art by ekingston

easter kingston’s (mostly) supergirl fan work blog. please reblog, don't repost. come find my main @ekingston

[ekingstonart]

here are my commission prices for those of you who asked & anyone else who may be interested! feel free to dm me for more information — reblogs are very helpful and always appreciated!

[ekingstonart]

commissions are CLOSED until winter! much love to all of you who helped spread the word!

[ekingston]

👀 Editing Holiday Wine? Are you going to get it published?

thank you for asking anon! i’ve kept this one close to the chest for a while, but the answer is YES! if all goes according to plan, i will be publishing the final version of YMHW (no longer called YMHW) this fall, as the first of what will hopefully be a number of non-fannish novels! it’s all a little terrifying, because going the self-pub route means i am 1. figuring things out as i go, and 2. taking the version you’re familiar with down from ao3.

That last one KILLS me. YMHW in its current form means an almost ridiculous lot to me and—trusting your many very lovely comments—it does to some of you, too. that is the reason i want to take this next step, though: i think this story can carry a similar comfort & joy beyond fandom spaces, and i want to give it a chance to be found by & shared with anyone who may be in need of a chunky, feel-good, sapphic romantic comedy this year.

if you loved YMHW, i’m not expecting anything beyond the support you’ve already so kindly & generously given me. i would obviously be thrilled if you were interested in buying the book! but i understand if you prefer to remember the story as is, and don’t want to see it outside of its original context. that’s why i’m leaving YMHW up for another week: you’re welcome to (re)read it or to download it for private use, but i do ask that you don’t share the file with others, especially after i take YMHW offline. the platform i’m publishing on (yes that one) requires exclusivity; digital copies circulating after i publish put me in direct danger of getting banned, which will destroy my chances of putting out the next novels i’m working on. in light of several past experiences, i’ve also officially established my copyright, which means i now have a way to fight back properly if my work gets stolen or plagiarized again.

until June 13th, You & Me & Holiday Wine can be found here. if you’d like to be among the first to see the cover, receive updates & other insights & previews, or are interested in reviewing an ARC, you can subscribe to my newsletter here.

i’m saving every single comment you’ve ever left me. writing YMHW, sharing it with you, and hearing what it meant to you was a blindingly bright spot during a very dark time, and i will be grateful to it and to you for that, forever.

[ekingstonart]

@broadsandbroadswords Volume III orders are NOW OPEN! if you love swords, women with swords, nonbinary people with swords, and gorgeous art of all of the above, order yours here! all proceeds will go to the Transgender Law Center and Point of Pride 🏳️‍🌈

[ekingstonart]

Who cares about the laws of physics when the rules of attraction are in play?

[ekingston]

Hacker, Hater, Hero, Spy | M | COMPLETE

Lena hums. “And here I thought you were supposed to be saving me, tonight.”

Kara blinks up from the food to Lena’s chest—oops—before meeting Lena’s eyes. “Save you?” she says. “Haha. What. Like, uh, like Supergirl? Or whatever?”

“No, silly,” Lena says, smiling so fondly at her that it makes Kara a little lightheaded. “As my bodyguard, of course.”

“Oh right! That’s me!” Kara grins, puffing out her chest and clicking her heels and keeping her eyeline firmly above Lena’s shoulders. “At your service, ma’am. Ready to guard your—um.” She halts. “Your… body,” she finishes, flinching.

-

In which Supergirl attends a fancy party in D.C. to stop a mysterious assassin, and wow, would you look at that? Lena Luthor is there too! What a complete and utter coincidence!

[ekingstonart]

3x17 studies(?) in any case here’s Lena Luthor demonstrating that locking yourself in a lab containing hazardous chemicals, reality-altering technology and a genetically modified supervillain who is also your best (only?) friend doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still try to look your absolute level best

(also ‘t is the season so if you resent me for leaving out Sam Arias, have some Holiday Wine & hopefully you’ll be willing to forgive me my tresspasses)

[ekingstonart]

supercorp as a tragedy told in four acts hands

the fully saturated version (better when viewed on ipad or pc) and grayscale under the cut:

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I’ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[ekingston]

So it’s 2019, because that’s what it said on the screenshot I used to create the gif, and you’re casually browsing Netflix, grateful to be alive in a world where COVID or an internationally devastating shift in political alliances are but distant echoes of a future that may never come to pass, and you happen upon a movie that’s just been added, called BREACH.

