#also see on ao3

[callous-and-misunderstood]

My Descendant's Gift Exchange for @fairestloser !

Apologies for the delay, so sorry! Here is a lovely lil hurt/heal fic of Mal and Evie! I hope you enjoy!

AO3

SHOW ME YOURS

The last thing Evie expected to greet her when she opened the kitchen door of her castle in the middle of a thunderstorm was the reason for Evie’s banishment collapsed limply in Jay’s arms.

Evie stayed in the doorway, frozen.

She was overwhelmed with warring emotions—the fear that this was some further punishment for her mother’s mistake from ten years ago, the annoyance that Jay had brought the girl to her of all people, the worry for the obviously injured girl on her doorstep, the vindictive desire to turn the girl away as payback for the years of isolation and scavenging, the overwhelming need to pull the girl into her arms and press a kiss to her lips.

A twisting sensation churned in her stomach as she stared at Mal’s face. Usually the girl was a chaotic frenzy of expressions; snark and scowls and smirks. But now the girl was pale and still, purple strands of hair plastered to her forehead, not a single flicker of the vibrancy that Evie expected from her sworn enemy.

“Evie,” a small voice said, and she tore herself aware from Mal, surprised to see Carlos standing like a shadow behind Jay. His face was pinched with stress, the same look he had when he found Evie on the verge of blacking out from not eating again. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.”

Evie sighed, knowing her best friend was right. She finally moved out of the doorway to let the three of them into the castle, shutting the door on the pouring rain with a sense of doom.

Jay deposited Mal on to Evie’s worktable, familiar with the space since Evie had healed him up more than a few times. But Mal being there, being anywhere near Evie…this was anything but familiar.

Evie hasn’t interacted with Mal beyond passing glares and rolled eyes when she sneaks through the marketplace. It’s an open secret that Evie doesn’t stay in her mother’s castle, the way Maleficent had ordered the Evil Queen and her daughter to do. Evie’s mother stays in the crumbling building, watching mainland soap operas with a fanaticism and teaching Evie how to be the perfect princess. But Evie wants more from life than fake dramas and harsh criticism, so she sneaks out.

She realizes quickly that the Isle is just as dangerous as her mother had warned her, full of leering men and quick fingered children. But Evie is not soft, not the way her mother wants her to be. She may be a princess, but she’s a princess of the Isle.

By her third visit to the town, everyone knows better than to approach the blue-haired girl unless they want to lose a few fingers. She’s proved herself as cutthroat as the rest of them, and so they allow her into the fold of Isle daily life.

She haggles with Anastasia over the worth of a loaf of bread, barters with Yzma for beauty creams for her mother, talks Smee into giving her a roll of fabric that was supposed to be new sails for Hook’s ship but will now be several new dresses. She sets up a seasonal stall, offering dried herbal cures in the form of teas and ointments. She swaps gossip with stall workers, runs errands for the right price, slips the small children who rely on pickpocketing for survival a few bits of food when she can. The gangs and brawl-prone adults know to knock on her castle’s kitchen door after dark when their wounds are serious, know that she doesn’t care who she’s fixing up as long as they pay and keep quiet about her breaking banishment.

She’s part of the community now, though no self-respecting villain would ever say that out loud. But there is a certain level of mandatory reliance on other people that comes with being isolated on an island prison, so they do what they can to help each other survive. 

Of course, Evie would have to be an idiot to think she could slip under Maleficent’s radar. She’s been waiting for the Mistress of Evil to appear on one of her visits into town and curse her all over again. It keeps her on edge, always glancing over her shoulder for the horned woman to appear.

Instead, Jay approaches her one afternoon as she’s wrapping up her goods before slipping back to Castle-Across-the-Way, where her mother will expect dinner on the table as soon as her latest episode concludes.

“Hello, Princess,” the Arabian boy leans across the table where Evie had been set up, a languid smile pulled across his face.

Evie raises an eyebrow and waits for the boy to get to the point, trying to stay cool as her heart goes a million miles an hour. She knows the son of Jafar runs with Mal, daughter of Maleficent. She’d been sure to avoid any areas of town that Mal’s gang had a “claim” on, including Jafar’s Junk Store, even though she was sure the ex-vizier had some of the parts she desperately needed to fix her sewing machine.

