#this demanded to exist

[electricsynthesis]

“Tell me the rules,” his dad says, backpack thrown over his shoulder. They’re walking along the dirt road that leads to town, leaving the parked truck behind them; Keith’s dad had said he didn’t want anyone to see his license plate. When Keith opens his mouth, mind about to spill something about when to wash his hands, his dad interrupts with, “The rules for going into town.”

Keith scurries to keep up with his father’s long strides. It’s hot today, and Keith shifts his new backpack over his uncomfortably sweaty shoulders. His backpack has the constellation Orion on it, which is very exciting. It’s his first time taking it into town.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” Keith recites dutifully.

His father nods his approval. “Unless?”

“Unless you say it’s okay.”

“That’s right. And? What else?”

“No drawing attention to myself,”

“That means?”

“Keeping my ears covered,” Keith counts off on his fingers. “Lowering my eyes. Ummm…” when his dad explained this one to him, he’d just talked again and again about why Keith isn’t supposed to talk to anybody.

“Just… just don’t draw any attention,” his dad sighs.

“I don’t know what—”

“Yes, you do, boy, come on. It ain’t hard.” He snaps. Keith shuts his mouth. “What’s the last rule?”

“…I promised it wouldn’t happen again,” Keith whines, embarrassment and shame squirming in his gut.

“What’s the last rule?”

“It’s not fair,” Keith goes on, hotly, jogging to match stride with his dad. “I won’t talk to anyone. I swear. I just want to—”

His dad stops walking entirely to whirl on Keith. He towers up, high in the air and looking darkly down at Keith. “You will not wander off. I won’t stand for it.”

“I was fine—”

“You can wander around with your thumb up your ass the day I ain’t around anymore to tell you not to,” his dad says, the harsh snip of finality to his tone. “And not a second sooner.”

Keith lowers his eyes, chastised. Shame makes his chest warm, and his breath shudders as he nods, silently.

“You understand?”

“I understand,” Keith mumbles, eyes hot. He scrubs at his face before they can fall.

Silently, they walk past the sign that says LINCOLN, NEVADA. Dirt roads become asphalt. Stone stucco and brick buildings rise from the sandy ground. Keith brushes his sneakers over patches of grass on the side of the road. There’s a hum of activity in the air; all at once, noise and chaos rush him and his father.

There are so many people. They are all so different from Keith’s dad, who’s the only person he knows. They are tall and short and old and young. Some of them are even girls. Keith sticks close to his father’s side. He wants to grip the leather belt holding up his dad’s cargo shorts, but the last time he did that, his dad told him not to act like such a baby.

Keith’s eight now, and that means he needs to start acting like a grown up. But he isn’t allowed to explore on his own, not ever. The unfairness of it twists his stomach and his mouth along with it, but he doesn’t say anything.

His dad abruptly stops walking, and Keith runs into his side in surprise. His dad’s strong hand reaches out to steady Keith by his shoulder before he can fall. His dad’s face is thoughtful as he looks down at Keith. He crouches down. “You promise you won’t go nowhere I don’t give you permission to?”

Keith’s chest lights up with hope. “I promise. I swear.” He draws a cross over his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die,”

“Stick a needle in your eye.” His dad finishes with a crooked smile. “Aaaalright,” he draws out the word, digging through his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a bill and goes to hand it to Keith. But when Keith reaches for it, he snaps it back. Keith’s eyes find his father’s face. “You remember how to get to Lela’s?”

“Yes,” Keith nods.

“And you cross your heart you won’t talk to anybody but Lela?”

“Yes,”

“And you’re only allowed to talk to her about what you’re buying.”

“Yes, sir.”

His dad’s smile goes soft, and he hands him the money. Keith closes his hand around it in victory, chest warm with excitement. “Then why don’t you go buy your daddy some cigarettes?”

“Yes! Thank you, Daddy!” Keith cries, wrapping his father’s waist in a tight, happy hug. His dad chuckles, a big hand coming down to ruffle Keith’s hair.

“Come straight back here when you’re done, and if I ain’t here, wait for me. Don’t talk to nobody. And,” he flicks the edge of the bill. “Whatever you have leftover, you can spend on yourself. Whatever you want.”

Utter elation spreads through Keith’s entire body. “Really?”

“Really.” He chuckles, and pushes himself to a stand. He shoves at Keith’s shoulder, causing him to stumble in the direction of the road. “Get going, then.”

Keith takes off at a run through the streets, dodging around the legs of the town people. That’s what Keith’s dad calls them, anyway. Them town people don’t know shit from Adam. His dad doesn’t like people very much. But that’s alright— the only person Keith needs is his dad.

He trips over something fabric and springy, and goes sprawling onto the asphalt. It bites his palms and he hisses in pain, eyes watering. A dog barks very close to his face, and he yelps in surprise. When he whirls around in the dirt, he finds himself face to face with a dog. A big dog; shaggy brown fur and a long snout. Keith can smell the dog’s breath as it pants, and he wrinkles his nose.

