Every Friend Group Should Include... (insp.)

Or Church of Christ too

god avatrice really just hits different when you were raised catholic and had to repress all that longing for a girl’s love but now that you’ve accepted your queerness you’re obsessed with subverting catholic imagery and metaphors and using them to articulate your gay yearning 

the nightblood family we deserved

(Art Creds - @papurrcat )

Everybody talks about children of divorced parents but let's talk about the true soldiers. Children of "will you pls get a fucking divorce" parents

He looked incredibly…handsome, masculine and 100% authentic

ThEReS No PoSsIbLe sCeNaRio wHeRe KaRa cOuLd hAvE tOlD LeNa AnD iT dIDnT eNd BaDLy

me, pulling up 500 fics from aO3:

The story of a generation comes to an end. Watch the #D23Expo Special Look for Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. See the film in theaters on December 20. (via @starwars on twitter)

Secret Clones AU

Short version: Secret Clones AU is the clones going into hiding in plain sight across the galaxy to force a fair wage and also to keep the babies safe from Kaminoans

The clones figure out the plan to take advantage of them, brain chips, etc. several years before the war hits. IDK how, maybe Jango decided to take a closer look with Mij and went Oh Shit. Doesn't matter. Point is, they caught on and decided that they needed to uhhhhh get Out.

There are millions of clones, yes, but there are tens of thousands of planets.

Once the chips are out and someone's jabbed them with anti-aging serum... they're not that different from standard humans.

And it's not exactly hard to tie up the Kaminoans long enough to get off planet.

So what happens is that a while, let's say a year and a half, before the war kicks off, you have a mass exodus from Kamino, and a wide dispersal of clones. They are generally staying together in groups of about half a dozen, claiming to be brothers, so that there's a 16-18-ish looking clone to take lead, with progressively younger cadets to look after. Each one has a commander they can 'report' to in case of emergency, and if something goes real bad, they can call in an Alpha (and Alphas can call in Jango in a worst case scenario).

It's still sort of a military structure, but... it's a phone tree.

And you have one of these groups of half a dozen clones in every major city. There are thousands of planets, and most of those planets have more than one city. Denon and Coruscant are nothing but city, so they can get counted as dozens of cities on their own. It's easy to disappear in places like that.

It's so easy for the clones, before anyone knows them, to just... disappear. Go into hiding in plain sight.

It's not like more than a handful of people know what to look for.

(It's not like they have a centralized record of who went where.)

(It's just the phone tree.)

They still get real excited-happy-eager when they run into a Jedi.

They want to work with Jedi. They're the good guys! And they're cool!

But your army did a mass desertion before the war started and finding/recruiting all of them is going to take a stupid amount of money. You cannot hire a bounty hunter for each and every clone.

And as @bytebun put it:

Somebody two years later: you look …familiar. Have we met? Clone: haha I get that a lot just one of those faces

AND THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE THE GALAXY IS HECKING MASSIVE

I think the Republic has to like… negotiate with Jango and the Alphas and set up paid contracts if they want these Ultra Skilled Warriors to fight for them.

The clones can fight. Some of them even want to fight. They are good at this and they recognize that many of the things that are occurring under Separatist invasion are Mega Bad.

But like. Pay them and treat them as citizens, first.

The Jedi are even more confused about this identical army that really loves them than they are in canon Where the heck did you guys come from Who trained you Why do you like us What the heck is going on

"Someone wanted us to be a trap for you but we took the trap out. Here we have a sample if you want. Anyway. We like you guys and want to fight with you because honestly civilian life is way understimulating. Let me punch a droid."

I think a few of the clones do 'scouting' where they voluntarily help a Jedi in the field to gather information on their validity as Friends. Cody keeps a number of spreadsheets that are just Various Jedi Encounters.

Rex does a scouting mission with Kenobi&Skywalker and just goes to Cody like "Listen. I know he's insane. But. I want that one."

Rex just "I call dibs" "Cody. Cody did you hear me. Dibs, I call dibs."

@catboydogma: stats for pong krell are all zeroes

Absolute shit tier Jedi They play rock paper scissors to decide who has to deal with him

A solid half of the clones don't get recruited because the lack of advanced aging (past a certain point) means they're physically still minors and My Dad (Alphas and CCs) Said No. They stay behind on their various planets to look after The Real Babies.

"Let me ask my dad" "Wait--" "He said no."

Just want these boys to have Civilian Lives they can return to or at least experience before war gets them all fucked up.

I think some of them try to Make Connections with influential people (whether politicians or like... Space Influencers) so they have people vouching for them once the war kicks off. And there can be at least some public pushback on functionally enslaving them.

"I can't believe you manipulated people into liking you! That's so mean!" "Well you see. I wanted to survive past the age of eleven. So."

no offense, but this looks like a domestic scene where the three of them are in a relationship and have a daughter and Kara and Sam just got home to find their wife after a horrible day at work.

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.”