#kara twelves

[aceouttatime]

Alliums, for your patience.

Artfight revenge time! I've got @lunargazing-png's Kara and Azailick here on a little Citadel date after work <333 I had a blast drawing these two, and their story is super cool--if you haven't, go check them out!

[fictiongods]

Kara in the stronger together (1x2) ending scene with Alura is actually the most heartbreaking thing you will ever see and they added it just so I would cry. “Whatever it is you wish you could ask Alura, you may ask me.” “I’d ask for a hug.” Oh okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay, I’m fine. I’m good and fine. I feel so normal and fine and the mommy issues are un-quaked. Do you grasp this? All she wants IS A HUG FROM HER MOTHER. She wants to be held and protected by someone she loves and knows would hold her like she’s fragile, like she’s weak, and she wouldn’t be ashamed of that. She would be protected like she protects everyone else, but it’s a hologram so when she asks she can’t get it. She can’t hug her mother. Then in season three she got that hug. Finally, she got to be held and protected and safe and fragile and weak. She got her mother. And then she chose to leave that behind. Willingly. For the people she needed to protect. I hate it here Kara you precious little baby.

[karaspal]

kara on action comics’ next arc covers. at least she’ll be there. nat too. <3

[bobbinalong]

what earth names do you think otho and osul would pick if they had to pick some?

[jakascoo]

Kara: Well, needless to say. Uh-oh Spaghetti-os.

[kj-yikes]

Y’all I have half of a very smutty fic for today’s sctober prompt but I just do not have the energy to finish it today. But I did get to go to the library of congress and on the ceiling they have a painting specifically celebrating erotica as a literary form and I just think that’s beautiful

[formsofcontinuity]

chapter 1: partridge

“Did you know,” Kara alights on Lena’s balcony Christmas morning with a snap of her cape, words already out of her mouth before she’s fully landed, “that partridges are ground foragers? I mean, they can fly, but still, they spend most of their time on the ground!”

Lena has been waiting by the sliding door into her loft since Kara texted a few minutes ago to say she was on her way. The blonde’s hair is windswept, her eyes sparkling despite the mild annoyance in her voice. It’s unseasonably cold in National City this week, a place where Christamasses are often 70 and sunny, and Kara’s cheeks are rosy, though Lena’s still not clear on how much her Kryptonian best friend even feels the drop in temperature. 

As usual, Kara looks unfairly beautiful. 

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Lena responds dryly, breath catching as Kara strides into her personal space and begins to rub her hands vigorously up and down over the thin fabric of Lena’s long-sleeved blouse without preamble.

“Lena! Aren’t you freezing?” 

“I’ve been out here for all of two minutes.”

“It’s forty degrees.” Kara hasn’t stopped rubbing, her eyes searching Lena’s face for signs of, what, frostbite?

“Kara, darling, I’m fine.” Lena stops one of Kara’s hands with her own. She stills immediately, eyes flicking to their joint touch before she looks up again, sheepish…and cute, so cute. Kara drops her hands to her sides. Regret pricks at Lena, who suddenly feels very cold indeed. Instead of shivering, she laughs. “Come on in. What were you saying about partridges?” 

Kara dutifully follows her into the living room, dematerializing her suit. 

“I was saying that partridges are ground foragers.” 

“Yes?”

“Did you know?”

“Yes, I actually think I did know that. Lex used to hunt them.”

Kara scrunches up her nose adorably in distaste. “But they’re so cute!”

"They are." Lena tries for a straight face, with little success. “This wouldn’t have to do with the song, would it?”

“You know, I’ve wondered about that song my whole life–well, my whole Earth life–but it only just occurred to me to look it up and,” Kara puts her hands on her hips in manufactured outrage, but her pout is ruining the effect, more Superpuppy than Supergirl, "partridges don't nest in trees. A partridge would not be very happy in a tree."

"I doubt they even like pears." Lena turns her head to grin at Kara as she strolls toward the kitchen, egging her on. 

"Exactly!"

The apartment is sans decorations except for a large tree that her friend had insisted on bringing by last week, bulbs and ornaments hung erratically even though Lena had carefully picked out a color scheme of dark greens and golds, baubles bought at the store in advance of Kara’s arrival and presented to the blonde with an aggrieved air that they both knew was for show. But Kara had brought a bag of ornaments, too–some plucked from her own tree, some new she’d chosen especially (“Lena, look, I couldn’t resist. It’s a microscope. And here’s a little cat wearing a Christmas bow tie…)--and Lena had been powerless to say no, even as she watched her modest decorating schema deranged by a laughing snowman, dog Santa, and surfing reindeer.