“Oh my goodness!” Comes a shrill voice, and Keith, suddenly ill-at-ease, whips his head up. A woman stands there, with white hair and big glasses. She blinks owlishly down at him, mouth hanging open. “Are you alright, honey? You hurt anywhere?” Keith doesn’t do or say anything, he just stares at her. After a second, she stutters, “Where’s your momma?”

Nowhere, Keith doesn’t say, because he isn’t supposed to talk to anyone except Lela.

“Honey? You alright?” When she crouches down and reaches a hand out, Keith’s heart careens into overdrive. He flings himself upward and takes off sprinting once again into the roads. She calls something after him, but he ignores her. He can’t talk to her anyway.

Keith decides that he’s seen more people today than he has in his whole life before. The thought leaves him breathless and a little scared, but his dad let him go off alone, and he can’t mess this up. So he traces the roads, checking and double checking all the turns and signs until he finds himself at Lela’s Swap Shop.

The bell ting-tings as he opens the door, and it makes him jump in surprise. It squeaks as it slides shut, which makes his ears twitch. But he rallies himself; inside, it’s very cold— cold like winter— and he rubs at his arms. There’s a buzzing sound in the air that he doesn’t like. It’s a lot like a flying bug, or maybe if a car were really quiet? After a moment of investigation, he realizes that the shelves are making that sound. When he waves his hand over them, they’re cold. Woah. Like their fridge at home!

He remembers that the cigarettes are behind the counter, and that you have to ask for them. So he jogs past the shelf-fridges until he comes up to a wooden counter. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach it, and he sets his elbows on the wood to help.

A woman emerges from a swinging door to the back. She’s tall. Maybe almost as tall as Keith’s dad. Her hair is long and black, and her eyes are dark. Keith swallows past a suddenly dry throat; he’s supposed to talk to her.

“Hey there, little man,” she says, talking softly. “You want some candy or something?”

Keith opens his mouth. No sound comes out. He’s supposed to talk to her. He has permission. He has to talk to her to get the cigarettes. But this whole thing is suddenly crazy; there’s so many people, and it’s so loud, and Keith is very small. Keith is trying to remember if he’s ever talked to someone without his dad before.

“Hon,” she says. “Are you alright?”

“Cigarettes,” Keith blurts, mouth and throat moving before his brain does.

She stands back, almost affronted. “What’s a little boy like you need with cigarettes?”

“They’re for my daddy,” he explains, shame warming his cheeks. He puts the bill on the counter. “See? He gave me this.”

Her mouth twists. She looks at the bill, and then at Keith. “And who exactly is this Daddy of yours?”

“Um,” Keith feels very chastised. “Heath Kogane?”

She chews on this for a second. Then, she swings her eyes up to the sky, and quietly mutters, “If anyone is gonna send their tiny little boy to,” and then she trails off unintelligibly. “Oh, fine. You know what your daddy smokes?”

“Marlboro menthols,” Keith recites.

She seems unwilling as she opens up the glass case behind her and pulls out a box of cigarettes. She hands them to Keith only after a long, drawn out sigh. When he takes them, she swipes his money and punches something into her cash register with clear annoyance on her face. “You tell your daddy to come and talk to me next time he’s in town, won’t ya?” She says, handing him another bill and some coins. In her other hand is the box of cigarettes.

And Keith is struck frozen-still, because he isn’t supposed to talk to Lela about anything other than buying stuff. So he takes the money, the cigarettes, turns heel and walks away. Lela stutters a few wordless sounds behind him, but he immediately realizes he doesn’t know where he’s going. “Where’s the candy?” He asks.

“Aisle four,” she says, voice confused. When he looks at her for a long moment, she points at the ceiling. “The aisles are labeled.” Keith follows her finger just to see that yes, there are little numbered signs. He rushes over to aisle four.

These shelves do not appear to be fridge-shelves, but just regular shelves. They’re stocked with all kinds of things; toaster waffles and crackers and things he doesn’t recognize. But he follows the shelves until he finds the technicolor packaging he associates with candy; neon brights and big bubble letters. He very carefully reads the label on each one, looking for— ah!

He finds a bag of sour jawbreakers and immediately rushes back over to the counter. He throws the bag so hard the jawbreakers shudder in place. Lela raises her eyebrows down at him. He hands her the money she just handed him, wordless. His other hand is still holding the cigarettes.

Equally wordless, she takes the money. Punches some more things into her cash register. This time, she only hands him a few coins leftover. He swings his backpack to his front, unzipping it and sliding the cigarettes, the candy, and the coins inside. He carefully arranges them so they all sit upright. Then, he zips has bag back up.

“Orion,” she says.

