#headcanons about Krypton

[natalievoncatte]

3. Dress

Kara wore dresses. Lena had seen her wearing sundresses and skirts and even a cocktail dress once, and of course she’d worn a dress at the wedding and look very

(Painfully)

pretty

(Gorgeous)

in it.

So it wasn’t as if Lena had never seen her in a dress before. Still, if you asked Lena to picture Kara in her head, Lena would imagine her best friend in khaki pants that hugged her hips and displayed the impressive girth of her thighs, and of course the buns of steel. She would further visualize Kara wearing a plaid button-down tucked into a broad belt that emphasized the inhumanly flat plane or her muscular belly or the broad set of her block shoulders.

(If she didn’t visualize her wearing nothing at all)

Dresses simply didn’t seem to be her thing. She just felt right when she was a little… masc, one might say. Kara had a way about her, a swagger that worked with the belts and a habit of setting her arms with her hands in her hips that emphasized her physique.

Lena sometimes wondered how a pair of glasses had actually fooled her.

For the last eight weeks or so, Lena had been living in Kara’s apartment, sleeping on the couch in a weird state of limbo after she sold her penthouse. They had decided that Lena would soon be moving, but not where or when. Obviously she’d stay close -her life was here now, after all- but she wanted a change.

In a way, Lena was following in Kara’s footsteps, trying to relate to the world as her whole self. She’d come upon the idea of using a sort of checklist- reinventing herself with the same ruthless efficiency she brought to the lab and the boardroom. That was one part of herself that needed to go.

Lena’s whole life was constructed. She did everything she for a purpose, and that purpose no longer meant anything anymore. There was no longer a Lex or a Lillian to outmaneuver, no longer a board to persuade or dominate. She was running the Foundation, but from her laptop, and had hired Sam to handle the financials. She wasn’t even meeting with benefactors; she had people for that. Her main work focus now was a science education program for elementary school girls.

It was so liberating, not having to be the badass boardroom bitch. She’s stopped straightening her hair, abandoned her contacts in favor of chunky glasses, and, in a colossal shock to everyone, Kara included, stopped dyeing her hair black, a habit she’d picked up and kept because it pleased Lillian and kept up because stopping would be annoying.

She had even worn sweatpants. In public. Everyone in her family had been gifting her goofy clothes to wear; she was currently swaddled in a “Why Hex a Little When you Can Hexalotl” t-shirt that Kara had regifted, originally from Nia.

That was when Kara walked out of her bedroom area of the loft and Lena’s brain spun around and smacked against the front of her skull.

Kara was dressed to the nines in a black a-frame halter top mini dress that bared her shoulders and magnificent back, and she’d matched it with dark eye shadow and plum lipstick that was striking against her sun-kissed skin, and a pair of strappy high heels.

“Hey,” she said, sounding glum.

“Where are you off to?” Lena said, trying not to add the mental dressed like that.

“A date,” Kara sighed.

Lena kept her face even, despite the fact that her mind had just ripped in half. She was desperate to know why Kara sounded so glum, and also flat fucking terrified.

The idea of Kara going on a date horrified her. It made her instantly sick with worry -not just for Kara which was honestly a little silly- but because… because…

Lena was suddenly very aware that she didn’t want Kara to date. At all.

(Because she should be dating me)

Which sucked, because Kara was straight, because there was a god and he hated Lena Kieran Luthor and her accursed blood. That had to be why Lena was cursed to suffer a crush on

(be madly in love with)

the perfect girl who came from the sky.

“You look lovely,” said Lena. “Have fun.”

Kara blushed for a moment, then Looked at Lena a little oddly, a little forlorn.

“I’ll text you.”

Okay.

Kara left, and Lena was alone in Kara’s

(their)

loft with just herself and Zillow open on her laptop.

Lena browsed for a while, but none of the places looked right. They were all as if HGTV had puked onto an old house. The minimalism and open concepts reminded her too much of her Old Life. She wanted quirky. She wanted unique. She wanted a place that reflected who Lena really was.

Jesus H Christ, was this a mid life crisis? She wasn’t that old.

Lena was startled out of her reverie when the door swung open and Kara stormed in, slammed it shut, and kicked off her shoes, storming barefoot across the loft.

“Fucking asshole,” said Kara.

Lena blinked, stunned by the profanity, only to be filled with outrage.

“Kara? What happened?”

“This is the last time I let someone at work set me up on a date. I didn’t even want to go, Alex badgered me into it.”

Lena put her computer aside. Kara grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and popped the lids with her thumbs as she sat down, which was literally one of the hottest things she did on a regular basis. She offered Lena one and took a pull on her own.

“He was a jerk,” said Kara. “I tried asking him whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and he just said ‘who cares’.”

“Kara, a hot dog is a sandwich. We’ve been through this.”

Kara glared at her. “I’m not doing this again, Lena. Not until you admit that a burrito is a sandwich.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“The last straw was when he told me I shouldn't work out so much. He said my muscles make me look like a man."

Lena blinked. "Where did your coworkers find this jerk?"

"Accounting. He wouldn't shut up about his finance degree. He insisted on paying for everything, too. Oh, and he told me I eat too much! All I did was order some appetizers!"

Lena drained her beer and grabbed another. She listened patiently as Kara vented about this guy and the other various jerks she'd gone one date with.

"I'm doomed, Lena. Every guy is a dick and insecure around me."

At around this time, she finished beer five. Lena nodded.

“Even if I think it’s working I lose the spark. Like when James finally wanted to go out with me and I was just like ‘nah.’”

“James… was nah for me too,” said Lena.

(Honestly, Kara, you should try dating girls.)

“Wait,” said Kara, “What?”

Oh.

She said that one out loud.

Shit.

“Um,” Lena said, lamely panicking, “I um, that was a joke, I meant… well it… worked out for your sister?”

Kara gaped at her.

Lena swallowed hard. “Would you believe it sounded funny in my head?”

“Have you… ever dated girls?” said Kara.

Lena’s stomach almost shot out of her throat. She put her most recent beer down to keep it from sloshing as her hands shook. She looked at Kara, who looked back, expectant… and hopeful?

“Yes,” Lena admitted. “Jack was the only man. I ever dated except James, but there have been women, too. Not that many. Despite my reputation I was never that social.”

“Who?” Kara asked, immediately.

Lena licked her lips. “Andrea.”

Kara stared. “Andrea? Andrea Rojas? Really?”

“It was a teen thing that ended in our eariy twenties, but it was serious. So do you remember how I told you I knew Roulette from boarding school?”

Kara nodded.

“Well, I knew her, um, biblically.”

Kara snorted. “No way. Who else?”

Lena smiled. At least she wasn’t being weird about it.”

“You’re not saying no to trying it yourself,” said Lena.

Kara looked away.

“I…”

She took a drink of beer.

“There are no queer people on Krypton, Lena. There weren’t, I guess I should say.”

The pain in Kara’s voice made Lena shift closer, set aside her drink and curl a hand softly around her arm.

“You don’t have to tell me this if it hurts.”

Kara shook her head. “I… my culture would not allow anything, uh, gay. Or homosexual. Like we literally don’t even have a word for it, it’s so foreign to us. We were taught that the only acceptable pairing was for the best possible offspring. Most of my people didn’t have sex at all, it was all artificial. My aunt and uncle were some who did, they had Clark naturally.”

“So Kryptonians can’t be gay?”

Lena’s heart sank.

“I didn’t think so, but, there was this girl once and she made me feel something I never felt before… and seeing her made all of my other feelings feel different. After I saw her I suddenly felt like I was just going after guys because I was supposed to. Even when I was with Mon-El I had this feeling that… I mean it felt good and I liked being able to cut loose but it felt like…”

Lena waited, not wanting to push her.

“Frankly, it felt like using him as a sex toy. Nothing else in our relationship really felt that deep. Even when he came back and went to Argo with me, I was more happy about my mother seeing me continue our family line than I was about him actually being with me. The second time he left I almost felt relieved.”

“That’s a lot, Kara. I had no idea.”

“I had no idea you liked girls either,” said Kara.

“I really do,” Lena admitted. “Who was she, this girl that stole your heart? High school crush?”

“No,” said Kara. “I met her as Supergirl. The first time I ever saw her, I saved her.”

“Very romantic.”

Kara sighed. “She was the prettiest. She’s so soft, so inviting, and whenever she looks at me I feel like she’s staring right through me, seeing everything in a good way. She’s smart and kind and brave and she has the prettiest blue-green eyes and one of them is a little more blue and the other is a little more green.”

Lena felt the blood drain from her face as her hand shook. Kara smiled wistfully.

“I was always too scared to say anything. I didn’t think she’d ever want me the way I want her.”

Lena looked up and met Kara’s gaze.

“I want more than to not be alone,” said Kara. “I want to be understood. I want to be with someone but I want to be together with someone I can be alone with. Somebody who gets me, who likes what I like, who takes joy in sharing the things we love. Who looks really cute in my clothes. Especially the hexalotl shirt.”

Lena blinked.

“Oh.”