Jay still hasn’t said anything, still watching Evie like a hunter stalking prey.

“Did you need something?” Evie finally asks him, placing her lips in the perfect smile: sharp but inviting.

“Hmm, I guess I’m wondering what you offered up to keep the fact that you’ve ignored your life-long banishment from Mal and her mother.”

Evie managed to hide her surprise. So Maleficent didn’t know Evie had integrated herself into the town. And Jay was not subtle—if Evie wanted her presence to stay hidden, she’d need to give him something. What the boy wanted; Evie could guess.

“And what do you think I offered?”

While she had garnered quite a reputation with her flirting, that’s as far as she went. A wink, a lingering touch, maybe a soft peck on the cheek. But Jay…he could ask for more and she might give it to him. As far as first kisses went, it could be worse, she supposed. At least he was dazzlingly handsome and, if the rumors were to be believed, a wildly skilled kisser.

“Not sure, and I don’t really care. But I know what the price for my continued silence is.”

His eyes were dark and cold, his body looming over her and casting a deep shadow. He oozed power, every bit as imposing as Evie had heard he was.

But Evie was imposing in her own way. She held her ground, allowing his shadow to surround her like a glamour, her features sharpening and glimmering. Her eyes met his with a glare like fire, daring him to give her a reason to hurt him.

“If me or my gang knocks on your back door, you know, any of the Dragon’s Bloods, you heal us for free. No bartering or haggling or denying us service until you’re paid. We’re free, and so are you. Deal?”

Evie once again had to hide a gasp of surprise. That is not at all what she had expected from Jay. It seemed there was more to the thief than what the town said, something selfless and loyal.

It was a small price to pay, she knew. While she usually had her patients pay in the materials she needed to heal them or in food, a few visits here and there from Mal’s gang wouldn’t put too much of a dent in her supplies.

“Deal,” she agreed and shook Jay’s outstretched hand firmly. She turned back to packing her things and when she turned again, the Arabian boy was gone.

Evie didn’t expect to see Jay any time soon. She was sure of it, in fact, confident she’d just made the best deal of her life.

And then the next night, Jay was at her kitchen door just as the last dregs of daylight slipped under the horizon.

He had a gash on his forehead. Not deep, but there was still a steady trickle of blood flowing into his left eye.

“Hey, Princess. Ready to fix me up?” he said with a Cheshire grin.

She fixed him up with a compress of yarrow and goldenrod root, sending him off before the night had even really started. Evie was sure he had gotten injured on purpose to see if she would hold up her end of the deal. And since she had, she didn’t expect to see any of Mal’s gang for a bit.

It turns out the reason why Mal’s gang controlled so much territory and were so feared by the other Isle residents was because none of them had any self-preservation. Nearly every night Evie opened her door to one of the Dragon’s Blood members in some form of distress.

She got to know them all quite well, through their hisses of pain and snarky comments to ward off fear. And even though she patched them all up for free, they took to leaving things behind and insisting they were hers when she tried to return the items. If Jay left the sewing machine parts she needed on the chair he’d stitched up in, Evie wasn’t going to say anything. So Evie amassed rusting trinkets and sleeves of crackers and scraps of cloth from Mal’s gang, while Mal looked the other way when she and Evie crossed paths, a silent offering of thanks for fixing up her gang so many times; all of them leaving Maleficent none the wiser to Evie’s insubordination.

______________________________________________________________

Which led to now, with Mal laid out on Evie’s kitchen table.

“What happened?” Evie was already checking all of Mal’s exposed flesh for wounds, anxious to get the other girl out of her home as soon as possible. It was one thing to feign ignorance at Evie’s presence in town, but being in the lair of a sworn enemy would not as easily escape Maleficent’s notice. Not to mention the way Evie’s heart had been going haywire since Mal had entered her home.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Carlos admitted, twisting his hands as he stood by the fireplace. Evie recognized the nervous gesture—it was usually directed towards Jay’s numerous injuries.

“She’s been fighting with Miriam,” Jay swallowed, looking uneasy.

That made Evie’s heart pause in its careening for a minute.