Your Netflix synopsis says: When a man turns up dead on the shore of a remote mountain town and a local girl vanishes without a trace, it’s up to a local detective to put the pieces together. But when she rescues an attractive tourist off the side of the road, the investigation takes an intimate—and dangerous—turn.

And you’re like, ‘eh, nothing I haven’t seen before,’ (though the LGBTQ label is interesting), but then the preview starts autoplaying and IS THAT KATIE MCGRATH?! And it IS. So now you have no choice but to sit through the trailer.

Nocturne by Blanco White is playing, calmly at first, swelling as it goes on. You’re presented with a wide shot of a towering dam, the camera slowly rising up the water-streaked concrete before breaching the top. An enormous lake BOOMS into view, jagged mountains beyond it, forming a serrated edge against the lightening sky. It’s early morning. Mist is rolling down the densely forested mountains and over the water.

(You wonder if this production used the same locations (or rather special effects) as Les Revenants did, and yes, it absolutely did, because I loved the atmosphere of that show and I adore mountain towns with enormous lakes and it is, to date, the most Hollywood version of non-Paris France I’ve ever seen.)

The wide shot narrows to a ground-level closeup of the pebbled shoreline, pulling slowly away from the water until we glimpse a piece of discarded police tape, fluttering on the breeze. The camera pans past a pair of sneakers and then a pair of uncomfortable-looking high heels, wobbling on the rocky beach. It’s a news crew, reporting live on the disappearance of a young girl. The camera pushes past them, staying at ground-level as it leads us into the woods, where we find the paws of a canine unit, splashing in a shallow mountain stream. There’s the sound of police radios, and then we see the boots of a police search party. We stop at a much smaller but otherwise identical pair of leather boots. The camera pans up at our detective—it’s Katie McGrath! Finally!

She looks amazing, obviously. For the sake of this miraculously being a supercorp AU, her character is a fair bit more acerbic version of our girl Lena Luthor, except we’re time traveling so she’s now in her early 40s, her dark hair greying slightly at the temples (let a girl dream), her jawline somehow sharper than ever, freckles proudly on display in the natural light. Her hair is hanging loosely over her shoulders, looking like it hasn’t seen a brush since she last laid down. Lena is wearing slacks, a wrinkled dress shirt and a men’s blazer that is slightly too large for her. She stares off into the woods, chin jutting, a muscle jumping in her jaw, her fingers absently playing with a pack of cigarettes.

CUT TO:

Early nighttime. A dark mountain road, lit sparsely, tall pine trees walling it in on both sides. We see over Lena’s shoulder, her hands on the steering wheel, as her cruiser’s headlights sweep over the shape of a woman, bent over the engine of her stalled car. The woman—blonde, mid-thirties, wearing cut-off jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt far too thin for the late hour—turns when the car appears, squinting into the light. It’s Kara.

Lena comes to a stop behind her and rolls her window down. She calls out, “You need a ride?”

CUT TO:

The dimly lit interior of a spartan living room. Lena dumps blankets on the couch.

Kara asks, “You sure this is okay, me sleeping here?”

CUT TO:

Daytime, and we’re at the sheriff’s office. Lena, wearing a clean-but-barely-ironed dress shirt, drinks coffee as if her life depends on it. Mike Matthews, the sheriff’s deputy, makes fun of Lena’s uncharacteristic hospitality.

“What was I supposed to do?” Lena asks him, as we see a flashback shot of Lena watching Kara over the rim of her coffee cup, earlier that morning. “Next town’s hours away.”

We see Kara maintaining eye contact with Lena for a moment, the corners of her eyes crinkling, as we hear Mike telling Lena, back at the office, “You won’t even let me stay at your place.”

“You had bed bugs,” Lena points out. Then she raises an eyebrow, looking away, adding as a casual sidenote, “Plus she’s prettier than you.”

WLWNESS/SAPPHICTROCITY/LESBIANANIGANS CONFIRMED.

CUT TO:

It’s evening, and we’re in Lena’s kitchen. Kara is making dinner when Lena walks in, feeding scraps to—and this is very important! but only to me—Lena’s dog. Did I mention this is actually also a crossover with Person of Interest, and for absolutely no other reason than I need Lena to have Bear the Brilliant Belgian Malinois? “I see you made a friend,” Lena says. It’s unclear whether she’s talking to Bear or Kara.