(Oh)

“I like all that stuff but also blondes with big muscles who fly.”

Kara lunged across the couch and had Lena’s arms in her grip, and suddenly was lying on top of her, in that dress. Lena stared up at her.

“I wonder who we know who fits that description,” said Kara.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Kara smirked and leaned down, bringing her lips to Lena’s, and Lena honest to god moaned into her mouth as the kiss deepened, panting with excitement. As if her intentions weren’t obvious, Lena ground herself against Kara, working her thigh between her legs.

“I thought you were straight,” Kara blurted out.

“As spaghetti,” said Lena.

“What?” Kara blinked.

“I’ll explain later. As great as that dress looks on you, darling, it’d look better on the floor.”

[dio-icarticaae]

It's a minor pet peeve of mine when somehow de-powered Clark (usually via red sun radiation) is portrayed as just being a regular human. He's not.

Kryptonians are aliens, and logically, for Clark to be able to do all that he does under a yellow sun, Kryptonians should be able to do something similar (though far less powerful) under a red sun too. Why would Clark be able to take in energy from the sun if Kryptonians didn't do the same on Krypton?

A kryptonian under a red sun (or depowered Clark) should still have keener senses than a human and be able to see in more wavelengths; maybe still able to move a little bit faster than a human could or be a little bit stronger. Be more durable than a human too. The mechanism for heat vision would still be there, just less powerful (maybe emits closer to infrared?) Maybe a Kryptonian under a red sun can't fly, but they can glide/hover/jump a lot further.

Anyway, the point is: Clark's an alien. Even without his powers, he's still an alien.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

one of my favorite clark headcanons that i have (that is completely unsupported by canon) is that he's transgender by kryptonian standards. martha and jon kent raised him as a boy and as he grew up he never had any reason to doubt it at all, he was like yeah i'm a boy, makes sense. and then he gets to the fortress of solitude for the first time and it turns out how Gender works on krypton was just Different enough that clark doesn't really fit the kryptonian standards of whatever he was supposed to be. bonus points because this makes him feel like even more of an outsider as a kryptonian, even if he's the last one left.

[arson-jellyfish69]

In some superman lore, red sunlight doesn't surpress Superman's powers, it just doesn't charge them/ doesn't charge them as much as yellow sunlight.

What if the low energy output of a red sun caused all life on Krypton to evolve to latch on and store any and all possible energy (food, sunlight, some types of radiation) and during dire situations, Kryptonians could use weaker versions of their powers to protect themselves?

Kinda like when humans are threatened our bodies produce adrenaline and burn a lot of calories for like 10 seconds of unbelievable strength. Kryptonians do a similar thing +stored solar energy to occasionally fly away from threats or use superstrength for a few seconds?

[lgbtimelords]

the argo trials: food

Quick summary of what I found on krypton's food: basically nothing.

"Kvornish tri-snout" is the only meal with a name I could find, it's from Supergirl (2016) issue 7.

There's a bunch of comics that are set on Krypton or have memories of Krypton but unfortunately, none of them really show them eating. So, I've taken the liberty of making shit up.

By this old map of Krypton we can tell it has a "Great Krypton Sea" and a few rivers and lakes, because of that it's likely that they had a lot of sea animals. Fish would be a big part of their food.

And, because of the "Scarlet Jungle", they'd have at least some animals like snagriffs, rondors, hounds, moles and more, as mentioned here. As well as different plants, herbs and fruits that they would be able to cook with.

So basically, I think in the good old days before Krypton started to decay, their food would be based on meat and plants. Later on, when they started to use up their resources, they had to find a way to eat with more artificial foods, kinda like energy bars with the amount of nutrients necessary for the day, and resort to off-world foods (which we know that Kryptonians had relations, at least to visit, with other words because of this:

So trades for food are not unlikely.)

As for the argo trials:

I made up Khulufehk which is basically soup (because we know our girl Kara is canonically not a good cook). Khuluf means warm and ehk means water. (thank you kryptonian.info)

PS: if you do know of any comic or ep of a DC show that mentions any Kryptonian food and you tell me, I'll love you forever

[shoot-i-messed-up]

what are your favorite headcanons about Krypton (yours or anyone else's)

Oh god. I saw this question, and I was like, man what do I think about Krypton?

I’ve been thinking mostly about Krypton in the context of my superlantern arranged marriage au, in which (for plot reasons) it’s a communistic (in the sense that the government controls the economy) oligarchal authoritarian regime with (obviously) heavy amounts of creative liberty.

To be honest, outside of the context of Clark being from there, I don’t really think about Krypton itself that much. Honestly, I probably think about Kryptonian fashion more than I think about the overall culture (the designs from STAS are cunty as hell imo, and those fanarts where Kryptonian clothes look almost South Asian-esque? Even cuntier).

I will say, I’m not a big fan of the depictions of Krypton where it’s this militaristic colonizing empire for various reasons, one of which being that it undermines the illegal immigrant / refugee aspect of Clark’s character. But I also don’t love the depictions where it’s this futuristic utopia that Clark is supposed to be a shining paragon of to Earth, because that feels…weird. Like, to me Clark is just a guy? And that also feels, somehow, like it’s dehumanizing the Kryptonians via exoticizing them? Like, I know they are literal aliens, obviously, but in my head, Krypton is just another civilization, where they definitely have technology more advanced than Earth but the people aren’t inherently morally better or worse than humans inherently are. People are people everywhere yk yk

I think the only Krypton headcanons I put in my writing consistently is that Kryptonian sexes/genders aren’t 1:1 with the gender binary Earth typically has (at least, in the dominant western culture). I just find it unlikely that alien genitalia can look exactly like human genitalia, even if you can chalk up the rest to convergent evolution and/or Jor-El purposefully picking a planet where the people look like Kryptonians for Clark to grow up on. I also find it unlikely that a bunch of alien cultures (cough, looking at u Green Lantern lore) would only have 2 genders. Like, tons of cultures on Earth already have 3 or more genders, why would aliens have only 2??? (shoutout to Katma Tui, who I hear says that she specifically is not the same gender as a human woman)

Because that was a total nothingburger of an answer, I’m going to hijack this question to talk a little more about some of the worldbuilding I’m doing for the superlantern arranged marriage au. Here are some of those aforementioned creative liberties:

birthing matrices are actually only available to the upper class because they're expensive (which makes Krypton an extremely eugenicist society, also). This has made it so the upper class is basically “genetically optimized” into peak physical condition a la Batman or Deathstroke—not as powerful as canon Superman is, for sure, but still gives them a major unfair advantage over the middle and lower classes in a lot of things. (This will also make the high class far less genetically diverse, which this AU’s version of Lex will take advantage of. Haha spoilers for something I might never write)

the whole society is basically a society of those STEM majors who think they’re superior to hums majors and that the humanities are pointless and dumb

culturally, Krypton is isolationist and xenophobic because they used to be the Kryptonian Empire, before one of their enemies attacked and exploded their moon, and then they withdrew their troops to be closer to home to protect themselves, a la the fall of Rome

people who can afford it (so, high class people, really) make clones of themselves so they can 1) have potential organ donors for themselves and/or 2) have kids that don't have anyone else's genes in them. The only reason lower class people have clones is if they sold the rights to their DNA to a company that wants to make clones of them, like, say, if they wanted to make clones of a really beautiful person to become prostitutes (is that fucked up or what? Anyway, I'm Rod Sterling).

Clones can't vote for the logical argument that then people could be able to clone themselves for infinite votes. (This authoritarian regime does technically have elections.) This is logical, but it does not allow clones their own political voice and kinda makes it legally institutionalized the sentiment that clones cannot become their own person

Krypton was supposed to explode because of overmining destabilizing the planet's core like 20 years ago, but Jor-El, in this Krypton lives AU, saved them! Yippee!! (but they still have high environmental and economic consequences to deal with! Namely, earthquakes, a la For The Man Who Has Everything)

I have homebrewed some completely canon inaccurate "rules" as to how surnames work. In canon, it seems to be that women generally take their father's full names as last names, and men just take their House names, but because I also homebrewed an unnecessarily elaborate gender caste system AND I wanted Clark's name to be Kalark Jor-El instead of just Kal-El (BEAR WITH ME I KNOW IT SOUNDS STUPID BUT I CAN'T WRITE A SHIP BETWEEN TWO GUYS NAMED KAL AND HAL), I also had to figure out the surname rules.

SO basically, the lineage system is ramage-based (which I learned about from this Worldbuilding Notes video), which here, basically means that when you marry, you and your spouse can choose to be either of your House or of your spouse's House, regardless of both of your genders, and then your child will be considered part of that ramage. If you and your spouse go under your House, then your child can either take your name as a double-barrelled surname or the House name as a single-barrelled one, but not your spouse's name or their House's name. The Head of House will always take the name of the House as their surname, as will those in the House who either intend to be in line for the Head position or are of the gender kiaz that traditionally becomes the Head of House. For example, Seyg-El (a kiaz) is the Head of the House of El, and Zor-El (a kiaz, albeit younger than Jor-El) likewise only takes "El" as their surnames.

