — she can practically hear her PR team screaming at the idea of Lena Luthor running her own verified social media account — her comment section has always been 45% earnest compliments and questions from beginner botanists and 55% unabashed thirst over her sexy hands and soothing voice. Lena imagined any possible frustration caused by having to sidestep the occasional untoward overture would be worth the satisfaction she gets from teaching fellow hobbyists to take better care of their plants. It’s nice to feel like she’s being appreciated, for a change, to be allowed to play hero in a small way, different from L-Corp’s high-stakes idealism or Supergirl’s histrionic stunts.

(She still hasn’t managed to set up a meeting with National City’s super-powered alien in residence, but she’s certain it will be any day now.)

Lena couldn’t have predicted that the most aggravating individual on her server wouldn’t turn out to be a persistent suitor, but rather a member of the plant-loving minority.

If the violence this ‘Kvers’ person routinely inflicts on their houseplants can be considered love.

Why are my plant’s leaves yellowing? had been this idiot’s first, innocuous ask. Moments later, they’d followed it up with a picture of the brown, crisp remains of what Lena had only vaguely recognized must at one point have been a vibrant green ZZ plant.

Because it’s fucking dead, Lena had wanted to reply, suggesting instead Is it possible it’s near a window where it gets too much direct light?

My place does get a good amount of sun, Kvers had responded. I kind of prefer it that way. Lena had given her a list of plants that would fare better in those conditions, and hoped that would be that.

But it didn't end there; it’s actually only gotten worse. Kvers is in Lena’s notifications what feels like every other day now with fresh doubts and queries. Why do you even have plants, Lena is tempted to respond half the time, when it’s obvious you’re too much of a moron to even be trusted to take care of yourself?

Are banana plants supposed to tear this easily? comes the next question, combined with a picture of a Dwarf Cavendish that looks to have been ripped to shreds by a wind stronger than the average tornado.

“What the fuck,” Lena mumbles to herself. Some tearing is to be expected, they’re pretty frail, she replies, before snapping and adding I advise placing it a little further away from that jet engine you must have set up in your living room, however in a disgruntled huff.

Kvers sends her only a 😳 in response.

A fresh victim is presented to her a few days later, along with Kvers’s desperate plea of Can this little guy still be saved?

Pictured is the saddest Boston fern Lena has seen in her entire life: it’s bruised grey-brown and beige where it should be a vivid emerald, and when Lena clicks the image to enlarge, she finds herself frowning at what looks like a dusting of frost still clinging to the fronds.

Ferns can recover from freezing conditions but only if their roots weren’t also affected, Lena replies very professionally, her fingers shaking with silent outrage. Though I don’t understand why you’d keep a potted fern outdoors when it’s that cold. She’s beginning to wonder if this Kvers person is a genuine imbecile or an abusive prankster. Where do you live that you’re dealing with these weather conditions in August? she demands.

Oh, um, Kvers replies and then, after a few starts and stops, Southern California.

So Kvers is absolutely fucking with her.

It takes a week before they’re asking for Lena’s input again. This buddy is looking a little rough today, they post, do you think a good soak could help perk it back up?

The miserable money tree pictured is barely clinging to life. Lena peers through the furious red haze descending over her vision and swears it looks like its few remaining leaves are singed.

Lena’s patience has run out. Are you serious? she asks. Did someone burn your building down?

Small kitchen accident Kvers has the audacity to reply.

It’s the final straw in every sense of the word. Lena will not stand for this blatant abuse a moment longer, especially if it’s done exclusively for the purpose of getting her attention. Before she can think too much about it, before her rage recedes, she sends Kvers a direct message announcing she’s coming by for a home consultation.

Where in SoCal are you exactly?

As it turns out, Kvers is right here, in National City.

She’s also a bafflingly attractive — though fidgety — blonde.

Blue eyes widen and pink lips part when she answers the door, her shoulders so broad and her arms so beefy she takes up most of the space in the doorway to her loft. Lena probably wouldn’t be able to see past her, at her endangered plants beyond, if she still wanted to.