Miriam was cruel, the oldest of Madam Mim’s granddaughters and the most powerful. She’d almost killed Dizzy last month over a bad haircut, only stopping when Lady Tremaine threatened to involve Maleficent. She’d laughed as she’d left Dizzy’s broken body in the street, Evie rushing to the younger girl’s side and doing everything she could. Dizzy had made it, though she had to relearn how to walk and refused to do hair since, even though it had been her life’s passion.

The only thing that kept Miriam from burning down the whole Isle was the barrier’s ability to prevent malicious magic. But Miriam always found ways around that to make her mischief magic work.

“Is she wounded?” Evie couldn’t see an obvious injury, but it could easily be something internal.

“She clutched at her stomach before she passed out,” Carlos offered.

Evie pulled up the purple-haired girl’s shirt, frowning at how the wet fabric clung to her skin—it didn’t seem to be just rain that caused the moisture. Carlos was right—her stomach was bruised green, neon pink tendrils spreading from a gouge weeping blood just above her navel. There was a piece of metal lodged in the wound, obviously the cause of Mal’s distress.

“Is it iron?” Carlos peered anxiously at Mal from the other side of the table, moving to help Evie slice off Mal’s top so she could work. Fairy weren’t affected by much, but iron…iron was the only thing that could kill them.

“No, thankfully, which is why she’s not dead. But I think…it’s bewitched to be like iron.”

Jay let out a stream of colorful curses as Carlos paled even more under his freckles. Evie sighed deeply. This was not going to be easy.

She needed to get the piece of metal out to stop the iron-like-poison from spreading further, then un-work the magic that had already spread into Mal, and then deal with the bruising—which of course, was not normal bruising since Mal was half-fairy, meaning none of the materials she usually used would work as well as she wanted them to.

And, to top it off, it’s Mal.

Mal, who uses her mother’s name and her own power to rule as fairly as she can on an island of the evilest people in the world. Mal, who protects the children who live in her territory and makes sure no one goes hungry. Mal, who steals from her own mother to ensure Jafar lets Jay sleep under his roof during the brutal winters. Mal, who broke into Hell Hall and carried Carlos out when Cruella had locked him in his bear-trapped closet of a bedroom for two weeks. Mal, whose nose crinkles when she’s amused and fights with her teeth bared. Mal, whose eyes flash green when she uses her magic like an emerald in the sunlight.

Mal, who Evie did want to send an invitation to all those years ago, only to have it torn up by her mother. Because a princess doesn’t get to choose who she loves, and she certainly can’t love a wild thing like Mal.

Mal, who was so upset to not be invited to Evie’s party that she had her locked away, out of sight. Until Evie took back her freedom and found out that those green eyes were even more enchanting than she remembered.

Mal, who was currently whimpering in pain on Evie’s kitchen table.

“Okay. Jay, I need you to go to the Gothel’s. Take the green bag in the corner and tell them I need Red Clover and Borage. They��ll trade for what’s in the bag. Carlos, I need you to heat a pot of water,” Evie bustled over to the sink and washed her hands, letting herself settle into the familiarity of her role. She was in charge right now, and she was going to save Mal.

Evie lifted Mal’s head to rest on a pile of fabric and set about cleaning her stomach. Then she sanitized a small knife in the kitchen fire, Carlos watching her from his perch on a stool, waiting for her next command.

“Bring that bowl—” she points to the shelf by Carlos’ elbow. “—and come hold her down. Getting the metal out isn’t going to be pretty.”

Carlos does as she says, nodding once he has Mal’s arms in a firm grip. He’s held down patients for her before, usually Jay, but seeing Mal trapped in Carlos’s slender hands is unnerving. Mal is supposed to be the strong one of their gang, the one who never falters, the one who spits in the face of death. The one who protects her people.

But now it’s Evie’s turn to protect.

Evie climbs onto the table, trying not to think about how she’s straddling Mal, and begins to work the knife into the wound, digging out the metal shard.

Mal’s eyes flutter as she thrashes at the painful intrusion, high pitched whines escaping her throat. The piece of metal begins to glow with a bright pink light, matching the tendrils that are spiraling further across Mal’s torso. The knife is wrenched from Evie’s grip with a scalding heat.

Evie curses, realizing the metal is enchanted to prevent against removal as well. Of course. Miriam was nothing if not thorough.