Other genders traditionally take their ramage-line parent's full name as their surname, although there has been a decent breakdown in gender norms, enough so that many (though not most) Kryptonians of other genders simply take the single-barrelled House name, rather than their parent's full name. One example of this in my story is Jor-El himself (a miffa, the lowest gender in the hierarchy), who is a pretty progressive guy (for a noble), and took on a single-barrelled name to reflect his progressiveness/modernness. Kinda like how women IRL will keep their own surnames after marriage or give their kids double-barrelled surnames that are combinations of their own surnames and their husbands'. However, Kalark himself takes on his father's name as a double-barrelled surname, even though he also is a modern and progressive miffa, because he's proud that his father is the Savior of Krypton.

clones simply take the surname of the House, but more like in a "property of the House" kinda way rather than a "I am the House" kinda way. This AU's Kon-El is an example, but this AU's version of Lex Lu-Thor (a Kryptonian if you couldn't tell by the name lmao) is an exception because he wanted to make it clear that he wants people to think of him as Lu-Thor's son more than his clone (Lex is Lu-Thor's clone here, and so is Kon. I swear this makes sense in-story).

Krypton used to be an ally of Mars

the people of Krypton (as do the rest of the galaxy) generally respect the Green Lantern Corps, bu they specifically very much distrust the Guardians because they know what they did to Mars

um. yeah that's pretty much it! Krypton to me is neither a dystopia nor a utopia, and though it's its own distinct culture and civilization, it can reflect IRL Earth in interesting allegorical ways, like the city in Green Lantern: Far Sector.

[mias-deardens]

Jor-El is almost always framed as this older man, with at least some salt-and-pepper hair going on to highlight his age and wisdom, but the more I think about it, the more I want to see a young Jor-El.

Like imagine Clark building/going to the Fortress for the first time, and he’s in his early-mid twenties, and he sees the Jor-El hologram. Clark sees himself just after graduation.

And Jor-El, he’s brilliant, sure, but the scientists’ guild on Krypton doesn’t listen to his warnings cause they see him as a kid. And he can’t even put together a good argument because he hasn’t been taught to make one to the guild yet and he can’t keep his emotions in check when he tries and just sounds hysterical.

Or maybe they play it the way they did in My Adventures with Superman, where Clark hasn’t even hit double digits yet and sees this overwhelming, domineering figure and is terrified. Then he goes back years later and that menacing, war-hardened face is actually just as scared and inexperienced as he is.

And whatever knowledge is embedded in the Fortress and the AI comes out sounding wise and omniscient cause that’s how it’s supposed to be delivered, but words that actually come from Jor-El, his hopes and dreams for his son, his depiction of Krypton’s end, they’re all filled with emotion and character and little verbal and physical tics and habits that make it so much clearer to Clark that there’s no grand plan. He wasn’t sent to Earth to save it or conquer it or teach them.

He was sent to live, by a terrified young man who just wanted to give his son the chance to do so.

[soullessjack]

okay sorry I’m going full autism here but I am so obsessed with how fucking weird Kryptonian physiology is and all the implications of it. Like

Kryptonians do not have powers on Krypton. They’re exclusively a side effect of Earth’s lesser gravity and yellow Sun, but why would their biology only be affected by a singular planet light years away from them, and why does their biology include the capability for bending metals and shooting eye beams and seeing through solid materials? There’s nothing in Krypton’s environment to suggest that those are natural survival mechanisms, like human hair is for warmth–and even if it was, they’re useless mechanisms because they can only be applied under another planet’s specific environmental conditions.

Jor-El’s hologram makes it a point to mention to Clark that he will develop powers, and those powers could lead to people becoming afraid of him. If Kryptonians are functionally humans on their planet with powers that only exist under the conditions of another specific planet, how does Jor-El know about them or to warn Clark about them? How does he know fear will be an inevitable reaction from the people of Earth? Have Kryptonians ever gone to Earth before, or are there other planets that activate their powers? Does Krypton have a history of accidentally inciting fear with their abilities that could warrant Jor-El including that as a warning for what Clark could face after they develop?

Could different reflections of sunlight, like moonlight or an eclipse or even a rainbow, affect Clark’s powers? Could they make him weaker or stronger or give him entirely different powers altogether? There’s a STAS episode where that one weather control guy filters the sun’s energy into exclusive red rays that significantly weaken Superman, but what could other rays do?

Kryptonians don’t necessarily need food or drink to survive and sustain themselves, and can basically photosynthesize yellow sun energy. But then, why would they be naturally dependent on another planet’s light source for energy, and why would they have mouths and teeth and a digestive system if their energy intake isn’t exclusive or necessary in that form?

Kryptonite is essentially the equivalent to our radiation, uranium, etc lethal radioactive materials. How could an entire race exist or develop to utopian standards of life on a planet made of radiation? Are their powers a product of being constantly irradiated by their own home? Do I know too little about earth radiation to understand any of this? (Yes).

I’m sure there’s answers lying around in the comics somewhere, and I’m even more sure these are all just questions that don’t have answers because most comic book origins were simplistically constructed and later-expanded ideas without any real solid backing. Also, I am just autistic and really into biology and knowing the reasoning of things, so this only matters to me for those express purposes

[starz-n-stuff]

Dc x dp headcanon/prompt idea thing! If u wanna use just tag me on here with a link if it’s ao3 or wherever else

What if the GIW controls what’s accessible on the internet? Okay so imagine that for whatever reason Tim Drake has a laptop from Danny or maybe Tucks PDA:

“Hey, Tim, you called while I was in class so now you’re on speaker and everyone can hear you.” Danny tells him quickly before he can say anything.

“Alright,” Tim doesn’t seem to care if the class is able to hear, “so the laptop is fine now, but it wasn’t letting me into some things, citing an error code that shouldn’t exist so I did some digging and Danny is there only one network provider in Amity?”

“Yeah, everyone uses it, why?”

“I think they’re controlling what is visible to you all on the internet. Because there’s no result online for Superman or, or, the Justice League, none of that.”

You could hear a pin drop in the classroom, even Lancer, who had been intending to tell Danny to hang up or take the call into the hallway was staring at Danny and the phone, spinning a pencil in his hands.

“Who… who are those people? Superman and…” Danny trails off.

“Superman is an alien from the planet Krypton. Our sun gives him powers like flight, heat vision, ice breath, and a whole lot more.” Tim explains, “and The Justice League is an organization of superhero’s dedicated to protecting Earth and its inhabitants. If they knew about Phantom or Amity, or had received any sort of distress call they would’ve sent someone over with a similar power set and helped train Phantom, since he’s a newer hero.”

It’s silent in the classroom. Nobody has anything to say.

“Can you fix it?” Danny asks, voice scratchy from the burning in the back of his eyes and throat.

So yeah— I know nothing about technology n stuff so feel free to like play around with the idea. Also did anybody else’s teachers make us answer our phones on speaker if they rang in class? Or was that just my terrible high school?

[urdreamydoodles]

For DC, would you mayhaps write about picking them up when they aren't expecting, or just didn't think you could, almighty writer?

DC COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You pick them up as if they weighed absolutely nothing

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara, Dinah Lance, Wally West, Victor Stone (Cyborg), Garfield Logan (Beast Boy) & Lobo

Reply to anon: If I understood your request correctly (I really hope so), I love you for this request, it was so fun to write this headcanon.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

- It is a rare thing to catch Bruce Wayne off guard, a feat most would deem impossible. He is a man of precision, calculation, and control, his every move rehearsed in the dark solitude of his mind long before it is executed. And yet, when you lift him into your arms with the ease of a shadow passing over the city, all his legendary foresight shatters in an instant. His breath stutters—just once, imperceptible to anyone but you—and his gloved hands instinctively grasp your shoulders, as if to confirm the absurd reality of what is happening. The weight of Gotham’s protector, cradled so effortlessly against you, is a secret victory that sends a slow smile curling at the edges of your lips.

- "Tch," he exhales, the sound more air than voice, his dark eyes narrowing in something between astonishment and begrudging amusement. "You’ve been holding out on me." His pride does not allow him to admit the full extent of his surprise, but the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your arms betrays him. Bruce Wayne is not a man who enjoys being caught unaware, and yet—there is something in the way you handle him, something in the unwavering steadiness of your grip, that quiets the usual tension that knots his body like a bowstring drawn too tight.

- He does not struggle. He does not order you to put him down. No, he merely tilts his head, calculating, the sharp angles of his face betraying the ghost of a smirk. "I assume you have a reason for this," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear. "Or do you just enjoy surprising me?" It is a challenge, an invitation, and perhaps, in some small way, a confession. For all his formidable strength, for all the ways he has trained himself to never relinquish control—there is a part of him that does not mind being held by you.

- Later, when the moment has passed and Gotham calls him away once more, he does not mention it. But you notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his fingers brush against your wrist just a little longer than necessary. And when, the next time, you reach for him with that same effortless power, you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk upward—just for a second—before he allows himself to fall into your embrace.