But she can tell her loft is well-lit, like she’d mentioned — she’s framed by the sun’s dying rays, her hair and skin golden and shimmering in a way not entirely of this earth.

This explains so much, Lena realizes, relieved. The wind. The frost. The burns.

Her would-be adversary is wearing glasses and her hair is up, and her flustered demeanor seems so awkwardly genuine that Lena wonders if the image this woman projects when she’s dressed in her more familiar reds and blues is the act — if this awestruck, faded-jeans-clad cutie is the real person that’s hiding underneath.

She looks far more human than Lena would have imagined.

“You’re Lena Luthor,” she finally manages to stutter out.

Lena regards her evenly. “Good to finally meet you,” she says, and, dropping her voice a little, “Supergirl.”

yes i am smart. yes i am stupid. it’s called being flexible.

the nightblood family we deserved

(Art Creds - @papurrcat )

The metaphor of the Heart of Etheria still has me emotional. All that magic, all that beauty was twisted and siphoned and contorted into a machine meant only for destruction, something that could potentially wipe out the entire universe. But then, in the shadow of all that destructive power, two women surrender to the love they’ve been keeping trapped inside themselves, after spending so long apart as a result of denying or not even recognizing that love, and just like their feelings come flooding out, the magic of the Heart is released and… Etheria is beautiful again. All that chaos and anger and destruction transmutes into something magical and good and alive it’s just… this show is so powerful.

SNEAK PEEK AT MY NEXT FIC.

In which Ava is raised by the OCS. Featuring Mama Bear Shannon, Cool Dad Mary, and Big Sis Lilith!

********

The doors to the Cradle creak open as a solemn parade of Sister Warriors file in. Mother Superion stands front and center to greet them, lips drawn thin in a stern grimace as the body of Sister Clare is carried into the room and placed reverently on an exam table. Her cane clacks against the stone floor as she slowly makes her way closer, gently lifting the cloth to reveal the face of their recently deceased Halo Bearer. Carefully, she turns the body, brows pinching in confusion as she observes the circular wound to her back.

"Where is Sister Shannon?" she inquires, searching the faces of those congregated for that of their next in line. She knows something is remiss when none of them will give her a straight answer, avidly avoiding her eye as she stares expectantly.

Her cane cracks against the table. "Do not make me repeat myself a third time! Where is Sister Shannon? Where is our new Halo Bearer?"

Before any of the other Sisters can answer, the door pushes open a second time and a familiar voice calls out, "She's right here, Mother."

Mother Superion turns, watching as Mary enters, slowly followed by Sister Shannon.

"What is that?" she demands, pointing an accusing finger at the large bundle of cloth cradled in Shannon's arms. "What is the meaning of all this?"

Hesitantly, Shannon pulls back a portion of the cloth to reveal a child, her head tucked tightly against the nun's neck. "Mother, I can explain..." she begins, only to wince as she's harshly cut off.

"Explain what, exactly?" she asks, her voice sharp and grating. "Why have you brought a child into our sanctuary? And where is the Halo?"

"That's... what I need to explain," she replies, shifting the girl in her arms as she starts to stir. "A civilian was killed in the crossfire – her mother. One of the possessed we were chasing crashed his vehicle into theirs. Her mother was killed on impact and she herself was severely injured. She would have died–"

"No." Mother Superion's eyes are steely. "No," she says again. "Do not tell me that you did what I think you did!"

Her answer comes in the form of a flash of light, the distinct glow of the Halo radiating through the layers of impromptu blanket as the little girl startles awake. Mary steps forward, laying a comforting hand against her back as Shannon gently rocks her in her arms, shushing her quietly as she begins to cry.

"Mother Superion," Shannon murmurs, "This... this is Ava. The Halo chose her and... she is our new Bearer."

— Luke Skywalker

“So,” Alex’s eyes flick from one blonde to the other. She doesn’t even have it left in her to be surprised. “She’s from another Earth?”