This is their dance. All these years playing the same game: Lena trying to maintain her taciturn cool facade as Kara whirled in and disrupted everything. Except now Lena is willing to admit to herself that she wants to be disrupted, that the Kara whirlwind, that all of this, all of her, is everything she's ever wanted. It had taken her five years to admit it to herself; maybe, in another five, she’d tell Kara. 

"I think," Lena hedges, "it's supposed to be a religious metaphor," but Kara is already shaking her head as she pours herself a cup of coffee and mixes in copious cream and sugar, fully at home and moving around Lena's kitchen, around Lena, who's pulling biscuits from the oven, with practiced ease. A little trill goes through Lena at the domesticity of it all.

"No, no metaphors. I'm taking the song at face value, and I don't approve."

"The partridge is hardly the most asinine part of 'Twelve Days of Christmas'."

"You're right, but it's the first. It's what I'm supposed to– I mean, it's supposed to be a significant first gift, and it's a lie."

"I'm sorry, Kara." Lena chuckles, then resumes setting the table for their planned breakfast, a task she’d interrupted to stand watch at her balcony door–even though Kara was certainly capable of letting herself in.  

Kara takes her coffee and flops down in front of the tree, turning her gaze to Lena incredulously. 

“Are we eating at the table?”

Was that a trick question? “Yes?”

“It’s Christmas.”

"That…Is that a non sequitur?"

"It's best to eat breakfast in front of the tree on Christmas, Lena."

"Oh? It's best? According to whom, exactly?" To keep up appearances, Lena has to protest, but she's already sliding the coffee table closer to the tree, depositing her own coffee cup on a coaster. 

"Actually, it's mandatory." 

"Well, in that case," Lena tosses her hands up in defeat, "what choice do I have?"

Before she can backtrack for dishes and the food, Kara catches Lena's hand. For one long, ineffable moment, they just look at each other, fingers loosely tangled, Lena's heartbeat rapid, like a bird's. She thinks about those partridges, minding their own business in the high grass and then a single unfamiliar rustle, a strange scent on the breeze, sends them up, up into the air. Away to safety, maybe, but also vulnerable. Out in the open with the breeze ruffling their feathers, they're more liable to be seen, to be found, to be hurt.

Gently, Kara squeezes Lena's fingers before releasing her. Her voice takes on a serious tone. "I'm only letting you go if you promise to come back." She pauses, then adds, a smirk curling her lips, "With food. Come back with food."

And Lena does. She brings the bacon and biscuits and these delectable little egg bites she made from a Martha Stewart recipe, pleased when Kara's eyes widen in excitement. Lena settles onto the floor beside her, their bodies making multiple points of contact–arms, hips, thighs–as the blonde leans over to fill her plate. 

"I guess we're the ground foragers now," Lena offers while they eat, staring into the agonizing and glorious chaos of her tree. It's a half-joke, her uneasy attempt to make normal the feeling that her heart is flying free and wild and out of her chest for all to see. 

Later, they'll exchange presents, but the way Kara laughs just then, genuine and joyful, bumping Lena's shoulder with her own–that's the gift Lena's still thinking about hours later. That's the one that matters most. 

To be continued...

Also on AO3

[meyerlansky]

oscar had one monologue and i am now a tully stan

[sugarsnappeases]

poliziano wishes he could write an orpheus and eurydice musical that hits as hard as this one

[natalievoncatte]

Alex slowed her breathing, finally. She was okay. Kara was okay. Her sister was okay. There was a lot for her to think about after the last few days but right now all that mattered was that she was sitting on Kara’s couch holding a beer, just relaxing with her sister and the two cold ones she’d already slammed back.

Alex stretched out her legs and put her feet on the table. Things were going good. This Children of Liberty were getting mopped up, Kara was… Kara seemed okay, she had a date with Jimmy (James! *James!*) Olsen’s hot sister that she had a feeling was going places, and it looked like the next few weeks or months would settle into a run of the mill routine of alien mop-ups and bank robberies, while Kara was in the running for a Pulitzer.

Alex sighed, contentedly, and then Kara popped up from the couch and said “Lena’s in the hallway.”