Kal-El (Clark Kent, Superman)

- The sky belongs to him, the very air bending to his will, the world itself no heavier than a breath upon his palm. And yet, when you lift him into your arms, when you cradle the Man of Steel as if he were something as light and effortless as a whisper, it is his turn to be left breathless. His blue eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of disbelief that dances through them like a shooting star. "Whoa," he exhales, the sheer sincerity in his voice making you laugh. "Did you—did you just—?"

- He does not finish his sentence, because the answer is obvious. He is here, weightless in your grasp, and despite all reason, he cannot quite seem to wrap his mind around it. He has lifted mountains, shifted tectonic plates, carried entire cities upon his back—but this, this is something entirely different. He peers down at you with a mixture of awe and delight, a boyish grin breaking across his features, and suddenly, he is not Superman, not the Last Son of Krypton, but simply Clark—a farm boy who has just been shown a new miracle in a world that he thought he had seen from every angle.

- "Well," he laughs, resting his hands lightly on your shoulders, his touch warm, steady. "I guess turnabout is fair play." He is not used to being the one lifted, the one held, and there is something undeniably endearing about the way he lets himself be carried, as if surrendering to the simple joy of the moment. His grin softens into something fonder, something gentler, and his voice dips to a lower timbre, laced with that impossible tenderness that only he can wield so effortlessly. "You are full of surprises, aren’t you?"

- Later, as you stand together beneath the open sky, he will wrap his arms around you and lift you high into the air, spinning you in a slow, weightless circle, as if to remind you that the universe still bows to his strength. But the truth, the quiet, unspoken truth, is that he will remember this moment—not for the sheer impossibility of it, not for the surprise of being lifted, but for the way you looked at him as you did it. As if he was something precious. As if he was something worth carrying.

Barry Allen (The Flash)

- One second, he is standing before you, mid-sentence, hands moving animatedly as he rambles about some impossible feat of science, some breakthrough that only his mind could possibly keep up with. And the next—he is airborne. Suspended. A blur of red and gold frozen in time as you hoist him effortlessly into your arms, his entire train of thought derailing so spectacularly that for the first time in what is possibly ever, Barry Allen is at a complete and utter loss for words.

- His blue eyes blink, wide with sheer, unfiltered astonishment. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, as if struggling to find a logical explanation for what just happened. "What—how did you—" He pauses, glances down at himself, then back at you. "Okay. Alright. This is fine. This is normal. Totally normal. This is a thing that happens." His words come faster now, a breathless tumble of disbelief and delight, and despite the initial shock, there is no fear—only pure, infectious amusement.

- And then he laughs. Oh, he laughs—bright and bubbling over, like the crackle of lightning against an open sky, his body practically vibrating with sheer giddiness. "I mean, I know I’ve swept you off your feet before, but this—this is a whole new level." His arms loop around your neck, dramatic and theatrical, his head tilting back as he lets himself be cradled as if he were some fairytale damsel. "Be honest, you’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?"

- He will tease you about this for weeks, recounting the moment with exaggerated flair to anyone who will listen. But there will also be the quiet moments—when he leans against you just a little more than usual, when his hands linger at your waist as if remembering the steady strength of your arms. And maybe, just maybe, the next time you catch him at full speed, he will let you lift him once more—just to feel, for a fleeting moment, what it’s like to be caught by you.

Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman)

- The daughter of gods, sculpted from sacred clay, raised among warriors whose strength is the stuff of legend. To surprise Diana is no easy task, for she has spent centuries honing herself into something divine, something unyielding. And yet—when you lift her into your arms, when you cradle her as if she were no heavier than a whispered prayer, the Goddess of Truth is rendered momentarily speechless.

- Her lips part, her brows lifting ever so slightly, and though she does not gasp, does not falter, there is an undeniable flicker of astonishment in her gaze. "You are stronger than you appear," she muses, her voice warm, touched with something akin to admiration. A warrior recognizes another, and in this moment, she sees you in a new light—not merely as her love, but as something formidable, something unexpected.

- And then, she smiles. Not a small smile, not a coy smirk, but something radiant—something that reaches her eyes, that sets her entire face alight with unmistakable joy. "Impressive," she hums, resting a steady hand against your shoulder. "Though, I must admit, I rather enjoy this perspective." There is a teasing lilt to her voice, a challenge dancing at the edges of her words. It is rare for anyone to hold her in such a way, but she finds, quite unexpectedly, that she does not mind it at all.

- Later, she will return the favor with ease, sweeping you into her arms without effort, carrying you across battlefields, across cities, across oceans. But in that moment, in the quiet space between surprise and laughter, she allows herself to rest in your hold, to relish the warmth of your embrace, to be held—not as a warrior, not as a princess, but simply as a woman who loves, and is loved in return.

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

- Arthur Curry is not a man accustomed to feeling small. He is a king, a warrior, a force of nature bound in muscle and salt, the weight of oceans resting upon his shoulders. He has wrestled sea monsters the size of mountains, stood unyielding against the fury of the abyss, and emerged from every battle with the untamed, feral grin of a man who belongs to the storm. But when you lift him—when your arms curl around him with a strength that defies reason, hoisting him off solid ground as if he were nothing but driftwood—his entire world tilts. His golden eyes widen, stunned, his calloused hands gripping instinctively at your shoulders as if the sea itself has betrayed him.

- "What the—?" His voice is a startled rumble, a sharp bark of laughter cutting through the shock. His thick brows furrow, then lift, his expression wavering somewhere between indignation and absolute, boyish delight. He has never been handled like this, not even by the tides he calls home, and it is as absurd as it is exhilarating. "Alright, alright, I get it," he grumbles, though his smirk betrays him. "You’ve been hiding those muscles from me, huh?" There is no protest, no attempt to reclaim his dominance—only the rough, teasing warmth of a man who knows when to yield to the unexpected.

- He tests you, just a little, shifting his weight in your arms as if daring you to drop him. But you don’t. Not even close. And something in his grin turns sharper, more wicked, because he loves this—loves being surprised, loves the way you refuse to let him be the only powerful one in the room. "Damn," he chuckles, low and approving, his gaze sweeping over you with something hungry, something possessive. "That’s actually kinda hot."

- When you finally put him down, he doesn’t step back. No, he lingers—crowds close, his massive frame still buzzing with the thrill of it. And then, without warning, his arms are around you, hoisting you off your feet with ease, spinning you in a full, dizzying circle before crushing you against his chest. "Had to return the favor," he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with laughter. "But next time, sweetheart? Give a king some warning before you knock him off his throne."

Hal Jordan (Green Lantern)

- Hal Jordan is weightless before you can even blink. A man accustomed to soaring, to the rush of flight beneath his ribs, he has never once imagined himself being lifted—not without the emerald glow of his will forging the sky beneath his feet. But now, here, in your arms, held effortlessly with no ring, no power beyond the sheer impossible strength of you—Hal is, for the first time in his life, truly speechless.

- "You—hold on, what?" His voice cracks, laughter bubbling out of him in a disbelieving rush. His hands press against your shoulders, his pulse hammering with something electric, something wild. "Oh, no way. No freaking way." His mouth splits into a grin, bright and reckless, his green eyes alight with sheer, giddy amusement. "Are you messing with me? Is this some kind of—?" But no, there’s no trickery, no constructs at play, just you, standing solid beneath him while the world spins wildly out of sync with everything he thought he knew.

- And he loves it. Oh, he loves it. Because Hal Jordan lives for the unexpected, for the thrill of new frontiers, for the rush of facing the impossible head-on. And you—lifting him like he’s nothing, standing there with that knowing smirk—you are a whole new adventure, and he is utterly, shamelessly hooked. "This is amazing," he declares, wrapping his arms around your neck, leaning in close, grinning like a devil who has just been handed the keys to heaven. "You do realize I’m never gonna let you live this down, right?"

- He doesn’t stop talking about it. Ever. The next time the League gathers, he flings an arm around your shoulder and grins at the others. "You guys won’t believe this," he announces, smug and gleeful. "This one? Picked me up like I was a damn sack of potatoes. I mean, look at me! Look at this!" And when the teasing inevitably turns back on him, when Barry is cackling and Diana is arching a knowing brow, Hal just shrugs, utterly unapologetic. "Hey," he says, looping his arms around you once more, flashing you that impossibly charming, infuriatingly smug grin. "What can I say? I’m into it."

Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

- Oliver Queen has spent his life dancing on the edge of danger, slipping through shadows and fire with the unshakable confidence of a man who always lands on his feet. But this—this was not in his playbook. One moment, he’s standing there, all easy smirks and smooth arrogance, and the next? His feet leave the ground, his entire world tilting as you lift him with effortless strength, cradling him as if he were something delicate. And for the first time in years, Oliver Queen has no immediate comeback.

- "…You’ve got to be kidding me." His voice is flat, stunned, as his hands instinctively grip your shoulders. His green eyes blink once, twice, his mouth parting in absolute disbelief. "Did that just—did you just—?" And then it happens—the breathless chuckle, the slow realization, the sudden shift from shock to pure, unfiltered amusement. A wide, toothy grin breaks across his face, bright as wildfire, and before you know it, he’s laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained. "Oh, I love this," he gasps between chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I love this. Are you seeing this? Someone take a picture—no, wait, don’t, I have a reputation to uphold."