But Evie has magic, too, something no one but her mother and Carlos know. Not even Jay knows, though he must suspect after how many times Evie’s brought him back from the brink of death.

Using magic on Mal is risky, since Mal will surely know that magic was used to heal her once she comes to. But Evie isn’t worried about the consequences of that right now.

Right now, she wants Mal to be okay.

So she focuses, pulling on the deep veins of magic that run under the Isle. The mainland had tried to suppress the villains’ magical abilities, but that was like trying to stop a plant from photosynthesizing or water from evaporating. So the barrier prevented ‘Big Magic’ (transformations, bargains, curses, etc.) and anything done with malicious intent, which was much harder to filter for since it didn’t account for the actual use of the magic, just the original aim.

In this instance, making a piece of metal into actual iron was ‘Big Magic’, but Miriam had likely enchanted the piece of metal to be like iron without any “intent” to use it to hurt anyone, so the magic had been allowed. And now it was hurting Mal, which meant Evie could undo Miriam’s work as her magic would be preventing harm and thus non-malicious.

Evie laid her hands on top of Mal’s wound, eyes closed in concentration. Magic was an alive thing; she could feel the pulse of the enchantment in the metal, something ragged and throbbing. To undo it, she would have to alter the energy.

So she thought of things that were soothing and gentle—the rain hitting the windows, Carlos’ habit of humming when he was focused on something, the thrum of the marketplace, the way Jay’s footsteps were always steady, sunlight breaking through the grey clouds after a storm, the sound of Mal’s laughter.  

Evie focuses on her memories of Mal, of the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder when she’s upset, the way she chews on her bottom lip when she’s deep in thought, the way she can come up with a ruthless quip in the middle of a battle, the way Evie wishes every crooked grin that graces Mal’s face was directed at her.

And then Miriam’s magic is gone, replaced with Evie’s softer glow of dark blue light.

Evie lets out the breath she was holding, and picks back up her knife, moving instinctually. The piece of metal comes out easily. The metal piece is nothing, a scrap of tin from a can of food or maybe a wire that had been stripped. Nothing special, except for the fact that Mal had almost died from it.

The pink strands of Miriam’s magic vanish as soon as the metal leaves Mal’s body, the magic softening into Mal’s body like a kiss.

Evie’s relieved, she’s not sure if she could summon another bout of magic that strong so soon after undoing Miriam’s spell on the metal. Another side effect of the barrier is that the toll to use magic on the Isle is much greater—she would be surprised if Miriam wasn’t bedridden after creating such a potent enchantment.

She slides off of the table, wobbling as her feet touch the ground. Evie expects to crumple onto the ground, ready to catch herself. But then Jay is there to catch her instead, and Carlos hands her a glass of water as Jay sets her in a chair.

“You have magic,” Jay says softly.

Evie can’t tell if he’s in awe or afraid of her. So she says nothing, just sips her water and observes. Carlos, Evie notices, is tensed, ready to attack Jay if he reacts badly to Evie’s magic. That’s sweet, she thinks absently, a bit light-headed from using magic, and looks back at Jay.

Usually the Arabian boy is quick to get to the core of what he’s thinking through. But right now, his eyes are bouncing back and forth between Evie and Mal in a dance Evie can’t follow.

“Did you get the herbs from the Gothel’s?” Evie asks, slowly standing and moving towards the pot of boiling water over the fire. She still has a job to finish.

“Uh, yeah, right here.”

Evie takes the bag from Jay and slides the leaves into a sachet, adding a few other herbs before placing it in a mug with some hot water. After a few minutes, she pulls out the herbs and moves towards Mal. It’s not as strong as she would like, she would prefer to let it steep for longer, but Mal’s soft groans deter any further wait.

She gestures to Jay and the taller boy obliges, scooping Mal into a sitting position. Evie blows gently on the tea, spending a little bit more magic to cool the water to a more drinkable temperature. Then she tips the mug to Mal’s lips and lets the tea slide into the purple-haired girl’s throat.

Mal swallows, her eyes slowly blinking open. She looks around blurrily, Jay’s grasp not letting her move too much.

Her gaze settles on Evie.

Evie stills, unsure what to do—should she apologize? Play this off as something less casual than it is? Lie?