Alex smiled secretly to herself.

“Go get ‘er,” she said, stifling a burp. “Tiger.”

Kara shot back an odd look, and Alex wondered when she’d figure it out herself.

After all, filling an office with flowers was not a romantic gesture. Nor were the saves and hugs and little forehead touches. Alex and Nia had talked about starting a betting pool. Shit, there were rumors in the press.

It seemed that Lena and Kara were the only two people in the world that didn’t realize that dropping almost a billion dollars on a whim for someone is not what friends are fucking for.

Kara rushed to the door and yanked it open.

Lena stood in the hallway looking shellshocked and shaken, eyes wide and trembling. Kara half-lifted, half ushered her inside and slammed the door.

“Lena?” she said. “Lena what is it, what’s wrong?”

Alex sobered up in an instant -mostly- and was on her feet. She saw the bulge in the pocket of Lena’s hoodie and fixed her eyes on it. Lena seemed to remember that she had something in there and pulled out a gun.

“Lena?!” Kara chirped.

Alex’s hand flew to the nonexistent holster on her hip; she’d locked her gun in a drawer when she started with the beer. She caught herself, scolded herself. Lena was a friend. To Kara she was more than a friend.

Alex rushed forward instead. Lena didn’t resist as Alex took the gun, a brightly polished and valuable classic Colt Python six shot with a chopped barrel and coco bolo wood stocks, a real high end custom job. A rich girl’s gun, if a bit bigger than a girl would normally carry.

“Whoa, you have a permit for this?” Alex said, trying to be cute.

“I shot Lex.”

Kara tensed, rushing from behind Lena, dipping down as she put her hands on the other woman’s shoulders.

Oh fuck.

“You couldn’t have,” said Lena. “I… it was me, when we fought in Sentinel Island.”

“He used this,” said Lena, pulling her hand out of her pocket with a watch in her fingers. “It’s a portal watch. He can teleport with it.”

“He must have had it as a backup,” said Alex. “Teleported out before impact.”

Kara shot her a shocked look.

“What do you mean?” said Kara, “What do you mean you shot him?”

“Two to the chest, one to the head,” Lena repeated, robotically. “We want ‘em alive but we’ll take ‘em dead. Lex taught me when I was twelve.”

“Lena,” Alex said, as she flicked open the cylinder and saw there were three shells left in the gun. “You’re not making sense.”

Lena looked at her.

“I knew where he’d go. I knew what he’d do. So I got there first. I was going to stop him, make sure that he didn’t get away, then call for help. I didn’t want to do it. He made me.”

“Lena,” Kara began.

Lena looked at her and Alex tensed.

Kara wasn’t wearing her glasses.

Oh shit.

“He was going to kill you. You were becoming his latest fixation. He couldn’t get to Superman so he’d get you. I tried to stop him but I was too late.”

“Me? Why would he care about me?” said Kara. “I’m nobody.”

Lena stared at her, looking directly into her eyes.

“You’re Supergirl.”

Alex almost dropped the gun. She gaped at Lena, open-mouthed. Kara’s eyes went wide and panic shocked through her face.

Alex waited for the excuse, the denial, the deflection.

“Yes,” said Kara. “I am. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, I swear I was,” her voice cracked and began to waver. “I know I lied. I,”

Lena grabbed the collar of Kara’s sweater, and when she pulled, Alex briefly thought that she was lunging in to kiss Kara. Instead she pulled her into a hug and Kara hugged her back, fiercely and protectively. Alex stood there dumbly with the murder weapon hanging from her hand.

“I was too late. I’m sorry. I was too late.”

“Too late for what?” Alex demanded, panic rising hot in her chest. “Too late for what, Lena?”

Still tucked in Kara’s arms, Lena turned her head and looked at Alex.

“He already did it. Turn on the TV.”

Alex swallowed, hard.

She walked over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote, turning off Netflix and switching back to cable.

She didn’t have to flip channels. It was on every station. Every network. Alex and Kara’s phones were buzzing wildly on the table.

“Oh shit,” said Alex.

***

Should I continue this one?

[no-passaran]

A newspaper in my country has interviewed Siddharth Kara, one of the experts on what's going on in the cobalt mines in Congo. I think it's very well explained and a must-read to get an overview of this huge human rights violation that is going on. So here I translate it to English, hoping it will reach more people.