- He throws himself into the bit immediately, draping an arm over his forehead as if he’s some swooning noble. "My hero," he sighs dramatically, peeking at you from beneath his lashes. "How will I ever repay you for saving me from the perils of standing?" His grin is wicked, challenging, but there’s something beneath it—something warm, something fond, something that lingers even as his laughter fades into something quieter, something real.

- Later, when he’s sprawled beside you, still smirking, he nudges your side with his elbow. "You know," he muses, tapping his chin, "I think I might need saving again sometime soon." And then, without warning, he flings himself at you, arms wrapping around your neck with all the grace of a man who knows damn well you’ll catch him. "Quick, sweetheart," he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Before gravity kicks back in."

John Constantine

- John Constantine has seen many things in his life—things that would shatter the minds of lesser men, things that slither and whisper in the dark, things that crawl beneath the skin of the world and rot it from the inside out. But this? This is something else entirely. One second, he’s standing there, cigarette between his lips, coat draped lazily over his shoulders, and the next? He’s airborne. Lifted. Weightless. And utterly, utterly done with this reality.

- "Bloody hell," he curses, his usual rasp of sarcasm momentarily failing him. His cigarette nearly tumbles from his lips as he grips at your arms, wide-eyed, indignant. "You having a laugh, love?" But you don’t waver, don’t so much as break a sweat, and that realization sends something flickering through his gaze—something wary, something intrigued, something dangerously close to impressed.

- "Well, that’s just embarrassing," he mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose, tilting his head as he eyes you with newfound consideration. "And here I thought I was the one with all the tricks up me sleeve." He shifts in your arms, testing the hold, then smirks, lazy and sharp. "Alright then. Carry on, darling. Just make sure you don’t drop me—I’d hate to spill me pint."

- Later, when he’s sitting with you, fingers tapping against his glass, he glances your way with something softer hidden beneath the bite of his words. "Next time," he murmurs, swirling his drink, "maybe give a bloke a warning before you decide to turn his world upside down, yeah?" But there’s no real protest, no real annoyance. Just the lingering, undeniable truth—he liked it. He liked you. And that, perhaps, is the most dangerous magic of all.

Roy Harper (Arsenal)

- Roy Harper has been thrown, knocked down, and sent flying more times than he can count. But this? This is different. One second, he’s standing there—grinning, cocky, weight shifted lazily onto one hip—and the next, his feet leave the ground. For the first time in a long time, Roy Harper is caught instead of doing the catching. His mouth opens, a sharp inhale of surprise, his arms flailing for balance, but there’s nothing for him to do except accept it. And he absolutely, completely does not know how to handle that.

- "H-hold up—wait—what the hell?" The words tumble from his lips in a startled bark of laughter, his hands instinctively clutching at your shoulders. His blue eyes are wide, scanning your face for some kind of explanation. "You just—how did you—?" His brain stutters over itself, trying to make sense of it. It’s not that he thinks you’re weak—hell no—but he knows how heavy he is, how solidly he’s built, and the fact that you lifted him like he was nothing? That’s something else entirely.

- Then, of course, the reality of it sinks in, and Roy Harper, being Roy Harper, does what he does best—he leans into it. "Damn, babe," he whistles, his signature smirk creeping across his face. "If I’d known you were this strong, I’d have made you carry me around ages ago." He shifts slightly in your arms, testing your grip, then settles in with an exaggerated sigh, draping an arm over his forehead like a damsel in distress. "Guess I don’t need to hit the gym anymore—got myself a personal lifter right here."

- And when you finally put him down? He doesn’t walk away. No, he sticks close, bumping his hip against yours, looking up at you with a mix of mischief and something warmer. "You’re full of surprises," he murmurs, his voice dropping just slightly, almost thoughtful. And then, with a wicked grin, he adds, "So... how do you feel about carrying me to bed, sweetheart?"

Koriand’r (Starfire)

- Koriand’r is no stranger to flight, to weightlessness, to the effortless way she moves through the sky with the sun’s fire at her back. But being lifted by you—by your hands, your strength, your unwavering confidence—is something she has never felt before. And it stuns her. Not out of fear, nor shock, nor disbelief—no, it is something softer, something warmer, something that spreads through her chest like the first rays of dawn.

- "Oh!" The delighted gasp slips from her lips as her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, golden eyes blinking in wide-eyed surprise. For a moment, she simply looks at you, studying your face, as if committing this feeling to memory. And then, as quickly as the surprise came, it melts into sheer, unrestrained joy. "Oh, my love!" she exclaims, her voice a bright melody of laughter, her fingers tangling in your hair as she tilts her head. "This is wonderful!"

- She does not hesitate to make herself comfortable, resting easily in your hold, her warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight. "You are so strong!" she praises, her voice dripping with admiration, her eyes glowing with pure, genuine awe. "Why did you not tell me before? We could have done this so many times!" There is no embarrassment, no hesitation—only the full, boundless embrace of a woman who loves fiercely, who takes nothing for granted, who cherishes this moment for all it is.

- And later, when you place her back down, she does not simply walk away. No, she hovers, her hands still cradling your face, her lips pressing a kiss—soft, lingering, grateful—against your cheek. "I must carry you next," she declares, her voice rich with excitement. "It is only fair!" And then, before you can protest, she sweeps you into her arms, laughing as she soars into the sky, twirling you through the air in a radiant, dizzying dance of love.

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

- Kara Zor-El is used to being the strongest person in the room. She has spent her life holding back, careful with every touch, every movement, every breath, always hyper-aware of her own power. But you—lifting her so effortlessly, holding her as if her strength does not matter—it knocks the breath from her lungs in a way no villain, no kryptonite, ever has.

- "Wha—wait, what?" Her voice is higher than usual, startled, her hands gripping your shoulders instinctively as her legs dangle in the air. Her wide, blue eyes blink rapidly, scanning your face for some sort of answer. "You—you picked me up?" She sounds offended for a split second before the reality of it truly hits her, before the corners of her lips twitch and something suspiciously close to a giggle bubbles in her throat. "You picked me up."

- And then she’s laughing—full-bodied, bright, joyful—because it’s so ridiculous, so absurd, and so absolutely wonderful. "Oh my god," she wheezes, her head dropping against your shoulder as she shakes with laughter. "I love this." She leans back, resting easily in your arms, grinning up at you with an expression so full of delight it’s almost blinding. "How are you this strong? Have you been holding out on me? Are you secretly Kryptonian? Oh my god, are we long-lost cousins? Should I call Clark?"

- When you finally put her down, she immediately tests you again—jumping at you with zero warning, wrapping her arms around your neck, trusting you to catch her. And when you do? She beams. "Again," she demands, eyes bright with exhilaration. "Again!" And suddenly, she’s obsessed. She will never let this go. You have doomed yourself to a lifetime of Supergirl dramatically flinging herself into your arms at the most inconvenient moments.

Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)

- Slade Wilson does not like surprises. He is a man who calculates every outcome, who moves with precision, who keeps his world meticulously controlled. He does not get caught off guard. But this—the sudden shift in gravity, the impossible strength behind your touch, the way his feet leave the ground—this is a surprise so profound that, for one fleeting second, the legendary Deathstroke is stunned.

- His single eye narrows sharply, his body tensing instinctively, a thousand battle instincts screaming at him to react. But there is no attack, no enemy—only you, holding him like he is something fragile, something weightless, something you can control without effort. And that—that—is what truly catches him off guard. "Well," he rumbles, his voice dangerously low, "this is new."

- He does not panic. He does not flail or struggle. No, Slade Wilson merely analyzes, his sharp mind whirring as he studies your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly—so slowly it’s almost imperceptible—the corners of his lips twitch into something that is almost amusement. "You’ve been keeping secrets," he murmurs, the faintest ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "That’s dangerous."

- When you finally set him down, he does not step away. No, he lingers, his presence a solid, immovable force as he tilts his head, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. And then, just as you think the moment has passed, he reaches out—gripping your wrist with a strength that rivals your own. "My turn," he states simply, before sweeping you up effortlessly, his smirk widening as he watches your expression shift. "Now, let’s see how you handle surprises."

Kent Nelson (Doctor Fate)

- Kent Nelson is a man who has lived through centuries of battles, his mind tethered to the ancient wisdom of Nabu, weighed down by the knowledge of the cosmos. He is not easily shaken. He has fought demons, walked through dimensions where the laws of gravity bend and break, and seen the rise and fall of civilizations. And yet, for all his experience, for all his wisdom, nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment when you pick him up like he is no heavier than a feather caught in the wind.

- His body stills immediately, the flowing gold of his cloak pooling in your arms, his gauntleted hands frozen mid-motion as if his mind is struggling to catch up with his reality. He has faced eldritch horrors that defy comprehension, but this—this is something else entirely. "...Interesting." The word is measured, calm, but you can hear the faint edge of bewilderment in his voice. Beneath the helmet of Fate, his expression remains unreadable, but you can feel the way he is processing. Analyzing. Calculating how this is even possible.