Keith’s eyes go wide. Not even his dad recognized the constellation, and he was the one who bought Keith the bag for his birthday.

She mistakes his wide eyes for confusion, and nods to his bag. “It’s very cool. You like the stars?”

Amazement has Keith nodding, very slowly.

“I do too,” she smiles. “Tell you a secret,” she lowers her voice, and Keith leans in close to hear better. “I used to be a pilot.”

His eyes go even wider. A pilot? His dad was a pilot, too. Pilots are so lucky. They get to touch the sky.

“D’you like space?” She asks.

Keith nods.

“You wanna fly?”

Keith nods.

She reaches out, and he flinches. But she just smiles, and brushes her finger against the front of his bag. “It’s much prettier up close.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He hugs his backpack closer to his chest. But he feels breathless as he nods. He steps back, looking at her as he backs up. Backs up and up and up, until he’s sliding back through the door and into the outside world. He only loses sight of her when the door is swinging shut again.

Keith isn’t sure why he’s blinking tears from his eyes, or why his heart feels so fragile in his chest. He’s eight now; he isn’t supposed to be such a baby.

[karalovesallthegirls]

Kara has always dreaded the day she’d meet her soulmate. 

There’s relief in knowing she has one, of course. The person meant for her didn’t die with Krypton. That’s something! Even still, it’s hard to feel excited for the moment they meet, because that’s the moment Kara will hurt them. She’s had their exclamation of pain inked into her skin for as long as she’s been on Earth. In some ways it’s better. Most people have phrases like “good morning” or “hold the door please” as their soulmate’s first words. They have to endure hundreds of almosts, breath held just in case that stranger really is the one. Kara won’t have to do that. Her words are far too distinct.

It's agony, thinking about how their meeting will go. She spends years imagining every possible scenario, each one more painful than the last, yet the day it happens she barely even registers it. The words wash right over her, drowned out by the loud crack as her hand makes sudden contact with a stranger's face. The telltale crunch of contact shocks her. She hadn't registered anyone was there during her dramatic retelling, otherwise she would have kept her gestures small. She wouldn't have flung her hand out with such force.

The woman she's hit is hunched over, clutching at her face. She gasped loud and sharp when it hit, and now she's just wheezily breathing in shock. Kara can see blood starting to drip down her wrist.

“Did you," the woman gasps, and her voice sounds wet. "Did you just break my nose?” Kara wants to die.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

People are looking at them and the woman keeps cursing under her breath and Kara really, really doesn’t know what to do. Her hands hover uselessly over the hunched figure, desperate to soothe but scared to touch in a moment like this. “I didn’t mean to – I was telling a story and I got too excited with my hands I guess, I didn’t see you there. Are you- can I-”

She looks to Alex for guidance, but she’s just staring at the interaction with a wide-eyed wonder. Typically her sister knows what to do in a scary situation, but now she’s looking just as clueless. They’re both barely awake at this point – it’s six in the morning and they’ve been at this airport terminal since midnight, miserably watching their red eye flight push into a mid-day departure. They’re both half-delirious, which is fun when you’re goofing off but less so when you’ve just broken a stranger’s nose. 

And then it hits her. The words she’s carried on her arm for so many years are tingling, she realizes, and they’ve been tingling from the second her skin met the girl’s. 

Did you did you just break my nose?

“Oh wow,” Kara says, dumbfounded. “It’s you.” The woman falls silent. She must be realizing too Kara thinks as she fumbles with her sleeve, pushing it up enough to show her inked arm. The woman's eyes drop to the tattoo that's brought such shame to Kara for so long. She feels her eyes like a touch. “I – I’m so happy to meet you! I’m so sorry it happened like this.” She laughs and it sounds strained. Her hands are shaking. The woman doesn't look up from her arm.

Even hunched over in pain, it's clear the woman is beautiful. Important, even, considering how she's dressed. She's dressed like she's en route to lead a business conference, her tight black skirt and matching blazer scream business professional. Though the effects are tampered a bit by the splattering of blood that’s dripped down her white blouse. Kara wonders how old she is to be dressed like that. She must be older to look like that. At nearly nineteen, Kara has never had anything more than a graduation to dress nicely for, and even then she wore her stained dress pants. This woman - her soulmate - must be much older than her, which feels strange to think. She looks Kara's age, maybe even younger. If not for how clearly tailored to her body her clothes are, she'd almost look like she was playing dress up.

Kara feels self-conscious then, sharply aware of how she must look to her soulmate. As smart as it felt to come to the airport in pajamas for her all-night flight, standing in rubber duck pajama pants while trying to have a conversation with her goddess of a soulmate did little for Kara's confidence.

When Kara’s eyes finally track back up to her face, she finds sharp green ones staring back. They're the prettiest eyes she's ever seen, and they don't seem interested in looking away. That's fine with her - she's more than content to stare right back.