Siddharth Kara: "Every time we buy a new mobile phone, we put our foot around the neck of a child in the Congo"

Interview with the author of Cobalt Red: How the Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives

"The poorest people in the world, including tens of thousands of children, dig the earth in toxic and very dangerous conditions to find cobalt," says journalist and writer Siddharth Kara (Knoxville, Tennessee, USA, 1974). The rechargeable batteries of our mobile phones, tablets, laptops or electric vehicles need this mineral that thousands of children, men, women and elderly people extract from the Congolese mines in inhumane conditions. Kara went there because he had specialized in research on slavery, and in Congo he found a modernized form of slavery. "Time has passed, but the colonial mentality has not," he explains. Everything he saw there and what was explained to him is recounted in Cobalt Red: How the Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives (a book that does not have a translation into Catalan, but which has now been translated into Spanish, by Capitán Swing). The photographs and videos illustrating this interview were taken by himself.

—Was it difficult to write this book? —Yes. Firstly, because of the specific difficulty of this area of the Congo: very dangerous, very militarized. There are armed militias. And for the local people there it is dangerous to talk to foreigners, because it can bring them consequences. It was difficult to get there, and then it was difficult to build trust with the people who worked there. I only managed it thanks to this trust, which we achieved little by little, until we were sure that we could do the research with guarantees and ethically.

—What drove you to the Congo cobalt mines? —I had been doing research on slavery since 2000. Around 2016, some African colleagues contacted me and said: “Siddharth, something terrible is happening in the cobalt mines of the Congo, maybe you should go there”. I had no idea what cobalt was. I thought it was a color used for painting. I didn't know it was used for rechargeable batteries. It took me a couple of years to grasp its importance. Then I started making contacts to travel there, and in the summer of 2018 I went there.

—And what did you find there? —The suffering and degradation I saw there were so intense that I decided to return there often to write a book. Hundreds of thousands of the world's poorest people, including tens of thousands of children, dig the earth in toxic and very dangerous conditions to find cobalt and put it into circulation, in a distribution chain that goes to the rechargeable devices and cars that people like you and me use every day. It was a human apocalypse, a total invasion of human rights and the dignity of the Congolese people.

—Could you describe what a mine like this is like, physically? How should we imagine it? —Those who are at the top of the economic chain of cobalt exploitation like to distort the truth, and use the term "artisanal mine". This way, they evoke a kind of picturesque activity, but on the ground it is a dangerous and degrading job. A mine of this kind is a mass of tunnels, pits and trenches filled with thousands of people who dig with shovels, pieces of metal or directly with their bare hands. They fill a sack with earth, stone and mud. Some children rinse it in toxic pools to separate the mud from the cobalt stones, which a whole family pours into another sack. It might take twelve hours to fill a forty-kilo sack or two. For each sack they get paid a few euros, very few, and that's how they live every day. They survive.

This video was filmed by Siddharth Kara: [you can watch the video in the interview link, freely available without any paywall, here]

—Is there any rational organization in these mines? Is there someone who decides who does what to optimize work? —Well, there is a whole gear designed so that the poor and the children of the Congo produce hundreds of thousands of tons of cobalt every year. There, work is usually divided by age and gender. Digging tunnels, which requires a lot of strength, is usually done by young men and teenagers. The digging of small pits and trenches that can be less meters deep is done by women and smaller children. Rinsing this toxic cobalt is usually done by the children. The merchant system to exploit these families and sell the cobalt they produce to the formal industrial mines is very well set up.

—What else do these people at the top of the chain invent? —Another fiction they invent is that there is a difference between industrial and artisanal mining, and that they only buy from the industrial one, where there is no child labor. Not true: all cobalt is mined by children. All the cobalt that the children and peasants extract goes straight to industrial mining. In addition, there is no way to separate what comes from a bulldozer and what comes from a child, once it all pours into the same place in the facility that does the industrial processing before this cobalt is sent out of the Congo.

—You explain that the situation is particularly abusive for women. —Yes. It is a lawless land, and violence is the norm. Women and girls always bear the brunt: they are victims of physical and sexual violence, and almost no one talks about it. It is a major tragedy: they are victims of sexual assaults that are committed in the mines themselves, while they collect the cobalt that we have in our mobile phones.