Mal decides for her, weakly lifting a hand to rest on Evie’s cheek. Evie feels a warmth spread across her body, something electric and warm dancing through her—it’s Mal’s magic, Evie realizes with a start.

“It’s only fair,” Mal murmurs. “You showed me yours.”

Evie’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ as she processes that statement. Her heart is pounding in her ears, her hands flexing around nothing, her gaze trapped in the magnetic pull of Mal’s green eyes. She has no idea what to do. All her years of flirting and dancing around relationships, practicing for when she finally gets to interact with her true love, and now she has nothing to say.

Carlos steps in, reading Evie like a book, as he always does.

“You need to rest, Mal. E, can she stay here tonight?”

Evie blushes even deeper, biting her bottom lip as she fights the urge to scream Yes! Please! Stay here, with me!

“What about our mothers?” Evie whispers instead, pulling her gaze away from Mal to stare into the fire.

Carlos arches a brow mischievously, shooting a sly grin at Jay.

“Doesn’t EQ usually take a sleeping draught before bed?”

Evie nods in confirmation; that’s how she’s been able to run her business without her mother knowing. That, and her mother refuses to set foot in the kitchen unless it’s to yell at Evie for dinner being late.

“And well…Mal was supposed to spend the night at the hideout with us, so Maleficent won’t be looking for her. We’ll just come get her first thing in the morning,” Carlos decides, his eyes twinkling. “I know you keep a cot down here, E. That should be fine for a night.”

“Since, you know, you have to make sure Mal doesn’t die in her sleep,” Jay adds, obviously in on whatever Carlos is doing.

Evie can’t find a real reason to protest. She has a cot stored away in the kitchen closet, a double cot even. With blankets and pillows and everything she needs to keep Mal safe for the night.

Mal nods vaguely, still wincing at the ache in her center. Evie would rather get every wrinkle known to man than leave the purple-haired girl’s side.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be able to give her more tea every hour then,” Evie agrees finally.

______________________________________________________________

She doesn’t realize she’s been set up by Carlos and Jay until she and Mal are tucked next to each other on the cot besides the dying glow of the fire. But she can’t find it in her to be annoyed, not when Mal is sleeping on the pillow next to her. In the morning, she’ll deal with the fallout; she’ll figure out how Mal really feels about her, how Carlos and Jay picked apart the labyrinth of her heart so easily, how to extract revenge on Miriam for hurting the girl she loves.

But those are things for tomorrow. Tonight, Evie gets to sleep next to Mal.

Mal, whose purple hair is spread across the pillow like an explosion of paint, her mouth open as she puffs out small snores, one hand tucked under her chin and the other splayed between her and Evie’s bodies. Evie doesn’t think she’s seen anything more

[bardofavon]

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

[felixcosm]

I think it's mean how some people talk about fics on AO3.

'Oh you gotta wade through literal trash to find the good stuff'.

Were you not a beginner once? Did you not write crack fic or self indulgent things for your own entertainment?

Maybe don't speak that way about your fellow fic writers? Just because some fics aren't as polished as others, or involve fetishes and tropes you don't enjoy, or are not the style you want your fics to be doesn't mean they're trash.

It's a horrible thing to say and beginners are going to be discouraged from writing knowing that their fics might be considered trash because they're just starting out.

[scribefindegil]

Obsessed with this bit in the preface to the 10th Anniversary edition of Ancillary Justice:

Specifics aside, "I thought this would be fun and relaxing. It was not." is a great summation of what happens with like 80% of creative endeavors.

[writeouswriter]

My followers: And is this “writing” you’ve been “working on” in the room with us right now?

[averagepolarexpeditionenjoyer]

It has come to my attention that the “under the ice” promotional photos are not well known in the Terror (amc) community

A fact that must be remedied

Also, shameless self-plug:

please read my fizier Zoo AU it’s a spooky and fun WIP and I want to give back to this wonderful community of artists and poets through any way I can ❤️❤️

[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.

[ibahibut]

💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.

🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.

Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

[k0mmari]

Locked and Loaded- Chapter 01: This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Two Of Us This one is a little late to the party, but better late than never!

