Lazy Mornings

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For the ask game:

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

Lena isn’t naive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kvers sends her only a 😳 in response.

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

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

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

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

So Kvers is absolutely fucking with her.

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

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

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

Small kitchen accident Kvers has the audacity to reply.

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

Where in SoCal are you exactly?

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks far more human than Lena would have imagined.

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

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

Hey hey hey! Once again, it’s me. Was wondering if you’d write the young on Melida/daan + eldritch obi-wan? Please and thank you. This universe gives me life :)

War is not meant for children. 

That doesn’t mean it isn't fought by them. When they are the only ones willing to stand against the senseless slaughter and argue for peace. When the children are the only ones that answer the call to end the war that’s silenced them for centuries.

They can’t call for aid, can’t pay for hired guns or supplies or even shelter. 

But the Jedi come and there is hope, and then the Jedi leave again and they are left with a thin boy without the weapon he has learned to use all his life and nothing but a vibroblade to substitute it.

Neild thinks they’ve lost then. Cerasi argues that so long as they breath they can’t be lost. Obi-wan Kenobi smiles with oddly sharp teeth and tells them that sometimes all there is left is hope. And the determination for change.

Runil, the little medic tells them that they can’t lose him with wide eyed wonder and three living breathing children that should be long dead in the ditch they found them in. She tells them that he is the miracle worker they’ve needed with that desperate hope they’ve barely kept alive. 

(The oldest is 10, probably older than Runil herself, Obi-wan won’t explain what he did to save her though she watched him lay a hand on her chest as she choked on blood and quite sobs. Runil is the daughter of two doctors long lost to the war and even she isn’t certain it’s something she could even understand.)

None of them know what to make of the figure he cut’s on the battlefield. Half as tall as any of their enemies and yet the blaster weighs heavy in thin hands and never misses a shot. Neild sees the way he moves, sees the way the world moves with him. Dust and stones hanging in the air around him as he darts for his target with an efficiency Neild can’t begin to understand.

He see’s the way Obi-wan’s head snaps to the side and his hand rises, pulling thin air and jerking Locc off his feet from half the field away as the ground beneath him explodes. The younger boy should be dead, not shaking and bleeding from a dozen cuts. Obi-wan seems to disagree, a snarl on his face as he pulls the boy to him and raises a hand. A dozen mines explode across the field and Neild thinks maybe he was wrong. 

Maybe the war isn’t lost just yet. 

The Dark Trio

((Based off this text post))

Harry was sweet to Hagrid, he actually liked him more then he liked most people, however when Harry and Hagrid parted at King’s Cross, Harry felt like most of the kids there with their families and their happy goodbyes weren’t for him. Harry dragged his trunk aboard and found a compartment. About 5 minutes later the boy from the robes shop entered, the one with the blonde hair and the sharp nose. He sat and slowly a couple bigger boys entered and a girl with sharp facial features and dark hair. He learnt the boys were Crabbe and Goyle, and the girl was Pansy, the boy from the robe shop he knew was Draco Malfoy. 

He learn’t a lot about Hogwarts, how they all wanted Slytherin, it was noble and that’s where the ambitious and cunning belonged. Harry liked the sound of that.

-

The sorting hat took a minute to place Harry, however he was so excited about Slytherin, and the hat could see it would make him great, so moments later it shouted out “SLYTHERIN!”

Harry joined his new friends to watch the rest of the sorting, across from him was another girl, Hermione Granger, who caused quite the scene when she was sorted Slytherin, Harry would soon find out it was because she was Muggleborn. The other surprise came when Ron Weasley was sorted Slytherin, the other Weasleys, a blood traitor family, were Gryffindors, for centuries. 

They all ended up being friends and dorm mates, it didn’t take long for Harry, Ron and Hermione to become close as they were the outcasts, since Harry was technically from a blood traitor family and was raised by muggles. 

Hermione was the brightest witch of her age and it only took 3 untraceable poisons slipped into peoples pumpkin juice and a handful of painful curses for the Slytherins to stop bullying muggle born’s half-blood’s and blood traitors, because Hermione knew the dark, forbidden magic.She also knew not to get caught. The teachers all adored smart, clever Hermione, Snape however kept a close eye on her enjoyment of the restricted section. Noting all the dark magic that must be floating around her bright head. 

Ron wanted desperately to get out of his family’s shadow, Ron had a dark way about him he always thought about the most traumatic, painful and long lasting ways to hex and get back at people. Harry often had to reign in his mates mind and thoughts. Ron casted his first dark spell, the power of it left them unable to speak about it, they were all blown away by the power held in this little group.

Harry had the drive to be great, admired, the want to be free and the thick skin.

Hermione had the knowledge, the need to change the world and was just mad enough to do it.

Ron had the power and little conscience.

The Wizarding World didn’t notice Quirell was found in a dungeon no sign of trauma but undoubtedly dead. When Lockhart was found in his study, hanging sideways from his chair a goblet on the floor. No one knows about Snape finding the trio walking away from the forbidden forest and the body of a man named Peter who is bloodied with gashes from the darkest and most painful of magic, Ron’s hands soaked with blood inside his pockets. The remains of Umbridge turn even the most experienced aurors away, and that one made Hermione a bit mad, the magic she used was dark and the torture maddening.

By the time Voldemort rises to power the trio have killed, hexed and poisoned their way to the top. They don’t need a school full of loyal students, or an ill advised head master. He faces a bright young witch, with untamed hair and a sheen to her eye that gives her the look of being mad, which she totally is. A wizard who prefers blood, and pain to clean lethal spells and can manipulate people, using any means necessary and a boy, broken and ambitious enough for the lot of them who has won their loyalty and keeps them going.

Together they defeat Voldemort, and no one innocent dies. 

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

WandaVision is just Wanda's fixitfic, EveryoneLivesAU, and I think its time we discussed that.

Part 5/7 - Previous / Next / First

Track: ‘Warriors’ - Imagine Dragons

Ponds didn’t consider he would ever be able to use a lightsaber, but Mace Windu seemed to think otherwise as he pushed it into Pond’s hand.

“Sir I can’t! I won’t be able to help them, I-I-”

“Commander Ponds,” Mace stated, leaving no room for an argument as he crushed a droid's head with the Force alone. “You have lived through everything, stood by my side every step of the way and then some, and have been faithful to your brothers from the beginning.” Mace forced two droids to turn on each other as they fired, Ponds taking a few shots behind the Jedi to cover his back. “The force is calling for you to continue being you, to continue being someone I am proud to call my friend. Don’t let that last shred of fear and doubt convince you that you, or any of your brothers, are anything but men worth living for!”

Ponds spun back and met Mace Windu's hard gaze, the world crashing to a halt. It was a familiar look, one that spoke of a wisdom and assuredness, and drove what he had said to the center of Ponds very soul. Before him was a man who people had doubted, who had walked the edge of hatred and managed to hang on to his beliefs. Someone who would risk everything he was to give another the chance to become who they needed to be.

Exactly like he was doing now.

The weight of the saber suddenly became lighter, and Ponds found himself breathing steady as he raised the hilt between them. Something within himself began burning under Windu's stare, something that guided his movements to ignite the weapon. And as they were bathed in the iconic purple light, Ponds didn’t feel anything but faith. Faith in the saber, faith in his Jedi, and faith in his brothers. And as he lowered it, Windu now wore the faintest of smiles. 

“Don’t forget we have a sabacc rematch soon, Commander.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sir," Ponds promised.

The struggle is real (x)

me