The news is on, talking about the missing girl. Lena turns it off before settling into a chair near the open doorway, her legs splayed wide at rest. Bear immediately settles at her side, chin resting on Lena’s thigh. We all kind of want to be a Brilliant Belgian Malinois, in that moment. Kara asks, indicating the TV, “You think she’s still alive?”

“Could be.” Lena digs for her pack of cigarettes and pulls a lighter from a kitchen drawer, probably shoving an old walkman she’s had forever out of the way to get to it, scratching the course hair between Bear’s ears before settling back down. “‘Course if you asked me last week, I may have told you something different.”

Kara turns off the stove so you can all stop worrying, and starts plating the food. “What changed?”

Lena pauses while she lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag, the blue smoke drifting through the doorway outside as Lena savors it, slowly breathing out as gays the world over are forced to reconsider the merits of smoking. Like yes, it kills you in terrifying, excruciating ways, but LOOK AT HER. Lena watches Kara intently, but doesn’t answer her question.

CUT TO:

We see Lena in her bedroom, late at night, flipping through case files. Her fingers (which, EXTREME closeup, EXTREME CLOSEUPS OF HER HANDS THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE PRODUCTION, hover over a grainy picture of a young white man, wearing a red baseball cap. His back is turned so we can’t see his face, though if you hated hard enough back in the day you may have a hunch. As the camera circles around the room, Lena is replaced by Kara, the bedroom now bathed in golden morning light. She’s looking through the photos too, her fingers shaking. We see her react to the photograph of the ballcapped man, before quickly putting things back exactly as they were.

CUT TO:

An evening shot of the lake, the water wrinkling in the breeze, softly lapping at the shore. We hear the sound of something large hitting the water.

CUT TO:

A pee break, actually, and you’re gonna go ahead and grab a snack while you’re up. There sure is a lot of water in this movie. Wait, weren’t you just watching a trailer? Why does it feel like an hour has passed? Is it the hands? How many times have you hit that pause button? What year is it?

CUT TO:

Lena and Kara are at the Lake Pub. It’s dimly lit and smoky. Lena drinks whiskey. Across from her, Kara stirs a glass of soda with her pinkie finger. They’re regarding each other so openly you genuinely start to feel a bit faint.

“You’re looking at me like I’m one of your suspects,” Kara says.

You disagree. That’s not what suspicion looks like. You’re sure, because you’ve seen Katie McGrath look at approximately 99.9% of her female costars this way.

Lena keeps her gaze level, unflinching and forward. “I look at everyone like that,” she lies.

A beat.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Kara says.

You’re feeling suddenly thirsty, too.

CUT TO:

Red and blue lights illuminate the deep indigo sky over the lake. A body is being dragged from the water as Lena watches, clenching her stupendous jaw. Seriously, how is she growing hotter all the fucking time if storybook-princess-turned-mesmerizing-murderess was her baseline?

CUT TO:

Lena, sitting in her parked car. She slams her fist against the steering wheel. (Don’t worry, no hands were injured in the making of this film.) It’s overlayed with imagery of a burial service, a US flag draped over the coffin, a pair of grieving women—one middle aged, the other a pretty 20-something brunette, surrounded by officers in dress blues. Lena is there too, looking dashing in her uniform, but also like she hasn’t slept in a week.

CUT TO:

Lena is standing in the center of her living room, rubbing her brow with her long, spatulate fingers. Kara is hovering in a corner a couple of feet away, cautious. “Just say it,” she whispers. “You think I killed him.”

Lena releases a breath that is half-huff, half-groan. “I’m not sure it even matters anymore,” she says.

“How can you say that?” Kara asks. When Lena doesn’t answer her, Kara steps closer and touches her arm. Lena turns as if she’s going to shrug Kara off, and the instant you begin to wonder what the hell this movie is supposed to be about, you stop caring because Lena abruptly pulls Kara closer and they kiss, urgent and rough.

You’re not sure if your ears are ringing or if the sound you’re hearing is a chorus of lesbians all over the world exploding into cheers & wild applause.

As the music builds to a crescendo, we see a quick series of images:

Lena presses Kara against her bedroom wall, Lena’s lips at her jaw, her fingers undoing the button of Kara’s jeans before they slip inside her pants; your life flashes before your eyes; Lena points her gun at someone, but we don’t see who; Lena’s fingers support Kara’s chin as she gently dabs at her bloodied brow with a piece of gauze; headlights illuminate a figure in the road, mirroring Lena picking up Kara, but this time the smiling man in the red baseball cap (again seen only from the back) is the one pulling over & rolling down his window.