—You refer to all of this as a new episode of slavery. It is not the first time that the Congo has a decisive material for Western economic development. It happened with uranium for nuclear bombs, for example. History repeats itself. —Exactly. It is important for people to understand that we are not witnessing an isolated case, but the latest episode in a long, very long, history of looting of the Congo, a very resource-rich country, dating back to the colonial period. The first automobile revolution required rubber for tires. The Congo had one of the largest rubber tree rainforests in the world. King Leopold [of Belgium] deployed a mercenary army of criminals and terrorists to enslave the population and make them work to get it. This inspired Joseph Conrad's novel Heart of Darkness. The Congo also has abundant reserves of gold, diamonds, nickel, lithium and other metals and minerals that make components for electronic devices…

—These mercenaries deployed by King Leopold, are they still there today, in one way or another? —Yes. On the ground there are militias, or the army, or private security forces that the mining companies hire and that, sometimes, in addition to monitoring, do the work of recruiting children. Under the threat of an occupation, they force an entire town to dig. It's atrocious: we live in an age of supposed moral progress, where everyone shares the same human rights, and yet our global economic order has its knee on the necks of the children and the poor of the Congo, with this huge demand for cobalt that has to fuel the rechargeable economy.

—Has no Western country or international body done anything to stop it? —No. No western country, no government, no big business has lifted a finger to address this tragedy. They talk about maintaining human rights standards in their supply chains, they talk about environmental sustainability, but it's only talk. That is why it is very important that journalists and researchers set foot on the land of the Congo and listen to what the Congolese have to say: that no one protects their rights or their dignity, that they are erasing the environment, that mining it is not done in a sustainable way and the whole countryside is polluted and destroyed by the mining operations. It is enough to walk ten minutes around a mine to see it.

—Does the same happen in all mines? Large Western companies that use cobalt often claim that theirs comes from artisanal mines that meet standards. —Have they gone there? There is no decent mine in the Congo. It does not exist. I'll be happy to take any CEO of any tech company to their mines, where their cobalt comes from. We'll stand there, watching them extract it, and take a selfie with it. Everyone will realize that what is seen behind us is not decent. You will see destruction, millions of trees felled, installations that emit toxic gases that fall on the surrounding towns, on the children, on the animals, on the food. There is no decent mine in the Congo. And they know it. But who will believe the voice of a Congolese if they can drown it out with proclamations of human rights while they continue to make money without measure?

—Can you explain the role China plays in all of this? You say that it controls the supply chain. —Yes. China controls about 70% of mining production in the Congo. Why do we accept China saying its mines are decent, if they don't even protect the human rights of their own people? Why do we accept a technology company or a car manufacturer saying, "My Chinese partners say they protect human rights there, and that's enough for me"? Why do we accept it?

—Why do you say that a certain transition to green energy is absolute hypocrisy? —When the calls in favor of this transition consist of proposing to consumers that they buy electric vehicles instead of gasoline cars, this is hypocrisy. Because the cobalt and other elements that are used for the batteries of these cars are extracted using methods that are catastrophic for the environment. While in one part of the world we say we want to save the environment and leave a greener planet to our children, in another we are destroying both the planet and the future of their children. How can you save only part of the planet, turning the rest into a toxic dump? How can we give a green planet only to our children, while we let other people's children die? This is hypocritical.

—It is a reflection of the domination that the global north maintains over the south. —We have never given Congo the opportunity to benefit from its own resources. It is a colonial mentality: time has passed, but the colonial mentality has not. It is the same type of colonial plunder from a century and a half ago. It is colonial to say: "Look, we need this, they have it, we take it from them in any way and, when we no longer need it, we leave a catastrophe behind us". There are companies that, recently, have started to pretend that they are becoming aware of this and promised that they would try to use batteries that did not have cobalt, but in reality they said: "Well, we've been caught, we'll look for another mechanism". And they do nothing to solve the catastrophe. Even if we no longer needed cobalt tomorrow, we would have to repair the destruction we have caused these past fifteen years.

—It's the big companies who should be required to react, but what do you think a Western consumer who has gotten upset reading you could do? —The first step to progress in the conquest of human rights is always to make injustice known. Contribute to make everyone knows. Most people are good and, in their hearts, want no part of injustice. It is the few who move based on avarice and greed who pollute the rest of humanity. Outreach and awareness is the first step because it will inevitably activate a lot of people. Change always starts like this. In the case of cobalt, the second step is to think about our consumption habits. Every twelve months, the technology company I bought my phone from offers me a new one. Do I really need it? Every time we buy a new mobile phone, we put our foot on the neck of a child in the Congo. Better think twice, then.

