The Matriarch Isnât the Villain. Sheâs the Mirror
I often hear a discourse where Celine in K-pop Demon Hunters, Alma in Encanto and Ming in Turning Red are seen as vilains. Theyâre the ones who restricted the younger generation, hurt them, and are ultimately responsible for their pain, trauma and self-doubt. Theyâre framed as the real villains of the story. But Iâd like to differ.
These are stories of intergenerational trauma. They are women who survived, repressed, and tried to protect their families the only way they knew how: through control, perfectionism, and emotional suppression.
And yet, when the next generation begins to reclaim joy, freedom, softness â they become the obstacle. Not because theyâre bad people, but because theyâre scarred. Their minds cling to survival strategies, unable to recognize that the environment has changed.
Alma is still stuck fleeing the colonizers.
Ming is still afraid of her true self.
Celine believes that fear and mistakes must be hidden.
Itâs not about hating these characters. Itâs about how unprocessed trauma twists love into control. How survival, unexamined, turns into rigidity. These women were never given space to process their own pain and they project it onto their daughters and granddaughters.
And hereâs something we rarely say enough: intergenerational trauma can create toxic patterns but that doesnât always mean there was abuse or conscious harm. Even when their love becomes suffocating or controlling, these women are not necessarily âabusive parents.â They are daughters of silence, fear, and sacrifice. And they were never taught another way. Itâs important to make that distinction, especially in a world that often pushes a binary, punitive reading of family dynamics.
Theyâre the product of a generation that was told to endure. But endurance without healing becomes its own kind of violence.
Whatâs powerful in these stories is that they donât end in vengeance. They end in confrontation and transformation. The confrontation is necessary: the younger generation refuses the silence. Refuses the shame. Refuses to carry a burden that wasnât theirs to begin with.
The house is destroyed in Encanto.
Mei accepts her full self.
So does Rumi.
And in the best cases, this confrontation allows the elder to soften too. Alma opens up. Ming listens. And Iâm hoping in the sequel, Celine will open too.
Maybe thatâs also why these stories speak so deeply to POC audiences. These arenât stories about cutting ties. Theyâre stories about how hard it is to transform them, to protect ancestral bonds while refusing to perpetuate inherited pain. In many racialized families, collectivity, loyalty, and intergenerational duty are sacred... even when they come at the cost of personal boundaries.
And sometimes, Western individualist frameworks read these tensions as dysfunction or villainy. But for us, theyâre just the difficult truth of growing up and trying to do better.
These women arenât villains. That would be too easy. They embody the fragile, necessary work of bringing change without breaking the thread. These stories are about refusing to inherit their pain without reflection. Because love, without accountability, is not enough.
These stories show us that each generation has something to learn from the next. And the new generation must also break free from the chains they inherited while preserving what is meaningfull.
But itâs not just their story.
One day, weâll be the older generation.
And weâll need to be humble enough to learn from the ones after us.
So donât be a fool.
We may be Mei, Rumi, or Mirabel today.
But tomorrow, we could be Ming, Celine, or Alma.
And when that time comes, weâll realize how hard it is to unlearn what once kept us safe.
So letâs have compassion for all these characters.
Because these stories show us not just how the cycle of generations works, but how it can make us better, stronger, and more connected... if weâre all willing to go through the change.
edit (07/08/25): Thanks to several kind Colombian commenters and reblogs, Iâve learned that the historical context shown in Encanto is more likely tied to the Thousand Daysâ War, a brutal civil war rather than direct colonial violence. I initially framed Abuelaâs trauma through the lens of colonialism, which was a mistake. The real context is deeply rooted in internal ideological conflict. As a South asian viewer, Iâm very grateful to those who shared insights ! I encourage readers to check the comments and reblogs for more historical nuance and brilliant perspectives đ§Ą
And thank you to everyone who shared, commented and interacted on this post !
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thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3
Sometimes weâre unsatisfied with a thing we made because when it only existed in our head, we saw all the things it could have been and when itâs done we know all the things that it isnât, but we canât see the way it expands into a million new things when someone else unpacks it in their head.
#a lot of pro-lifers fail to understand that late term abortions happens to women who wanted the child#but are forced to terminate the pregnancy because of issues like these or malformations or are life-threatening to the mother#and this behaviour is just causing pain on more pain#pro-life is just being sadistic and cruel 99% of the time for the sake of it
and she COULD have chosen death. She COULD have chosen not to abort. She COULD have let her baby die slowly and followed after. You could choose that, too, if you had the choice.