The dam’s floodgates open, a roar of white water pouring through.

The music stops abruptly as we end on a final, long shot. Lena stands on top of the dam, looking down, the sky above her, the dizzying depths below. The camera falls away, down down down, until it breaches the surface of the water and sinks into the dark water beneath.

Kara (voiceover, pleading, breathless): “If I go under, I’ll pull you down with me.”

Lena (voiceover, raw but full of conviction): “I’m a pretty good swimmer. And I have a feeling you are, too.”

CUT TO BLACK.

You blow out a breath and resign yourself to your fate. You hit the mute button, and press play.

Also I was proud of how this one manip turned out so I’m sharing the version that makes it marginally more clear that Kara isn’t randomly & uncomfortably touching her own face:

Like I said: SO MANY CLOSEUPS.

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

“Would you stop fondling my boobs?” Lena hisses, watching as a man nearly wanders into traffic staring at what looks like Lena Luthor, elbow-deep in her own cleavage. He swerves, promptly face-planting into a lamp post when he sees Supergirl herself slap Lena’s hand away. “We’re in public,” Lena reminds her.

“Ouch,” Kara yelps. “Gentle!”

“Sorry,” Lena says. But she only feels a little bad, because at least Kara is now cradling her arm instead of getting Lena arrested for indecent exposure.

Kara is still squirming when Lena checks them in, the receptionist beaming at her in a way Lena has never been beamed at before. Dr. Sattler’s ready for them. Kara gives Lena a last, panicked look, and then she takes the therapist’s offered hand and introduces herself.

“Lena Luthor,” Kara tells Dr. Sattler with a lopsided grin. “Good to meet you.”

“And Supergirl,” Dr. Sattler says, turning to Lena, her gaze briefly flitting down at the S on Lena’s chest. “How wonderful you managed to finally come in.”

Kara flops down onto the couch with a grateful sigh, the skirt of her dress gapping immodestly as she kicks off Lena’s heels. Lena nudges her legs to close them, annoyed. The injustice of Kara getting to act as if she wants to be here. As if she hasn’t been avoiding this visit for months.

(Do we really need to do this? Kara had asked Lena just this morning. Kara’s gaze had been a cross-eyed, sparkling green as Lena applied her eyeliner with a trembling, freckled hand.

Lena had growled in response, knowing even the barest bit of unintentional pressure could blind her for life. We’re not going to cancel just because we’re wearing each other’s bodies, Kara. Hold still.

I bet you’d look good with an eyepatch, Kara had breathed, after which Lena had given up on the endeavor altogether.)

“Your work must keep you busy,” the therapist says magnanimously.

Lena huffs out a laugh. “You can say that again.” And when the Dr. looks at her, curious, “Being a superhero and all that. Always off saving the world!”

“That goes for both of us,” Kara points out. “You—I—don’t even make it to bed, most nights.” And then, softer, “Even when you tell me you’ll wait up.”

“I wish I wouldn’t.” Lena turns to the therapist and explains, “I eat when I’m bored. She comes home to a bed full of crumbs. Who wants to have sex when the sheets are littered with bits of Captain Crunch?”

Dr. Sattler opens her mouth to answer, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance. “Maybe I could make an effort not to be such a neat freak,” she pouts.

Lena’s eyes flash. “Maybe I could make an effort to wash my hands after I use the bathroom,” she snaps back.

Kara sits up. “You do!” she yells. “You’re just quick about it!”

Lena sighs. “The laws of nature don’t work that way, darling.”

Kara makes a face Lena vows never to make again if she ever gets her body back. “I leave my hair in the shower.”

Lena snorts. “I wash it down the drain. That’s worse.”

“But you fix it!” Kara looks at her with Lena's own wide, pleading eyes. “That’s how—how you show love. By fixing things.”

“Wrong,” Lena flings back. “I break them, so I can feel needed.”

Kara blinks at her, looking hurt.

“That’s.” Dr. Sattler pauses for a moment. “Some very impressive self-reflection,” she decides.

Lena smiles at her, glad they’re getting somewhere.