[thejuveniledelinquent]

random headcanons/scenarios that i think are funky fun

Lex tried to copyright the word "lexicon" after releasing a book called "The Lexicon" (the capitialization is often debated; nobody agrees on anything or confirms it, especially not Lex) that details his vocabulary, phrases he often uses and quotes he claims are his, including but not limited to "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take," "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," and the entirety of the bible.

bro didn't even make it into court with that one

Kara was once supposed to write a memoir about krypton or something but ended up sending the publisher her K/S genderbend femslash fanfic instead :/

they published it without a word. she stayed on the nyt bestseller's list for like two years. lesbian Spirk is canon now.

Dick was a stripper for a few months. mostly just for funsies, but also because Bruce dies inside whenever he brings it up and he thinks that's the funniest shit in the world

also Bruce got sent to jail one time for reasons he refuses to elaborate on, and he was cellmates with Lex. he acted like Brucie the WHOLE TIME.

buddy did not drop the act. not even in his sleep. he is an actor committed to his craft.

on that note, Bruce has been in at least twenty-five romcoms, four horrors movies ("i can't do those anymore! they're just so terrifying," Brucie had told the press when speaking about his latest film, Movie That Is Not Scary That Nobody Knows The Name Of), ten movies about dogs, twelve animated films james corden style, one very emotional family-focused western considered a cult classic by hardcore fans, and three buddy cop films in the past month

Dick, Jason and Cass drag the rest of the family to see Hamilton on broadway during opening week. none of them initially want to be there, but they're all ugly crying at any character's slightest inconvenience and they somehow know all the lyrics within ten minutes because they're homosexuals like that.

Bart Allen bites people. he is an animal and humans are his chew toys.

Damian played Assassin's Creed 2 once, and it was on thin fucking ice purely because it wasn't realistic enough

"i am not caught up on my italian and vatican history, father, but i don't think the pope had a mind control staff. why does he need it? is he stupid?"

Oliver once sang Four Jews in a Room Bitching in front of Bruce, the resident bitching jew who has not seen Falsettos, and he got served the batglare of a lifetime

also, Oliver's favourite musical is Falsettos because i said so.

"the big grey block isn't real, Oliver. the big grey block can't hurt you," Dinah lied mere moments before the big grey block hurt him.

anyway give me YOUR headcanons and scenarios!!!!! give them to me and let me eat them :D

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 1

🕯️ | s'mores

Kara had been talking about graham crackers.

Correction: she’d been talking about s’mores which were currently scattered in various states of completion across a very polished and very expensive coffee table because Lena Luthor, genius, billionaire, and the most thoughtful very best friend in the whole world set up a bunsen burner in her living room while the three magical ingredients were delivered lightning fast when Kara, nostalgic and sharing about her favorite Kryptonian dessert, explained s’mores were the most comparable earth treat. 

Then she dove into a very impassioned and detailed history of graham crackers.

Which was very in character.

What was also in character was how she managed to eat no less than twelve s’mores at a rate that challenged the poor little bunsen burner’s flame power.

So absorbed by her own explanation, she failed to notice the weight of cushions shift next to her until a thumb brushed against Kara’s chin. 

Voice screeching to a stammering halt, eyes widened, and cheeks flushing the color of the forgotten flame, the Girl of Steel could do nothing but watch as a very soft Lena, clad in sweats (Kara’s) and a scooped neck sweater that hung low and revealing (Lena’s), crawled into her personal space.

She crawled like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it didn’t send Kara’s heart sky-rocketing with uncontained and undefinable excitement.

And then.

Then.

The pad of Lena’s thumb rubbed at the skin just to the left of Kara’s mouth with focused intensity while her own mouth broke into the tiniest grin of adoration. And before Kara could process any of it, the touch was gone and the digit slipped between Lena’s perfect lips and against her swirling tongue. 

“Marshmallow,” Lena explained when her thumb popped out, slick and cleaned of the sugary threads that had just been shellacked across Kara’s face. She settled back into her side of the couch, snatching a blank graham cracker to munch on before asking, “You were saying?”

And, golly, Kara didn’t have a clue.

- - - part 2 | purple purple part 3 | zippers part 4 | frosting part 5 | could we? wood we?