- "There are few beings in existence who could accomplish this," he finally murmurs, and the weight of his words is almost laughable. But there is something else beneath them—something softer. Awe. Intrigue. A deep and abiding reverence for the unknown, for the mysteries of the universe that even he has yet to unravel. And right now? You are one of those mysteries. A puzzle he had not anticipated, but one he finds himself eager to solve. His fingers trail along your shoulder, light as a whisper, as if trying to feel the power beneath your skin.

- And then, in a rare moment of levity, the corners of his lips curve into something that is not quite a smile but something like it. "I wonder," he muses, "if Nabu knew about this." There is an unmistakable note of amusement in his voice, and you can tell—tell—that he is already planning the next time he can test your strength again. Doctor Fate may be bound to destiny, but Kent Nelson? Kent Nelson has just discovered something infinitely more interesting than fate itself: you.

Rachel Roth (Raven)

- Raven is used to control, to restraint. She has spent her life mastering herself, holding back, ensuring that nothing—not a single tremor of emotion—escapes without her permission. But control means nothing when you sweep her off her feet without warning. One moment, she is standing in the comfort of your presence, and the next, the world tilts—her balance stolen, gravity defied—and she finds herself cradled in your arms.

- "What—" The word is cut off, her breath catching in her throat, violet eyes wide and blinking as if she has glitched. It is not fear—Raven does not fear you—but it is shock, raw and unfiltered, slipping past the walls she has so carefully constructed. No one lifts her. No one dares. She is Raven, daughter of Trigon, wielder of darkness, but you—you lift her as though she is made of something far lighter, far softer. "...How?" The question is quiet, but laced with something dangerously close to wonder.

- And then, after a long, weighted pause, her lips part again. "Put me down." The words are flat, carefully neutral, but the telltale blush dusting her pale cheeks betrays her. You hold her a moment longer—just long enough to see the way her fingers twitch as if fighting the urge to grab onto you—and then, finally, you comply. The moment her feet touch the ground, she crosses her arms, tilting her chin slightly as if regaining her composure. But the faintest flicker of amusement sparks in her eyes. "You could have warned me."

- But later—later—when she thinks you aren’t looking, you catch her staring at you. Calculating. Considering. And the next time she finds herself in your arms? There is no sharp inhale, no startled demand to be put down. There is only the way her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, the way she allows herself to lean into your warmth. And if, just once, you hear the quietest whisper of "Again." as she buries her face in your neck, well... you say nothing.

Zatanna Zatara

- Zatanna is a performer. She has dazzled crowds, charmed audiences, and bent the very fabric of reality to her will with a flourish of her hands. She is a woman who makes the impossible look effortless. But what she does not expect—what she cannot predict—is you pulling a trick of your own. One moment, she is speaking, hands gesturing mid-sentence, and the next, she is in the air, her words dissolving into a startled gasp as she finds herself in your arms.

- "Well, hello there!" she exclaims, blinking in surprise before laughter spills from her lips, bright and genuine. "Was that part of the show? Because if so, I think I missed my cue." Her dark lashes flutter as she tilts her head, studying you with a slow, appreciative smirk. "And here I thought I was the one full of surprises." The twinkle in her eyes is unmistakable, a magician recognizing another masterful trick.

- "You have to tell me how you did that," she continues, wrapping her arms around your neck in a movement so seamless, so graceful, that it’s as if she was always meant to be there. "Strength spell? Secret training? Or—" she leans in, voice dropping to a playful whisper, "are you actually just a natural-born showstopper?" There is no flustered stammering, no embarrassment—only delight, only curiosity, only the unmistakable thrill of discovering something new.

- When you finally place her back down, she takes a step back, then claps her hands together. "Again." The demand is immediate, playful. "I need to know if it was a fluke! We must test this thoroughly." And just like that, you have created a monster. Zatanna will not let this go. From this day forward, any time she catches you off guard, she will jump at you just to see if you’ll catch her. And when you inevitably do? She’ll flash you that signature grin and purr, "Abracadabra, darling."

Dinah Lance (Black Canary)

- Dinah is a woman who stands her ground. She is not used to being swept off her feet—not figuratively, and certainly not literally. So when you do it, when you lift her with effortless ease, her first instinct is not to gasp, nor to flail. No, her first instinct is to fight. Her muscles tense instinctively, her fists clenching as if ready to counter, before her brain catches up and realizes—oh. Oh.

- "No way," she breathes, blinking as her lips part in pure, undiluted shock. "No. Freaking. Way." She actually leans back in your hold, looking at you with something between disbelief and sheer respect. "You’re kidding." Her voice wavers with something suspiciously close to laughter. "You did not just pick me up." But you did, and it is glorious.

- And then—because she is Dinah Lance—she grins. "Damn," she exhales, whistling low. "Okay, okay, I see you." And just like that, her shock melts into admiration, her blue eyes practically glowing with mischief. "Guess I better step up my training, huh? Can’t have my own girlfriend outmuscling me." She claps your shoulder when you set her down, shaking her head with a smirk. "That was impressive."

- But from that day forward? Dinah challenges you. Random push-up contests, lifting competitions, anything to test just how strong you really are. And if you ever lift her again? She just throws her head back and laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck and whispering, "Alright, babe—you win this round."

Wally West (The Flash)

- Wally West is used to moving faster than the eye can see, faster than thought, faster than the speed of sound. He is kinetic energy made flesh, a man who cannot be caught, cannot be contained. He is motion incarnate. So when you lift him off his feet—effortlessly—the sheer absurdity of it freezes him in place. His body, which has always been a blur of momentum, stops. And for the first time in his life, Wally West is utterly, completely still.

- "Whoa—whoa, whoa, whoa!" His voice cracks mid-exclamation, his arms flailing comically before his brain catches up. "What just happened? Did I trip? Did I pass out? Did I break the time stream again?" His hands immediately pat down his own chest, as if confirming that he is still in his body, that this is, in fact, reality. But the reality is this: you are holding him, carrying him without effort, and that? That should be impossible.

- His blue eyes widen, blinking rapidly as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. "You picked me up?" The words are barely above a whisper, his voice laced with an almost childlike awe. "You—just—picked me up?" And then, all at once, his expression shifts. His lips curl into a slow, mischievous grin, and a spark of amusement ignites in his gaze. "Oh, I see how it is," he drawls, looping his arms around your neck as if settling in. "You like sweeping me off my feet, huh?"

- From that moment forward, he turns it into a game. He will actively try to surprise you, using his speed to dodge your attempts—only to deliberately slow down at the last second so you can catch him anyway. And when you do? He laughs, bright and carefree, resting his forehead against yours with a smirk. "You got me again," he murmurs, voice warm with adoration. "Guess I’m falling for you all over again."

Victor Stone (Cyborg)

- Victor Stone is not easy to move, let alone lift. He is composed of reinforced titanium alloys, advanced cybernetics, a living fusion of man and machine. He knows exactly how much he weighs. He knows the sheer impossibility of what you are attempting. So when you do—when you lift him without struggle, without hesitation—his internal scanners glitch.

- "No way," he mutters, his voice layered with static interference as if his systems are struggling to process. His red cybernetic eye flickers slightly, running rapid recalibrations, recalculating physics itself. "Hold up—nah, this ain’t right." His brow furrows, fingers flexing as he subtly shifts his weight in your arms, testing your grip. But you do not falter. You hold him—steady, sure, unyielding. And for the first time in years, Victor Stone feels weightless.

- "I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended," he finally says, his tone a perfect balance of deadpan and deep amusement. "Like, damn, babe—this whole time, I thought I was the strong one." But beneath the teasing, there is something softer. Curiosity. Admiration. And something he does not voice, but you know he feels—trust. He has spent years reinforcing himself, ensuring that no one could ever carry him again, that he would never be helpless. And yet, in your arms, he does not feel lesser. He feels safe.

- When you finally set him down, he exhales a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. "Alright, alright—you got me," he admits, rolling his shoulders. "But next time? You gotta let me return the favor." And sure enough, he does. He waits for the perfect moment—when you least expect it—before scooping you up effortlessly, his deep laughter echoing as he grins down at you. "Yeah, see? Feels kinda nice, don’t it?"

Garfield Logan (Beast Boy)

- The moment you lift Garfield Logan, his brain short-circuits. His limbs flail wildly, his mouth opens in a silent gasp, and his entire body goes stiff as if he has just been yeeted into an alternate dimension. His emerald green eyes go comically wide, and his next breath comes out in a strangled, "WH—?!"

- "Did you just—?" His voice cracks mid-sentence. "Did you just pick me up?!" His hands instinctively grasp at your shoulders, but his fingers don’t clutch—they cling, as if his entire existence depends on holding on for dear life. "Dude. Babe. Love of my life. My entire world. Are you—are you even real? Because this? This should be illegal."