It's only the soft plop of blood hitting tile that draws her attention back to her crime, and she can see the way the woman's hands have become covered in blood. "Oh gosh, here - let me…”  Kara fumbles in her backpack for a moment with no clear plan. All she knows is she has to do something to fix this. She fumbles about before pulling out a clean t-shirt. “Here. For the-” She holds it out to the girl and gestures at her own face. Slowly, like she’s scared Kara might grab her or something, the woman takes the offered shirt. She wipes the blood from her face and hands, dabbing beneath her nose. The bleeding seems to have stopped, at least, and the shirt helps contain what's escaped. Watching a stranger wipe blood on her high school band t-shirt shouldn’t thrill Kara as much as it does, and yet.

Kara laughs again, the sound nervous and high-pitched, before taking a step towards her. Her soulmate’s eyes go wide, tracking her movements, and Kara's heart clenches when she steps away. The rapid race of her soulmate's heart beats into Kara's ear - she can literally hear her fear. She holds her hands up in surrender, stepping back to where she’d been before. The last thing she wants is for her to be afraid. “Does it hurt?” she asks, and her soulmate shakes her head no. “That’s good. That’s good. I- uh." She has nothing more to say, and her soulmate's certainly not contributing. Kara’s palms are sweating. She hasn’t sweat since she was thirteen, but one look from this person has her rubbing her hands on her pajama pants like a middle schooler at a dance.

The woman finishes wiping up and lets her arms fall, blessing Kara with her first real look at her face. Bloodied and skittish, she’s beautiful in a way Kara can hardly comprehend, in a way she could never imagine. Kara's pretty sure she's blushing now for some reason, and she has to flex her toes to be sure she’s still touching the ground. “My name’s Kara,” she says, and then gestures over her shoulder. “That’s my sister Alex. We’re flying home for winter break. Midvale - Midvale is home for us. Where- where are you flying to?”

The woman stares and stares, and Kara's starting to panic thinking she'd given her soulmate a head injury that's muted her somehow, when at last the woman speaks just barely above a whisper.

“Home,” she says. It feels like her heart might burst just from hearing that one stilted word. Kara wants to hear a thousand more, wants to hear nothing else for the rest of her life.

“That’s awesome. W-where’s home for you?” The woman's lip trembles as she opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

 “I’m sorry,” she says, and then throws the t-shirt at Kara’s face. 

Kara fumbles catching it, distracted by the shock and gross factor of having a blood-soaked shirt hurled at her face, and it takes her far too many precious seconds to realize her soulmate is gone. Bewildered, Kara looks around before just catching sight of her vanishing around the corner, high heels and racing heart clattering away. She looks at Alex. Alex waves at her, frantic. “Go!” Alex yells, and Kara takes off.

Pretending to be a human has never been harder than it is while chasing after her soulmate. Normal human pace - especially what's acceptable at an airport - is not fast enough for this, not when the woman has already gotten so far ahead. Kara must look ridiculous, bursting into sprints only to trip suddenly into a walk over and over again, her ears locked on to the thudding heartbeat and faint whispers of her soulmate mumbling, “crap crap crap crap,” ahead.

Kara’s thankful they’re in an airport, at least. Her soulmate can’t just run outside, and Kara is fine embracing the romcom trope of following her love onto the plane. Her soulmate stops moving ahead and Kara speeds up, nearly wiping out twice tripping over luggage and small children. Her heart is in her throat as she clears the corner her soulmate is behind and pushes her way into the door she's passed through. All the wind knocks out of her lungs then when she sees her again. The woman looks up at her in shock, as if she didn't think Kara would chase her. As if Kara would just let her go. With a visible gulp, her soulmate flees around a corner and disappears out of sight. Kara manages a single step forward before a body blocks her way, and she looks up to see a massive security guard staring down at her.

“Membership card, please.”

Kara tries to peer around him. He steps in her way, cutting her vision off. Her soulmate led her into some private place you can't just walk into, she realizes, glancing around at the sleek appearance and exclusive atmosphere. “I- uh, left my card in my other bag,” she says, gesturing back over her shoulder. She can hear her soulmate’s breathing and it's all she can focus on. She’s right there. Just out of sight. Kara is so close. “I’m afraid you need your card to enter the fly lounge,” he says sternly. He starts pushing gently at her, trying to nudge her back out of the sliding glass door she’s come in. Kara almost forgets to let him move her. “I- I’m sorry, someone I need to talk to just went in there and I-” She stops in the doorway, hand firm on the wall. She can hear the way the guard huffs against her solid pressure. She’s not acting very human right now and she knows it.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, ma’am," he says, pushing more forcefully against her. Forceful enough that she knows she has to move even as all her instincts war against it. “Can- can I buy a membership? Like a day pass or something?”