[yuurionviktor]

Back to my meme redraws

[fumifooms]

Hien & Benichidori compilation

Okay so I put a & but this absolutely a shippy post, the hienichidori community is quiet af and there is no discourse but their comics in their Adventurer’s Bible profiles…!!! Many may ask, does Benichidori canonically have a crush on Hien?! Straightforward answer: It’s left heavily implied but yes. Alternate answer: If the framing of Falin in an explosion as Toshiro says that he loves her isn’t meant to associate the explosion with falling in love when it is mirrored in the next page, then… I think it’s a mix of both, I don’t think just this is true because Hien wouldn’t know who Shuro is talking about or even what Falin looks like, but it could be that the explosion is instead meant to show a world vision being shaken, the thing blowing you away. So for Hien, having Shuro say that breaks this unsaid assumption she’s always had that they might end up together, and thus Falin is taken like an explosion to the face. Similarly, for someone with facial dysmorphia and for who appearances and being subservient are everything, having Hien be confident and totally assume her plain looks, even uplifting herself, that also shakes her world like a bomb. And yes it’s not just about the makeup!! Benichidori’s drawn to her confidence, to her unapologetic attitude, to her attitude. Benichidori unexpectedly snapped at Hien too, but she was totally unshaken and she replied casually and lightheartedly even then; Benichidori saying she can be herself with Hien is about Hien not caring about her mask, both her makeup and her subdued demeanor. Hien is canonically special to Benichidori.

And on the note of that comic, I took a picture from my Adventurer’s Bible for this but I think the fantranslations I’ve seen are lovely too, really gets across all the meaning of the original sentence… Where Benichidori said "She was the only one I could be my unadorned self in front of" (which is my fave) or "I’m able to act my honest self with her". Benichidori having body(more specifically facial) dysmorphia is explicitly stated in the Adventurer’s Bible btw.

Pleasee how Hien’s extra is her talking about her life story and Toshiro to Benichidori… How Hien says "That guy is blind!" and Benichidori says "I’ve noticed that 😊" as if saying that Toshiro is blind to what a catch Hien is… Also in the ninja girls’ shared inn room Benichidori puts her futon next to Hien’s bed.

[sadcoms]

until i recently read posts on here about how there is an inherent queerness to the doctor and rose's relationship in how it's unspoken and filled with yearning that i'd never really considered that element, despite knowing for ages that RTD is gay but. man. it's just reframed a lot of the series for me, like the idea that you have this lonely man who's just watched his people die and is self-destructive and misanthropic and traumatised and he can love again and he wants to but it has so many risks.

but especially S3 and how it adds even more weight to the doctor's grieving widower status. how he tells martha that he and rose were together but martha refers to rose as a friend to tallulah; the fact that he can only say they were together once she is gone; how the only other person that both can feel how he feels but also understands the depth of his feelings is jack, a queer man himself. and I've been thinking to myself lately oh, it's ok, the doctor and rose probably accidentally got married on at least one planet or something but also the point is that there was no official title that could convey to people the extent that they meant to each other, that the doctor can really only tell donna that rose was his friend even though it is so wholly inadequate and she comes to see that by the end of the episode (and martha too of course). how people who saw the doctor and rose together assumed they were a couple, like on krop tor, but once there's no more physical evidence of the relationship it becomes more vague (and simultaneously clearer).

anyway something about how christopher eccleston said he based his portrayal of nine on RTD and something about RTD saying that his husband is "in every good man i write now" and how the doctor and ruby seeing each other in the club mimics his first meeting with his husband aka the one moment he would use a time machine to go back to hmmm

[ri-afan]

Soulmate au - first words on skin

“Woah, hey, you probably shouldn’t be doing that.”

“…Are you my conscience?”

Person 1 is a vigilante helping someone with a probable concussion after an attack of some kind.

Person 2 is a person who’s had many a philosophical debate on whether or not the words on their skin made them reckless or if they were reckless all on their own.

[erinwantstowrite]

if ao3 had the comment option that wattpad had (being able to comment on paragraphs) i would be unstoppable

[kohiandie]

if i have to watch a show full of het targcest, my instinct is to find the gay angle. 📐👁️ it helps that they deserve each other in a seven layers of hell kind of way.

[perfectthewayyouare]

fam i'm having shrimp emotions about dean winchester in the year of our lord 2024. it doesn't get better