- And then, the realization fully hits him. The shock melts into something else. Something dangerous. His lips twitch, his expression morphing into pure gremlin energy. "Ohhh, this changes everything," he cackles, his voice practically vibrating with mischief. "You know what this means, right?" He leans in, his green skin practically glowing with delight. "You are now legally responsible for carrying me everywhere."

- And true to his word, he commits. The moment you set him down, he refuses to accept it. He will dramatically throw himself into your arms at every opportunity. Walking? Nope. Lifting weights? Absolutely not. Why would he ever do that when he has you? "Babe, please," he whines, arms outstretched, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy eyes imaginable. "I was made for this life. I belong in your arms. Carry me. Carry me like one of your French girls."

Lobo

- Lobo is not used to being moved—by anyone. He is a Czarnian, a being of unmatched strength and durability, a walking tank with enough raw power to go toe-to-toe with Superman. He has never been overpowered, never been handled. So when you do it—when you lift him with ease—his entire soul leaves his body.

- "What the frag?!" The expletive leaves him in a near roar, his crimson eyes blazing with shock. His first instinct is to fight, muscles tensing, but then he realizes—you’re not even struggling. You are holding him like he weighs nothing. The Main Man. The Last Czarnian. In your arms. And it is so baffling, so completely ridiculous, that he just... stares.

- And then—then—he starts laughing. Howling. "Oh, this is priceless," he chokes out between laughs, his voice booming. "You just—pfft—you just picked up Lobo like he’s a damn kitten?!" His laughter is raucous, unrestrained, but there is no resentment. No wounded pride. If anything, he looks at you with a newfound respect. "Alright, babe, I see how it is. You got guts."

- But Lobo is not one to be one-upped. "Next time, though?" He leans in close, his grin sharp and challenging. "I ain’t goin’ down without a fight. You wanna sweep me off my feet? You better earn it." And true to his word, he tests you after that—deliberately throwing his weight at you, seeing if you can keep up. And when you do? When you always catch him, every single time? He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, wraps a massive arm around your waist, and murmurs, "Damn. I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

[mamawasatesttube]

It always gets me excited when anyone mentions Tim’s neck scar from the warehouse explosion!! In the comic panel it looks severe but I never see anyone talk about it. Do you have any thoughts or headcanons about it?

YESSS tim neck scar enjoyers rise up!!!

as for thoughts and headcanons, i have some some vague ones yes! i think in general it's some severe scarring that took several months of skin graft operations and such to help heal. it's part of why the rr cowl is integral to him, imo - keeping the back of his head and neck covered and protected becomes a priority while it's still delicate and healing. and also he just generally wants to minimize exposed skin after that explosion. it prob leaves him with some hypertrophic scarring that's eventually covered by hair again, but more visible on his neck (part of why i also hc that he tends to wear high-collared shirts and turtlenecks + grows out his hair afterwards).

also alongside this, for the gays among us: i generally hc kon going to emt classes (like, as kon-el/superboy/supernova) because after last stand of new krypton, he's like man i could use ttk in medical contexts to save people all the time if only i knew how. so he shows up to a class like hi i have telekinesis please teach me what to do with it. and alongside that once he figures out that tim's got some significant scarring that sometimes locks up and gives him mobility issues or pain, kon also slides into an occupational therapist's office like heyyyy could you mayhaps give me some pointers on how i could use my fabulous Tactile Telekinesis to help out my best bro I MEAN a hypothetical guy who has this sort of scar-related muscle tension. tim finds this vaguely mortifying at first but melts So fast because it turns out that kon's ttk neck massages are godly.

[natalievoncatte]

On Krypton, vows had meaning. Proclamations were not made lightly, and promises were not given casually. Kara’s peers wouldn’t throw one out as a reassurance, or to settle an argument. They were a logical people. They didn’t deceive, didn’t speak words they didn’t know to be true, and didn’t give opinions that were not informed. Society was ordered and regimented, and everyone put the greater good before themselves. So if you made a promise, no matter how great or how small, you would do it.

Kara learned, later in life, that a lot of her birth culture was, to use an English word that had no equivalent in her language, bullshit. Kryptonians would, she thought, claim that they had no use for such a vulgar term for cavalier prevarication because they did not practice it. That would had been a lie.

Her parents bullshitted her. They bullshitted her about the society she was growing up in. Her world wasn’t a real of perfect logic and order, it was a hidebound, decaying ex-empire that put tradition so irrationally high on a pedestal that they let their world be destroyed and all but a handful of their people wiped out because tradition said that her uncle was wrong about the planetary core going unstable.

Nevertheless, when Kara made a promise, she meant it. When she said she’d vowed to protect her adoptive home with her life, she meant it. Those words all but signed her life away in service to the cause. She was this way in everything, from saving the world down to brining Cat Grant a precisely prepared cup of coffee. Her promises meant something.

That was why she filled herself with dread the instant a promise, given unthinkingly in the heat of the moment, tumbled out of her mouth.

I will always be your friend, and I will always protect you.

She’d dishonored herself with the promise, one broken as it was made. She held Lena tight, speaking with conviction, and promised to be a friend even as she lied, swore to protect even as she deceived. It was a promise that couldn’t be kept no matter what she did.

Kara had become human in so many ways, and it gnawed at her. Another English word that had no exact Kryptonian equivalent was freedom. A proper Kryptonian would be horrified at ideas that boiled down to “I can do what I want”; I can choose my career, my partner, my life. I can put fulfillment ahead of the role chosen for me by those who know better. Yet Kara had embraced it full throated, making choices whenever she could.

The one thing she would never give up was the value of an oath.

She was over the Pacific, thinking. She would come out here from time to time to think and clear her head when the city soundscape became overwhelming, and just let herself drift in the air. There were no texts to agonize over, no emails from Snapper, nothing but herself and the lapping of waves and the distant rumble of storms over the open ocean.

She’d been coming out here more and more of late, not to think but to avoid thinking.

Because Lena knew, and Kara knew something was wrong. She could be dense about human behavior sometimes, but she was no fool… and she had super senses. She could read Lena’s pulse and see infrared flush of her skin and spot micro-movements of her eyes. Kara wanted desperately to believe that nothing was wrong but her instincts said otherwise.

When Kara told her, Lena had gone stock still and stared at her with what Kara thought was hatred, bringing tears. She’d tried to tell her how sorry she was, but Lena had just walked right past her and only later returned to her usual self.

Almost.

Kara had thrown herself into it, going on a campaign of what Alex had called ‘peacocking’ for some reason, all but burying Lena with super-stunts like fetching fresh pastries from French patissiers. Lena had smiled and thanked her but there was something flat and distant in it, and Kara ignored it and insisted that all was well.

Out here, with just the storms and her secrets, she knew it wasn’t.

Kara fingered the crest on her chest, worrying her thumb over the crimson fabric of the El rune. This meant something. It meant both ‘hope’ and ‘stronger together’; the two ideas were inextricably linked but her cousin only understood one of the meanings, because Kryptonian pictographic language was complex, and he was not Kryptonian in any way that mattered.

That was another great failing, a promise that Kara made but didn’t keep. By her people’s standards, there was no shame in that; one did not bear the responsibility of a promise made under duress, or a promise that others demanded knowing that it couldn’t be kept.

The only one she’d kept Kryptonian was herself, deep in a secret corner of her soul that meant it if she said she’d be at your birthday party or bring you a donut. The part that treated promises like promises.

There was only one way to cleanse herself, and remove her shame. She knew what it was, but she was afraid. Kara had battled monsters and gods, faced death more than once, lost more than any person should have to lose in a dozen lifetimes, but there was one thing she feared above all others.

She feared that first honest look on Lena’s shocked face more than she feared an eternity without stars. She could live in the void between realities; a void without Lena would kill her more surely than any green poison.

Now. She had to do it now, before she lost her nerve. She flew back to the city, flew hard, slowing only to land on Lena’s balcony, softly. As she raised her hand to knock on the glass of the door, she hesitated, nearly turned back.

Lena opened it, and Kara let out a slow breath. Lena was wearing only a loose, flowing floral robe, with clearly nothing beneath it. Terror made her listen- if Lena had a guest in that state, Kara might just fling herself into the sun and be done with it.

She was alone. Lena shifted on her feet.

“Why are you all wet?”

Kara’s hair was damp with sea spray and she’d flown through a few clouds on her way back.

“I like to fly over the ocean and think.”

“Well, come in here already. Let me get you a towel. Do you want something to change into?”

Kara swallowed hard. No. She wanted the honor of her family on her chest right now. She needed it to make her brave, like her father said it would when he sent her into the void. She did take the towel.

Lena had been enjoying her tea and sad breakfast -toast with jam- before Kara arrived. She left it on the counter and sat on her couch, leaving Kara to pace.

“I can tell you’re upset,” said Lena. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” said Kara. “I have a lot to say and I don’t know how to say it. I haven’t told you the full truth and I have to. I need to. It’s eating me alive inside.”

Lena swallowed hard, her heart racing.

“Please don’t tell me you’re Batman, too.”

“Lena, this is serious.”