Kara looks from the therapist to Lena, her blood red lips—easier than eyeliner—pinching together with uncanny chagrin. “I faked my own kidnapping to get out of her family’s Thanksgiving,” she accuses darkly.

Lena sniffs. “I have a codependent relationship with my sister.”

Kara gasps. Dr. Sattler’s eyes widen. Lena arches an eyebrow with considerable effort.

“Oh yeah?” Kara sputters. “Well,” she flails, her nostrils flaring. “You—" she takes a deep breath. "I have mommy issues.”

Oh, fuck no. That's too far. “You do not,” Lena squawks.

"No?" Kara cocks her jaw in a way that makes Lena feel, for the first time, a little sorry for the men she’s similarly stared down. “Let’s find out,” Kara says with the smallest of smirks, and then she retrieves, horribly, from Lena’s purse, Lena’s phone.

“You wouldn’t,” Lena whispers, her heart stopping.

Kara jumps up with surprising agility, dancing out of Lena’s reach. “This’ll just take a second,” she promises Dr. Sattler. “Hello? Mother?”

Lena scrambles over to the other end of the couch, practically throwing herself across the room in an effort to get to Kara.

“No reason,” Kara croons into the phone, grinning as she maneuvers herself away from Lena’s grasp. An elaborately painted and unfortunately placed vase isn’t so lucky. “Just calling to say hey,” Kara says. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Lena really should have taken Kara up on her offer to help Lena master her power of flight. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she yells.

“It is!” Kara sing-songs. “Still going strong, yup. Which is why I called! We were wondering—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lena hisses, clawing for Kara’s shoulder and exploding a couch cushion instead.

“—how would you feel about coming to our wedding?”

Lena freezes, flecks of stuffing falling around them like snow.

“Excellent!” Kara chirps. “We'll see you there.”

Dr. Sattler clears her throat. “I don’t think you two have anything to worry about,” she says. “Your communication style is—unique, but obviously effective.”

Kara beams at her as they're leaving, wearing a deeply pleased expression Lena didn’t even think her face was capable of making. “You really should start wearing more comfortable bras,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Also maybe take up yoga.”

Lena hums. “You’ve never had any complaints before.”

Kara stops and stares at her, aghast. "Is that what I look like when I'm coming on to you?"

Lena grins at her. "Why do you think I'm marrying you?"

Kara giggles.

- - -

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘established relationship’, ‘at a therapist’s office’, ‘body swap’ and ‘an eyepatch’. You should give it a whirl!

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

So here’s the thing: by the time Lena notices the device taped to the bottom of her credenza—blinking red lights are such a giveaway, you’d think villains would stop using them—she’s already thoroughly done with her day. The only thing that’s kept her upright is the prospect of opening the bottle of Bowmore waiting for her on the top shelf of said credenza, so when the blinking red light turns a solid, menacing sort of yellow and pauses, Lena’s first reaction is less BOMB and more tired resignation.

(The second one is BOMB, because no matter how unimaginative her assassin may be, no matter how many times Lena stares down the barrel of a gun or lurches through the air in a failing aircraft, it isn’t something she’ll ever actually get used to.)

Her reflexes have gotten pretty good. It’s one of the perks of what her therapist has emphatically confirmed qualifies as PTSD. It’s also responsible for the three different avenues of escape Lena has installed around her office. Her reinforced desk now topples on a hinge; good for gunmen and small artillery, but too flimsy for her current predicament. There is a trap door by the couch, but it hasn’t worked properly since the incident with James. Lena’s best bet is the rappel rope outside her balcony. Its harness is based loosely on Lex’s suit design, clasping quickly around the body, but Lena fears she won’t be fast enough. So she tips the desk anyway, on her way out the door.

The hair on her arms picks up the abrupt change in air pressure before her ears register the sound of breaking glass. There’s no time to make sure the harness is locked in place before she jumps, taking her only shot at making it out alive. The way she sees it, there isn’t much difference between being a bloody smear on the wall of her ruined office or on the sidewalk outside her building.

Her descent begins to slow almost immediately, the belay device working to provide her with a survivable landing. Lena breathes out slowly. Another near-miss, she thinks, already schooling her features, ready to shrug it off like the others.

Then there’s a decisive snap.

For a moment, Lena is flying rather than falling. The air around her is like water, and she’s weightless. Even as she drowns in air, gasping for breath as it’s knocked from her lungs, she’s overwhelmed by the feeling that This Is Okay.