The guard looks over at the front desk, making eye contact with a woman who looks like she would rather watch Kara be flayed alive than allowed another step inside.

“A day membership is $189 plus tax,” she whines out in a nasally voice, tone making clear she already knows Kara won’t be affording that. Which is accurate. Kara barely has enough to buy a meal. 

Looks like her soulmate is rich, then.

The man nudges her back again and a flash of panic echoes through her chest. For a moment, she envisions herself throwing him out the open door, tossing aside anything or anyone that tries to keep her from her future. But she’s already scared her soulmate enough for one day, so she smiles with forced bashfulness and allows herself to be walked back out of the lounge.

The frosted glass door marked High Flyers Club Lounge shuts her out mockingly. But it’s fine! Eventually her soulmate’s flight time will be here and she’ll have no choice but to come out and face her. Kara just has to be patient. (Kara hates being patient.)

She takes a seat against the wall across from the lounge entrance. Her glasses rest low on her nose as she stares her soulmate, soaking in every inch of her as she paces in the luxurious lounge. Her heart is racing, she seems on the edge of a panic attack, and Kara wants desperately to be in there with her talking her down. But she can’t, so she’s left to watch – at least until the girl steps into the private restroom. She stops watching after that. Instead, she settles down to listen to the comforting beat of her soulmate’s heart, closer now than it’s ever been.

Her mind wanders as she waits, mentally reviewing every moment of their interaction. Considering where she failed, where she succeeded. Making lists about what to say to her next. She never got her name, for one thing, and she still doesn’t know where her home is. There’s so much for her to learn.

Her mental meandering is so consuming that it takes her a bit to realize the heartbeat has moved farther away. At first she thinks her soulmate is just moving around the club, but no- she’s moving away from the airport.  A quick glance through walls shows her that her soulmate isn’t in the club anymore. The heartbeat is elevating, she realizes, and Kara runs to the glass wall just in time to see the plane - small, private, with an apparent access point from within the lounge – take off. 

Horror and confusion overwhelm her, bringing tears to her eyes. This doesn't make sense. Why would she just leave without saying a word? Why would her soulmate do that? It's almost unbearable, the pain of it. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, face pressed to the glass, listening as the heartbeat grows quieter and quieter before vanishing all together.

Kara learns a lot about grief after that. 

She knew a lot already – far more than any one person should ever know – but that grief carried a different weight. The loss of her people wasn't a choice by them. They didn't want to die. The loss of her soulmate is its own beast, sharp and cruel in her heart, because this time the person she mourns chose to abandon her. Her soulmate chose to leave. She saw Kara that morning and decided that one look was enough, that Kara wasn't worth any more of her time. She left her there with nothing but a bloody t-shirt and a thousand questions. Kara never even learned her name.

She goes through the stages – she feels her anger burning out in her eyes, feels the sorrow take hold. She denies it, she bargains with everyone, anyone. She calls the Flyer’s Club, tries calling the FAA. She tracks flight logs and makes cold calls and still finds nothing at all. She writes about it on soulmate websites and Medium articles, casting a wide net so that someday when – if, her mind reminds her. if if if - her soulmate ever looks she’ll be able to find her.  

Time dulls the sharpness, though, and the years shift that rejected feeling into a more muted anger. Kara doesn't care about the love lost. She doesn't care if the person is her other half. All she cares about is the anger. Finding her feels more like a hunt than a quest for love – she’s got a lot to say to the other woman when they finally meet again. She just wants one more meeting, that’s all. Just enough time to tell her exactly where she can go. Kara doesn’t need a soulmate, after all. Her life is full of love and joy and adventure, and she doesn’t need another person to complete her. She graduates college with a degree in English, minor in Journalism – her attempts to track down her soulmate really ignite the journalistic bug in her, and with Clark’s constant encouragement it feels inevitable. She moves to a big city despite her small-town fears and she gets a job almost no one survives. Kara is thriving.

It almost shocks her, then, the way her heart trips over itself when she sees her again.

They’re watching the trial, her and Alex, and Alex is halfway through a lecture on how she’d always known Lex Luthor was evil by the way he wore his pants – (“Good guys don’t wear their pants that high, Kara, it’s common sense.”) – when Kara's nerves jolt like a lightning bolt has rushed through her. Her gasp is so sharp Alex screams almost in sympathy. 

“What? What is it?” Alex yells at her, looking around for some danger lurking nearby. Kara tumbles to the floor practically crawling to the television screen. Someone new has taken the stand, someone she'd recognize anywhere.