“And the future,” both Karas say at the same time. Kara, this Earth’s Kara, looks a little bit awed at the almost identical version of herself standing beside her.

There are differences, of course. This other Kara is older, though it’s hard to tell by how much thanks to Kryptonian physiology.

There are a series of lines in the corners of her eyes, and more freckles on her cheeks. Her hair is blonder than Kara’s, almost silver at the front on one side.

Despite wearing sweatpants and a threadbare MIT sweatshirt, she looks poised in a way Kara hasn’t quite mastered yet, almost regal.

Alex sighs.

“Must be Tuesday.”

-

Kara gives herself a tour of the tower. Apparently on Older Kara’s earth they work out of an abandoned castle somewhere. She won’t reveal too much, says it can be dangerous to talk too much about it, in case some things overlap.

They get along well, sharing matching grins as Kara leads them from room to room. A box of Brainy’s donuts are discovered in the kitchen and soon both Kara’s have full bellies and icing on their fingers. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Older Kara tell her that she thinks a fifth dimensional imp has something to do with her ending up here, and Kara nods along, knowing all about it.

“Lena can help,” Kara says casually as they enter the lab, where Lena sits among a series of spell books and equipment. She’s leaning heavily on one elbow, face down turned to the page she’s reading in a kind of concentration that makes her miss their entrance.

Her hair is pulled up into a quick bun, a few pieces slipping out around her face, and she has a pair of thick rimmed glasses perched on her nose that Kara knows she’s started needing to read the tiny print in her mother’s spell book.

She looks comfortable in the bubble of her lab, and as beautiful as she has ever been.

Older Kara pauses beside her, the easy posture she had adopted during their tour transforming into stony stillness.

“Lena,” she breathes. When Kara turns to look she sees her own jaw flexed tight, eyes wide and shining with what looks like shock but might also be tears.

It’s enough to get Lena’s attention and she turns to acknowledge them, looking from one Kara to the other with a raised eyebrow.

“Alternate dimension?” she asks easily, slipping her glasses up into her forehead to see them properly. Kara nods, eyes still trained on the older version of herself who is in turn still staring at Lena.

Lena nods.

“Cool. Hi,” Lena offers to the other Kara with a kind smile, dimples flashing, brain clearly already spinning with questions and curiosities.

Older Kara swallows thickly, and Kara’s brow crinkles. She looks from her to Lena who just shrugs.

“Hi,” Older Kara manages after too long, but then she’s clearing her throat, blinking something away as her posture loosens a little bit. “Sorry, uh. Hi. Hi, Lena.”

Her name sounds different on this Kara’s tongue, and Kara wonders why.

An awkward moment passes and then Lena stands from her stool. Green eyes zero in on Older Kara’s sweatshirt for just a moment, a flicker of something crossing her face just long enough for Kara to catch it.

Then Lena is looking between the two Karas before her and smiling again.

“Okay, then. Science or magic?”

-

They use both.

It’s simple enough once Lena has the details. She alters the transmat-portal watch to create fifth dimensional wormholes, muttering a few words over the now well used technology.

Older Kara never looks away from her. Kara never looks away from Older Kara looking at her. It’s a lot of staring.

At one point Alex comes to check on them, a cup of coffee steaming in one hand, looks between the three of them and shakes her head.

“Nope. No energy for whatever this is today,” and she turns right back around and walks out.

Lena solves the problem in an hour and when she holds up the watch with a bit of a smirk both Karas cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink.

-

The Karas are talking in hushed whispers on the balcony landing. Lena watches them with interest from the seat at her desk, unable to hear what they’re saying with her human ears.

Older Kara continues to look a little too serious. Kara — her Kara — looks confused and then bashful and then quietly devastated.

Lena’s halfway to standing, ready to go make sure she’s okay, when Alex pipes up beside her.

“Let’s just give them a minute.”

Lena nods, and sinks back to her stool, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against the tabletop while they wait. After a few more minutes of whispering together and a long hug in which four arms flex and squeeze with all the strength they have, the Karas come to stand before her.