(Later, she won’t be able to figure out if it was her fatalistic streak or the strong arms wrapped around her that told her everything was exactly the way it should be.)

Supergirl has her, a blur of red and blue and soft, golden hair. Kara, Lena reminds herself. She’s still struggling to superimpose the two very different women Kara Zor-El once was—were? to her.

They land in an alley just off West Cordova Street. Lena only slowly becomes aware that there’s solid ground beneath her feet, because Kara is still holding on to her. She’s so close Lena can smell the metallic tang of her skin, the one she used to associate with hours spent tinkering in R&D. It represents to her a feeling of potential and contentment and joy, so it suits Kara perfectly, although Lena hasn’t allowed herself to dwell too much on why it does.

“Kara,” Lena says, but Kara interrupts her.

“I would have been too late,” she says, and Lena notes with consternation that Kara’s lip is trembling. Lena probably values her own life less than she should, but dying feels like a much more unfortunate possibility if it means Kara’s face might look the way it does now, and Lena wants to find the person responsible and make them hurt.

She’s feeling a little reckless—as usual after an assassination attempt—and Kara is still holding on to her, looking windswept and distraught. Lena can’t remember the last time someone looked at her with such focus, without even a hint of menace behind it. Before she thinks about it she’s reaching out, fisting a hand in that soft, soft hair, and then there it is—she’s kissing Kara, and it’s a much more uncomplicated, much more straightforward thing than Lena had made it in her head.

And really, Lena should have expected what happens next, because that’s the kind of day it’s been. The paparazzo is not discreet, the wide angle lens glinting in the sunlight at the end of the alley.

When National City’s gossip hounds stop by the newsstand the next morning, they’re intrigued—less by a Luthor and a Super finally locking lips than by what the paparazzo must have told them after she was caught taking their picture. Was it a flattering remark on how good they look together that had made them forgive her for invading their privacy? (They do—expect to see them on next week’s cover, already having been voted National City’s #1 hottest couple.) Was it a particularly bad pun that made Supergirl smile at her like that? (Supposedly Supergirl is a fan of bad puns.) Perhaps, they speculate, the paparazzo possesses some sort of superpower herself; surely nothing less than magic could have turned Lena Luthor’s resigned exasperation into amusement, or Supergirl’s disappointment into genuine glee.

The paparazzo remains anonymous. Only on her private social media does she share that all it had taken was a single phrase—spoken with the breathless reverence only a hopeless sapphic Super-fan could muster—that had made Supergirl turn her attention back to Lena with a questioning smirk and suggest that, if a picture of them kissing was going to be plastered all over the tabloids, it had better be a spectacular kiss.

So it’s funny when the very same words—albeit paraphrased slightly—begin to pop up in every forum where the picture is shared over the following days:

“Damn. You’re going to be personally responsible for both the dramatic death and the ecstatic resurrection of every single lesbian on the planet.”

The original art & caption this is based on.

Written for the multi-fandom flash fiction challenge. Give it a whirl!

[ekingstonart]

‘in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality…’

All New Lena Luthor tomorrow I’m calling SHOTGUN ON THE CLOWN CAR 🚗

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

Again, please, please PLEASE reblog this post instead of the one I sent originally. All the information is here, and it's driving me nuts to see the old ones are still passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much.

[ekingston]

Hey folks, I doubt many people will see this message or the comment I left about it down below, but if you’re reblogging this post with death threats or calls for physical violence against this man, I am blocking you. I want this post to reach as many people as possible, and if you carry on like that you’re not just incriminating yourself, you’re giving tumblr reasons to nuke this entire recap. Thank you.

[ekingston]

For the people coming in after Weitzman made the fanwork hidden to people who hadn’t signed up for an account beforehand, there does appear to be a way to see if your fic was lifted: searching for the fic title (+ your username maybe, if your title is a song lyric or something else used frequently) + wordstream will still bring up your fic if it was included in the theft:

Again, sharing this info is appreciated, because (understandably) I’m getting a lot of questions about this, and I will not be answering all of them individually. Share (and check back for) all additional info in the comments either here on on the latest Reddit thread if you can, because even useful additions in reblogs are difficult to keep up with. Thank you!

[silver9mm]

I sent messages to him every single day multiple times a day until I got this reply

[ekingston]

Cliff Weitzman says it will take a week from takedown for our work to be given back to us completely—minus that pesky little part where he fed it all to AI, of course! I guess we will all find out if he’s been telling the truth about removing the work by December 31st 2024 (seven days after the fanworks disappeared from view).