“Alex,” she says, jamming her finger against the somewhat grainy image projected on her television. “It's her.” “What!” “My soulmate!" Kara knows it like she knows herself, even after all this time. She looks different. Six years of struggle sit clear in her hard gaze, her mouth twisted into solemn resignation. She looks almost casual on the stand, sitting comfortably despite the eyes of the world on her. Like it's just a regular conversation. Like she’s not about to help send her brother to prison for life. “Lena Luthor, sister of the defendant” reads the helpful banner beneath her grim face. Even after everything, Kara is struck by her. She's breathtaking. Kara kind of hates her for it. “Hold on, that’s- you barely even saw her when you met! You don’t know for sure.” Alex sounds desperate, which is fair. The younger sister of the man who tried to kill Superman is certainly not an ideal soulmate for someone like Kara, but it doesn't matter. It's her. “I’m sure,” she says, and feels the truth of it deep in her bones.

A giggle hits her then that's so inappropriate for the moment it makes her feel crazy, but she can't help it. As Lena Luthor begins to explain the piles of evidence she’s gathered against her brother, Kara giggles away. She feels almost drunk on it, smug and satisfied. “Found you,” she says, almost like a taunt. She drags her finger over the screen, feeling the static of her ancient television biting back at her as she caresses Lena Luthor's face. The anger that’s long settled inside of her seems to reignite with every charged word Lena speaks against her brother, with every glance she makes at the camera. She can feel Alex’s nervous energy behind her but she doesn’t care. The politics of this, the implications - none of it matters to Kara. What matters is she has a name, and she has a general location. She's so close she can practically taste it. “See you soon, soulmate,” Kara whispers, and for a second it feels almost like Lena is staring right back.

[bruciemilf]

Having so many de aged! Jason feelings. I might just burst.

Dick and Tim theorize on how a small, happy little baby winded up in Jason's apartment. It's no secret their brother, a wall of bulk with a tender core, houses the homeless sometimes.

Maybe the baby is someone's? But if so, why was he alone? Jason isn't exactly famous for his unquestionable wisdom, but he's too caring to leave a defenceless infant by himself.

More importantly, why is this baby rolling on his tummy on a familiar brown jacket, evidently craving to be picked up?

"Can you take him? I'm not..." Tim's not good with kids; It's a running joke among them. Even If there's nothing comical about this.

Dick nods. His pride does swell when the baby giggles and coos.

"He has good taste."

" Okay, Narcissus. Let's take him home before your head pops,'' was Tim just a tiny bit jealous this little chubby cheeked thing was snuggling close to Dick, while downright glowering at him?

Maybe. A little. But babies were glorified chunks of meat, shaped just enough like a human to be considered cute. What did they know?

So they get home. It's a pleasant rarity, but they're all in one place.

All except Bruce, of course. Too busy bleeding on the streets to spend any time with them, Dick huffs,

Poor Damian is trying to jump and leap amongst them giants, struggling to take a peek at their young guest, " Grayson! I want the baby!"

" He's not a toy, Dami," they all share a silent look, clearly thinking the same thing. He got it from Bruce,

"What does it do?"

" He's a baby, Steph. He's not even aware he exists!"

" God I wish that were me,"

Duke looks at Babybird, as Dick affectionately took to calling him, with a strange, quizzical look, " He looks familiar. You said you found him at Jay's?"

" Yeah, but I'm taking him to a firestation. I just had to show B. You know he likes volunteering at daycares. Maybe he'll recognize him."

" Recognize who?"

Babybird was chewing on his own foot when the elevator doors slid open. Cass wasn't a wordsmith.

She read movements and actions as one listens to music.

Every member of her beloved family was a song of their own; Dick was motivational and calming.

Stephanie was packed with action, brimming with electrifying energy that just made you want to jump.

Tim was clean and precise with accents of pop. Duke was light and happy and silently confident. Damian was angry, and passionate and brave.

Bruce was powerful, sad, and perfectly tragic.

But when Babybird shrieked, yelled out in happiness and excitement and tried to wiggle out of Dick's arms with a sunshine beam and grabby hands?

Her father was a love song.

"Jay," The name sounds like Bruce is choking. His eyes are burning with tears, marching directly to Dick, " Jay? Jay!"

" Wh--"

"Dada!" Babybird, -- Jason? They only now noticed the white curl bouncing on top of his head, ( their inner detectives groan) " Dadadada, pap papi pap,"

They can't do anything, frozen in place, as Bruce spends the following two hours planting a garden of kisses on Jason's cheeks, full with laughter, while they read and color and build blocks.

"Uh, Bruce? I'm...I'm gonna call Zatanna."

" In a minute."

" DAD, --"

" In a minute."

It wasn't just a minute. It was an entire week.

As ridiculous as it was? They were starting to get jealous.

[bixshits]

so rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead functions on the idea of these guys not having a choice right? and even if they choose to just sit down and not move anywhere they'll probably be moved to where they need to be regardless? and the only choices they have are how they choose to interpret their world, with rosencrantz needing to find and test the boundaries of it and cement their place in it and guildenstern trusting the narrative without question? and guildenstern refuses to allow either of them to decide who they are? and they are so interconnected with each other that they are simply inseparable and indistinguishable, even to themselves? and they cannot define themselves without the other and become lost when they lose each other? and their choice (or lack thereof) in identity (or lack thereof) is mutually decided (or determined) to be in their inherent love and trust and unity in and with each other? and you expect me to be normal about that?