Kara swept across the room and knelt in front of her, and Lena’s eyes shot open wide in surprise. Kara looked at the carpet in front of her, unable to look Lena in the eye.

“A long time ago, I promised you I’d always take care of you, and I didn’t. I was lying to you when I said it and I lied to you for years after.”

“Kara…”

“Please,” desperation choked her voice, “let me finish. I owe you the full truth. I promised, and promises are sacred to Kryptonians. My soul will be stained forever unless I fulfill the oath I made.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yes it was,” said Kara. “It was to me. It was everything to me. Please.”

Lena cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“I told you I lied to you to protect you. That was another lie. That’s not why I did it. I lied because I was weak and I put my own feelings ahead of doing what was right. I was scared. I was scared that if you knew it would change how you saw me and it would change our relationship. You were the only person I could almost be myself with and I didn’t want that to change. You were a safe person I could go to without having to be Supergirl.”

Lena was studying her, a soft hint of skepticism in her expression.

Kara stood up and paced.

“I don’t know how to do this, Lena. I may act human and look human but I’m not. I grew up on another planet with another culture and so many things about this world are just totally different from how I was raised.”

Kara took a deep breath.

“On Krypton we didn’t have queerness. People didn’t value freedom of choice. You did what society told you to do. You joined the guild you were pledge to at birth and married the person you were told to marry and had the offspring you were told to have and raised them to do the same thing. The same fucking thing.”

Lena sat up at Kara’s sudden, vehement profanity.

“I didn’t know the word freedom until I arrived here. I had no concept of it. I had no idea how fragile and precious it is. Sure, I talked about it and wrote essays about it in school, but I didn’t get it. Not until I met you.”

Kara looked at Lena.

“You are my freedom. You’re the first thing I’ve ever chosen, really chosen, in my life, besides being Supergirl. It was you that made me look Cat Grant and Alex both in the eyes and say ‘no, this is what I want, this is how it’s going to be for me and it’s my choice, not yours.’ Back home I never, ever would have even thought what I’m about to say now.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid it would change our relationship. I was afraid you’d hate me because I kept the secret too long, but I was also afraid of what has to come after confessing my identity to you, Lena. The next part is even harder.”

“Kara,” Lena began.

“I have feelings for you.”

Lena went still, her eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“I want to be myself with you. My whole self, my real self. Not the person I think I have to be to please someone else. I want to tell you everything you want to know about my home and my people and my life and I want to know everything about you. I want to hear you laugh for me and see the look in your eyes when you’re happy to see me. I want to care for you when you’re sick and hold you when you’re sad and be the person that matters to you like you matter to me.”

Kara sucked in a deep breath.

“I used to think I was happy just being Kara with you. Not being Kara Danvers or Kara Zoe-El, just me… but I’m not me without both of those pieces and being without them isn’t good enough. I want you to know the real me. The girl from Krypton who went to high school in California.”

Lena stood up slowly, clearly forcing her breathing even. She adjusted her robe around herself, and looked at Kara for too long a time, silent.

“I hurt you when I promised I’d protect you and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“What do you want from me? To tell you it’s okay?” said Lena. “Is that what you want? Because it’s fucking not.”

Kara flinched. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Lena had given her this courtesy and she’d give it in return.

“It wasn’t just you, Kara. I built my whole life around you and your friends and they became my friends. You gave me a normal world. I got to be a regular girl when I was with you and the others. Do you have any idea what that means to me? What you did to me when you ripped it away? Do you have any idea how you’ve torn me to shreds?”

Kara choked a little, and tried to hold back the tears, and failed.

“I killed Lex. I killed him and I hid his body, myself. I killed my brother for you. And the worst part is I’d do it again. If it was him or you I’d kill him again.”

Cold dread flooded through her.

“That was my fault. That was exactly the kind of thing that I should have protected you from, and I failed you." Kara's breath hitched as she bit back a sob. "I should go."

Lena moved quickly and grabbed her arm tight. "Don't you fucking dare leave. You can't just say those things to me and leave."

Kara's nostrils flared as she sucked in a big breath.

"Lex told me who you were as he was dying. He showed me."

Kara looked at her. "Oh."

"I started to hate you. I started to believe the things he said about you. And what happened then? You told me! You just blurted it out!"

Lena choked down a sob of her own, and something in Kara shattered. Tentatively, carefully, Kara pulled her into a gentle hug, and Lena let her.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Lena whispered into Kara's chest. "I've lost everything."

Kara held her closer, breathing the soft scent of her shower-damp hair.

"I don't know what to do either," Kara admitted. "I just knew I couldn't bear to lie to you again, even by omission. I'll go if you want."

"You're not leaving," said Lena. "I don't want you to go. Promise you won't leave me."

Kara shivered. "Lena…"

"Promise."

"I promise," Kara whispered.

[vervepain]

Lena Luthor, but she has a severe mental illness…in a fun way?

Hottest hot Supercorp take: I wish there were more fics where the Luthor family had a serious problem with highly heritable bipolar disorder.

Like Lionel has it, this leads him to develop alcohol addiction and have a string of affairs.

He passes it to Lex. Who well…turns the sun red during what is in part a manic episode. (Obviously he was probably planning for longer than a single episode…people can be evil and mentally ill.) (I just think it would be fascinating to see Lena grapple with the issues of: he was my brother, and kind when I moved to Luthor Manor, but evil…if he also had decreased capacity.) okay okay

And Lena. Lena was really smart. She took herself to the doctor, and then the psychiatrist and got her own diagnosis. And she started Lithium at 16 after a mild manic episode in which she: a) hallucinated all of the spice girls working as custodians in her school and b) wrote a clean energy manifesto. Sometimes she also has to take an a-typical antipsychotic.

She’s also secretly in therapy.

I just think this would be a cool headcanon, because then the whole “Kara, you have to stop me from turning into my brother thing.” Becomes much more…not plausible…but like understandable?

And Kara probably has fairly evolved notions of psychiatric illness. Kara also probably would find antipsychotics rather primitive and horrifying (they have kind of terrible side effects, like sometimes losing teeth. Krypton would have figured out how to keep teeth and brains together.)

But I think Alex might be kinda weird about it. “Kara you cannot date a Luthor. And do you want to date someone dealing with all that?”

Um…but mostly I had this thought because of the sick fic potential. I guess a small percentage of people on lithium have chronic nausea? Like they just vomit once a week or more. My original thought that got all this going was Kara finding Lena vomiting in her office late and night and flying in. And Lena groaning from her waste basket saying:

No, no, I’m fine. This is happening because I am the good Luthor. The good medication compliant Luthor.

But yeah…Lena as calculating and mildly condescending to a lot of people around her would hit different were she: always dizzy, and her toes had just gone numb.

[frownyalfred]

My real angsty Kryptonian culture headcanon is that if Clark wasn't raised speaking krytonian and only learned it later, of their generation (the last generation of krypton) Kara would technically be the last true native speaker

From what I understand, a language is considered a dead language either when it's no longer spoken in everyday (non-academic) contexts or when it's last native speaker dies

So I'm just imagining Kara finding out Lois is pregnant and half begging Clark if she can teach Jon krytonian as he grows up so he's raised bilingual and their language won't die with her

Something about someone learning/teaching a language for the next generation’s sake always gets me.

I also like to think Bruce quietly teaches Kryptonian to all of his kids so that Clark and his children/family have someone to speak to when he’s gone.

[lgbtimelords]

the argo trials: argo city

I, unsurprisingly, spent a whole lot of time wondering how tf does argo city is mapped out so here's what I came up with:

Following the headcanon I created in the third chapter about Kryptonians liking circles and since Argo city is basically a big circle, this is the layout:

The main circle is the square, where people buy trinkets from the artisans guild and books from the science guild, among other things.

The second circle are the guilds. One building for each guild. And behind each of the guilds, in the third circle, are the houses of the people belonging to that guild.

Couples go to the "neighborhood" of the person with the highest ranking family name (which is why the Els are always in the science guild sector, even when Alura was living alone in it and she belongs to the lawmakers guild).

Also!!!! I was sooooo annoyed when I realized that Argo City has no mountains and since it's a fucking dome it wouldn't really have natural weather so I was like "where tf did that lake that's in the show comes from?", especially because it's a flying rock on space so it shouldn't have enough space for underground water AND the rocks outside (and by relation the rocks Below) are filled with kryptonite and that would make everyone sick even if there Is water underground. But we're gonna be delulu and smile and nod when I said there's underground water that gets filtered by the science guild :)

[franollie]

Elaborate on your Kryptonian fashion headcanons please!!!

Of course!!

I initially got inspired by these drawings of Jon by @jesncin the fabric, the patterns, the colors everything about it screamed krypton to me— in their AU Jon is part Indo because their Lois design is indo! Very very cute au you should totally go support them

The base of all Kryptonian clothing is the suit. From there, you can layer shawls, sashes, robes, etc.

Here’s some doodles I did exploring the fashion and meanings behind the robes.

Feel free to ask more questions; I’m always happy to share more of my ideas!