Speechify CEO Weitzman has yet to communicate ANYTHING about his website & app word-stream taking fanworks and then quickly hiding them when we found out—nor this announcement in the screenshot above—ANYWHERE PUBLIC, so let’s help him get the word out!

Weitzman’s ‘X’ account

Weitzman’s Instagram account

Weitzman’s LinkedIn account

Weitzman’s YouTube account

Note that he will likely block you (like he did me) if you tag his username directly, so make sure to hashtag #cliffweitzman, #speechify and #wordstream as well when commenting or making your own posts about the issue!

Also, I know nothing about TikTok and don’t follow fandom on YouTube, but if anyone knows anyone who might be interested in covering this issue there too, I’d be extremely grateful for you bringing this post to their attention.

-

ADDITION DECEMBER 29th: Works that were accessed previously by people who signed up to gather more info before Cliff Weitzman made all fanworks disappear from view are still accessible on his servers today. Also check the comments for more info as it comes in!

[ekingston]

Update December 30th: all the works I personally saw were up on word-stream before they were hidden from view still come up in search results today and are still accessible as AI-generated audiobooks through his app to people who signed up for his app before Weitzman hid the works from view.

Also, this was an interesting find, when googling Cliff Weitzman + fanfiction:

You may remember that one of Cliff Weitzman’s arguments that his theft was somehow defensible was the idea that word-stream was ‘only in beta’. (See above for the screenshot of his message stating this). Really, Cliff? Then why were you already advertising the operation on your main platform two days before we discovered it? Why was its payment system fully functional?

Friends, if you really want to help, please, if you can, don’t stop at merely reblogging this post. The previous reblog above lists some things you can do to help this issue break containment and make Weitzman take accountability for what he did. As things stand, we’re allowing him to make this entire thing quietly go away. And as someone in the comments said, wouldn’t it be awesome if we could broadcast this issue broadly enough that whenever someone does an online search for this man, or his company Speechify, his theft is one of the first results to come up?

Weitzman is either willfully or carelessly risking bringing about the end of freely available fanmade media by attempting to monetize it. If he receives zero consequences for this, it’s going to happen over & over & over again, and eventually the IP holders of the source material are going to go ahead and stop tolerating widely accessible fanwork entirely. Can we try to help not make that happen? Please?

[ekingston]

Amazing: thanks to youtackything on Bluesky, we have the screenshots of Weitzman’s advertisement for word-stream!

Again, this was posted to Speechify’s website (at what is now a dead link) on December 20th, a full three days before Weitzman tried to make the argument that he couldn’t be held accountable for his theft because we weren’t supposed to find out about it yet.

Also, to the surprise of absolutely no one, the listings of our works are still visible and fully accessible to word-stream members today.

Also: to the person who tried to add Cliff’s involvement with word-stream to Cliff’s Wikipedia page, I owe you one (really, dm me, I have an excellent recipe for banana bread) but sadly it looks like your changes were already reverted. Anyone out there with an older Wikipedia membership who wants to give it a try?

[fazedlight-deactivated20251111]

Thank you so much to @ekingston for taking my commission!! I loved watching this art take shape. You so perfectly captured the tension of a protective (and confused) Kara trying to figure out who her doppelganger is, with Lena uncertain of what is going on and Red Daughter taking in the situation. Thank you so much for the immense talent you bring to this fandom! ❤️

This scene is from my fic No One and Nothing, which is on AO3!

[ekingstonart]

Always a pleasure working with you @fazedlight! Thank you for both putting out such evocative scenes, which makes drawing your vision an absolute joy, and for your continued generosity to the supercorp (artist) community!

[ekingstonart]

BIG STRETCH a.ka. sun god basking (2019)

[ekingstonart]

my commissions are once again OPEN and i’m adding the option of commissioning your own animated gif! whether it’s a scene from one of your (favorite) fics or just an idea that’s only existed in your mind thus far, i’m here! animations will be strictly supercorp for now, due entirely to my fixation on relative familiarity with those characters’ faces. DM me if you’d like to discuss and as always, reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated!

[ekingstonart]

POV you’re Kara Danvers and your bestie just caught you staring at her cleavage across the crowded ballroom for the fifth time tonight