[mollysunder]

For once I actually went through the Arcane AMA and found those quotes about Silco's motivation. It's kind of wild to see it in full context.

First, I didn't even know the "dirty little thing" insecurity was an agreed upon perspective, I just thought it was one writer's opinion but no, Christian Linke (Praeco) let us know that was Silco's thing. Ok. I can see how that can tie in to how Silco and Jinx connected, personal insecurities from a hard life.

But then Amanda Overton (leeloo104) goes into detail.

I already know the creative team said they don't think political struggle is "relatable" (yikes), but I've never seen this extra tidbit before!

What do you mean this all so Vander will respect Silco again?!!??!? First of all I could really go in about how Arcane's team seem incapable of having any character fully articulate an actual in-depth explanation about on their grievances with the status quo and what changes should be applied that isn't somehow about familial validation. *looks at Jinx*

Instead, we need unpack how this motivation is at best, very weird, or flat out doesn't make sense. The quote makes it sound like Zaun was fully Silco's idea to win back Vander's love and respect, but Silco said a free Zaun was their shared dream. And regaining Vander's respect seems like a moot point when Silco killed Vander.

Unless Silco knows Vander isn't dead, and that Singed's been slowly turning Vander into Warwick. But then why does he talk to the Vander statue like Vander is dead? I don't doubt Silco wouldn't visit Warwick even in Warwick's confused state. Either way, the Vander that Silco wanted to receive validation from doesn't exist anymore.

I get that they probably wanted to connect Silco's motivation to Jinx's obsession with Vi, but that can be problematic too! It just ends up where Silco and Jinx are written in a way where their search for emotional validation takes precedence over any attempt for them to communicate a coherent and detailed observation on the surrounding politics of their environment.

It would be one thing if they were minor characters, or this was just related to Jinx because she's the youngest in the cast and her story is about understanding who she is. But it's both of them, Silco's at least in his forties, and they're a part of the main cast. On top of that, I'd say their the two most politically influential Zaunites in the cast, and we know NOTHING about what they stand for, what they think the future should look like. Nothing, just vibes.

[hazel2468]

I love how that person who was like "oh ew a Zionist" also has reblogged posts about not being antisemitic and buying into antisemitic conspiracies while ALSO like.

Reblogging posts about how Israel is a uniquely evil "colonial scar" and how Israel is "murdering children" and like. Literally straight up antisemtic shit.

Leveling criticism at Israel that positions it as a unique evil among all other countries and doing literal blood libel (IE, Israel murders Palestiaian babies in a way no other nation kills children) is FUCKING ANTISEMITIC. Israel is JUST A COUNTRY. It is JUST another nation, doing the shitty stuff that other nations do. And if you find yourself railing against Israel EXTRA hard right now, or ever, in ways that you do NOT rail against other shitty countries that do shitty things (and, I can't believe I have to say this, if you find yourself saying that the kidnap, rape, torture, and murder of any civilian ever is justified because "uwu this radical extremist group is freedom fighters"!) then you're a fucking antisemitic, racist bigot.

Like. It blows me away how so many people don't seem to see that Israel, the Jewish state (whether you agree with how it is run or not, whether you agree with how it came to be or not) gets SO MUCH MORE SHIT than other comparable shitty countries... Come on.

Because the alternative is that you DO see it. That you DO agree with all of those things that are STEEPED in age-old antisemitic conspiracy. And you agree.

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

Lazarus Pact AU

In the last moments of his reign, King of the Inifinite Realms attacked the victor and fled to the mortal plane to prevent the Tyrant known as Pariah Dark from absorbing his core and stealing his powers for himself. Those who couldn't challenge the new king's rule and wanted nothing to do with the barbaric monarch followed soon after.

Notably, the seemingly countless elite warriors who were revered for their expertise at ectoplasmic manipulation who joined the Former King throughout his eons-long time as ruler of the Realms.

However, in an environment with very little to no ambient ectoplasm, they had to use their energy reserves sparingly until they found a new home. The journey nearly resulted in them nearly fading from existence in the void of space, but they had found salvation in the form of beings called 'Guardians' who held similar beliefs to the monarch himself.

So, a pact was made, and conditions had to be met. The most important were the following:

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

1) The Warriors of the Infinite Realms would house themselves in artifacts that were virtually indestructible to any form of harm to keep them safe.

The Guardians would create power rings to keep them safe.

2) Ectoplasm was essential for beings of the Realms. Without it is to perish, so an energy would be needed to replenish their cores.