[luthordamnvers]

See all the Marks of my Wounded Past on AO3

Kara Zor-El was sent to Earth to protect her baby cousin. She landed, but never found him. Instead the name of a stranger was indelibly written in her arm since her landing. She never paid much attention to that name; survival was much more important to accomplish, with no one to take care of her anymore.

Lena’s life was forever changed when her soulmate mark made her appearance at the age of twelve, when not only one name showed up, but two. It didn’t get any better when more kept appearing and appearing. Exceedingly alarming, she was sure one of the names wasn’t even human. And then they met each other.

OR Soulmate AU

Language: English || Words: 50,640 || Chapters: 3/3

I am extremely excited to share the supercorp fic that I wrote with the incomparable @snowydragonscave for @supergirlmayhem. And art from the amazing @rustingcat who did a FANTASTIC job understanding what the fic was about, first of all, and second making it come to life with her honestly breathtaking drawing [Here]

This was a labor of love, (and tears because... this was never supposed to be this long) and truly I couldn't ask for a better co-writer than Snowy. It was a joy, and truly an amazing experience that I hope we get to repeat. Thanks to everyone who cheered on us, and to the creators of the event. It was an honor to participate.

[jakascoo]

Kara: Wasn't icarly that guy that girlbossed too close to the sun because he was down for Apollo? Jason: ICARUS?

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt from the one where Clark forgot to introduce Kon and Jon.

Kon doesn't even know how to make a connection with Jon. Every time he's tried to talk to the kid, it's been weird and stilted and awkward, never mind how the kid opens up like a flower beaming up at the sun whenever it's anybody else he's talking to. He's adorable and sweet and friendly and just so fucking nice right up until Kon says "hey", at which point it's all one-word answers and unhappy mutters and quick excuses to get out of the room. 

The kid doesn't even call him "Kon". It's always, always "Conner". 

Kon doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He was never a twelve year-old with a loving family and amazing parents and a near-idyllic childhood or whatever, so like . . . what would they even talk about, anyway? They have absolutely nothing in common, aside from being the only fully successful Kryptonian-human hybrids in possibly the entire fucking universe, considering Match's (fucking terrifying) degeneration the past few years. Like–that's it. That's all they've got. A genetic similarity, when Kon already knows just how damn little genetic similarities mean. 

And Jon exists because Clark loves Lois, while Kon only exists because Lex hates Superman. So like . . . yeah. Those are two very different origins, aren't they. 

Jon's never going to like him. 

Meanwhile, Kon would literally fucking die for this kid. Like, Jon is just–he's so good. He's all bright sunlight and eager optimism and bold determination, and there is not a single damn grenade that Kon wouldn't throw himself on for him. 

Admittedly, fine, Kon is grenade-proof and also would literally fucking die for a lot of people. Fully-committed willingness to die for somebody is not any kind of an outlier in his personality and never has been. Just . . . the rest of those people can at least make fucking small talk with him. Lex has more to say to him than Jon does. Clark has more to say to him than Jon does.

Kon actually can't think of anyone in his life who wants less to do with him than Jon does. There are literal supervillains in his life with more emotional investment in him. Multiple ones!

Jesus, what a thought. 

He loves this kid so much. When Jon gets excited about something that he thinks is cool, Kon's chest gets tight and warm. When Jon's upset or in a bad mood, Kon can't concentrate on anything except how bad he wants to fix it for him. When Jon's in trouble or needs help or just wants something–

He knows the kid's heartbeat like it's his fucking own. 

Kon digs his fingers into Tim's pillow and does his damnedest to just be normal about this. To just deal with this. 

He will, he knows. He always does, doesn't he? Every time he looks at someone else and feels something that they don't feel for him, he deals. He deals with the amicable and uncrossable distance that Clark keeps between them and Kara's polite disinterest in his existence and Tim having a boyfriend and Match being an asshole and Lex being Lex and whatever else. He can deal with Jon, too. 

Not like he has another choice. 

When has he ever? Tana didn't want him like he wanted her. Knockout didn't care about him like he cared about her. Rex took advantage of him and Roxy was more invested in the fact that he didn't want to kiss her than in just being his friend and he hasn't heard from anyone who ran off with Cadmus since–

Kon shuts down his brain. It's not helping right now. Which, well–when does it ever, really?

He wonders if maybe he shouldn't have come back. Maybe he should've just stayed gone. Stayed forgotten. Stayed . . . away. 

Stayed out of the way. 

He wonders if maybe he should leave on purpose.