“She’s ready,” Kara says, and her voice scratches in her throat like she might cry. Now she’s the one who can’t look away from Lena.

It makes Lena want to reach out and smooth a thumb against the line between her eyebrows, but she controls herself. Instead she presses her thumb against the button on the side of the watch.

A vortex of blue appears in the center of the room.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Alex waves off the older version of her sister.

“Bye, Kara,” Lena says easily, hoping to ease whatever fear has recently settled on Kara’s face, and both Karas hands flex at the same time, curling into self soothing fists.

“Bye, Lena,” Older Kara blinks quickly a few times, and after a long moment tears her eyes away from Lena to look at Kara.

“Don’t miss your chance,” Older Kara says seriously and two sets of matching blue eyes share a look that goes over Lena’s head.

Older Kara nods once, casts one last long look at Lena, and then disappears through the portal in a swirl of blue energy.

“What was that about?” Lena says, trying to keep her tone light amidst the weird lingering tension. She can’t imagine what would have Kara looking so grave.

Kara has her hands on her hips, brow furrowed. She stares after the older version of herself until all that remains are wisps of blue magic.

Lena looks at her expectantly, raising both eyebrows.

“Kara?”

Kara turns to her then, blue eyes shining with an unguarded intensity that burns like stars.

“I’m in love with you.”

Lena blinks back at her, lips parting slightly. From beside her Alex let’s out a low whistle.

Alex’s coffee cup hits the table and she pushes out her stool, heading for the elevator without giving either of them a second glance and muttering to herself.

“Oh, yep. Definitely not enough energy for this today.”

Part 7/7 - Previous / First

Track: ‘Enemy’ - Tommee Profitt, Beacon Light, Sam Tinnesz

Commander Fox figured he couldn’t become any more scared than he was now, having just watched Quinlan Vos take a grenade for him. He had felt that grip of fear so many times reading reports of his brothers, missing or in critical condition and wondering if he would ever see them again. But watching Quinlan throw himself at an explosive headed directly for Fox was surely some sort of peak, Fox believing he was about to witness the man he had come to love be blown apart in front of him.

Even now, knowing that Quinlan had used the force to redirect most of the shrapnel and part of the blast, Fox was still constricted in the feeling. Quinlan stood shakily, bracketed by Fox and his fellow guard brothers as they worked to keep him alive; though the Jedi still insisted on helping fight, and Fox was certain that if they lived through this then he had finally faced the worst. 

But kriff if his brothers were not always determined to prove him wrong. 

Fox could only watch in horror as Palpatine, the man who had abused him, ignored him, manipulated everyone and turned his family against him, was now slashing at those same brothers with a manic and pure evil Fox knew all too well. Though it wasn’t until Gree came sailing out of seemingly nowhere that Fox realized what was happening.

You have to be with them.

Suddenly his fear was dissolving in a flare of vicious love. His brothers wouldn’t make it without him. That cut to Wolffe's thigh would leave him too exposed, Ponds seemed just a bit too slow to be safe, and that fury Cody carried had him cutting it close. He knew it like it was all he could be, the feelings threatening to overtake him.

His brothers needed him. And he was done letting Palpatine stop him from being there.

The sudden grip on his arm brought him back to his present like a splash of cool water, and Quinlan's tear streaked face came into view. “Promise me,” he gasped as Fox let him lean into him for a moment. “Promise you’ll come back.”

To me.

Fox felt his anger at Palpatine recede. That final hate was now replaced by the love he had carefully built with the man before him, and it was in this new calm that Fox felt more sure than ever; more safe and determined then any moment before. He was at peace with what needed to be done. Taking the now offered saber, he let his hand rest a moment over Quinlan's and then pressed their foreheads together. Even with the helmet Fox could feel the connection between them, as if he was actually able to sense the Force.

And for once, maybe he could.

“I promise cyare, win or lose, I will find you.”

Quinlan heaved in a breath. “Then go, and beat the ever loving sithspit out of him for me.”

“Oh, happily.”

me