The Guardians got to work and made ectoplasmic generators that could revitalize a warrior's energy within a matter of seconds to carry on in their duties. These devices were to be called Lanterns.

3) A stealth team would be made to keep an eye on the happenings within the Inifinite Realms, specifically the young king Dark, and reported to the former king.

The Guardians established an elite team of Green Lanterns composed of their best members. These mission reports would be classified and kept secret from the Corps at large for the former king's eyes only.

4) Should Pariah Dark lose his crown, they would be informed by the former king. Should the new monarch be a just soul, the Green Lanterns are to protect this being with their lives and come to his aid in his hour of need.

Failure to do so will result in the forced disbanding of the Green Lanterns Corps via the destruction of the his own core. The Guardians, despite their scientific prowess and failsafes, could not hope to stop this event if it came to pass.

Upon hearing this, the Guardians would anxiously make their weekly scouting parties turn daily and scour the Realms for trouble.

5) From that day onward, the former king would no longer be addressed with his old title. A new one would be made.

The Guardians would address the entity as Ion, the Being of Willpower.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~

When Ion booms across all power rings that the new king is in need of immediate assistance, the Guardians send every available Lantern to intercept the threat.

The question being...who is it?

[emblazons]

Forewarning: Gay Mike talk skip if you want

Not to be that person in 2024 that pride gifset did it to me but I still genuinely do not understand how the "girls being girls was never a problem for Mike" argument came to be, considering THIS the show's Mike talking about, learning about, confessing to and just being around spaces re: girls:

note: this isn't even touching any of the moments we see hints that he's into boys—JUST the moments where we see his displeasure with/disinterest in engaging with girls (or commentary by other guys who are interested in them). Will, a confirmed gay character, doesn't even have this many reminders of his lack of interest in girls.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is a pattern. Twelve times without real effort to pull every example? and I didn't even include him taking a girls hands off him while kissing or the four other times they kissed eyes open or hidden? Iet's be so serious lmao

[furiousgoldfish]

abusers will go 'it makes me feel sooo upset when you live your life the way you want to and do the things you want to do, actually what you're doing is victimizing me by not existing only as a support and validation to me you are so abusive and selfish and you should think more about how your sense of freedom and boundaries is negatively effecting me'

[zeb-z]

There’s something so important about Gillion - who never heals himself, who rushes into danger, who hides his wounds- facing death and realizing he isn’t unafraid as he was raised to be. He uses his magic on himself to help with the exhaustion, to keep his life intact. And still he tries to comfort Jay and Chip while he’s coherent, being realistic about his chances but refusing to make it painful. Wanting their possible last moments to be light, to be about seemingly inconsequential things, small favorites that still mean the world to him purely because they’re Chip and Jay’s favorites. And then when all is said and done, he makes a raccoon for Jay. He talks about raspberries for Chip. He uses his last saved up arcane energy to try desperately to stay awake, and it works, and it saves him in the final hour.

It’s just. There’s something about how he hasn’t had a chance to rest since the Feywild, really, truly rest. How this whole time he’s been down on himself and taking extreme risks. And now, at what might be the end of it all, he realizes he doesn’t want to die. He wants to live. And not to be able to save others, not to fulfill his destiny, not out of obligation to anyone else - but purely for himself. For all the little things. And though it’s not quite healing in the literal term, his nearly final act was spent trying to save himself - and it worked.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

this horse is long dead and nobody but me cares, but knowing how much more thoughtful, charitable, and sympathetic, and at LEAST observant of the facts/in-universe context the fandom would have been about Celene if she were a man is so frustrating

[buggbuzz]

he's such a loser

[tightjeansjavi]

Fun Ancient Rome history fact for all of you history nerds out there (like me)

Caracalla had two murder attempts on his brother Geta (one of which were unsuccessful)

His first attempt to murder Geta was during the festival of Saturnalia, and the following week Caracalla organized a peace meeting with Geta through their mother. Because Geta was not with his guards at the time, Caracalla had him murdered in their mothers arms by the centurions

I wonder if gladiator ii will be following history, or doing something different but, I will say for the fic that I’m writing…Geta and Caracalla both try to off one another 🤫 who is successful? Well, guess you’ll just have to wait and find out ;)

[rollercoasterwords]

yeah u can put "i hate jkr" and "fuck terfs" in ur tumblr bio but. can u listen + reflect when a trans woman criticizes hp fandom without immediately getting defensive.....

[cctinsleybaxter]

Artists who admit to not knowing small details about their characters and worldbuilding have inadvertently given better advice than any character design post on social media tbh. as fun as it is to come up with what your guys would order from a restaurant or the contents of their backpack or their favorite color I've run into very few people who can leave that stuff in a story (or even leave it offscreen as paratext) without it being distracting and poorly written because it's rarely in service of the narrative. a lot of that is def just down to personal taste, but it feels more like designing characters for a TTRPG