Itâs not about forcing abortions on people. Itâs not about making them do it. Itâs about having a choice, and protecting that choice. So that people can choose.
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[kpdh, polytrix, domestic fluff, Mira is derpy's unofficial trainer] AO3
"Derpy," Mira's voice is firm and tired. "Get down from the counter."
He looks at Mira, stops what he's doing, and then proceeds to actually get down from the counter. They all freeze.
"Mira." Rumi blinks. "Mira, he never listens to any of us."
Zoey's standing in the back with her hands in her hair going: "Whoa! Holy shit! It's you! You're the demon-tiger whisperer! You're our only hope! Maybe he'll finally stop stealing my food!"
"So," Rumi drags the word out, twiddling her thumbs, nervously smiling at Mira, and then at the strange vaguely tiger-esque creature sitting in the middle of their living room, and then at Mira again. "Mira, meet Derpy."
Mira raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. It's nearly imperceptible, but enough to make Rumi sweat a little. "Derpy?"
"And Derpy," Rumi continues on, "meet Mira."
The tigerâor Derpyâjust looks at her. He's so still he almost looks like a statue, but she can see the way his eerily fluorescent eyes follow Rumi around.
"What exactly is Derpy?"
Rumi's gaze shoots up towards the ceiling, and the twiddling of her thumbs doesnât stop. She mutters something under breath too quickly, and Mira's raised eyebrow goes up further still.
"A what?"
"A demon tiger?" Rumi finally looks at her. "He's kinda cute, right? I figured he could, you know," Rumi shuffles. "Stay?"
Mira looks over Derpy. They've never really had a pet beforeâthey were always too busy. And though things have now settled into relative ease, she just can't help but feel like they should start with something smaller, like, maybe a goldfish?
But then Derpy finally stops to really look at herâand Mira looks back. They stare at each other silently, and she tries not to laugh at the sight of Rumi fidgeting at the periphery of her vision. Then he⌠blinks? Winks? It happens one eye at a time, agonizingly slow, his mouth curled in a stupid smile that actually looks really sincere andâ
Mira lets out a small huff of laughter through her nose. He's cute. It's ridiculous.
"What the hell," Mira shakes her head. "Why not?"
The smile that Rumi gives her is wide enough to make it worth it already.
"He can't go on the couch though."
---
To no one's surprise, Zoey falls head over heels in love with Derpy.
Zoey's been glued to his side for a solid forty-eight hours. She slept on the living room floor last night, used him as a cushion while watching TV all morning, squealed in delight when Sussy showed up ("We get a bonus pet?!"), then curled up against him while she took a small nap in the afternoon.
And now she's on the floor again, giggling at how ridiculous Derpy looked laying on his back, paws uselessly held up in the air while Zoey gave him enough belly rubs to last a lifetime.
Maybe that makes Mira feel a little jealous.
She's been watching them throughout the evening, splayed out on the couch while looking at nothing in particular on her phone. After literal hours, Zoey looks like she's finally about to get upâonly for her to roll over to her other side and continue giving him pets.
Mira clicks her phone shut.
She feels really, really stupid but it makes her huff and cross her arms. Like. How many pets does a giant demon tiger really need? She's been at it all day. Zoey hasn't even made them watch a single strange animal reel today, or badgered them to put on another bad movie, or given her a hug longer than five seconds, or, orâ
Her train of thought is cut off by Rumi, sitting next to her, playing with the drawstrings of her hoodie with her eyes on Zoey's back and grumbling so pitifully that Mira almost laughs at her.
Almost.
Unfortunately she shares the sentiment.
She's now fluent in Rumi-speak and the hunch of Rumi's shoulders says: Pay attention to me, please, please, please. Mira lets a lazy smile wash over her features, reaching out to hold Rumi's hand.
"Maybe if we think hard enough she'll telepathically feel our thoughts."
Rumi groans and leans her head onto Mira's shoulder, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's been two days," she says dejectedly.
"This was your own doing."
"How was I supposed to know this would happen?"
"How could you not know this would happen?"
Rumi pauses. Then, with a defeated sigh, she nods. "You're right."
Somehow, it works.
Zoey turns towards them at that very moment and sees the looks on their faces. "Oh my god," she laughs mirthfully. "Look at the pair of you!"
She finally gets up, a light spring in her step, and walks closer towards them. Zoey settles in the space in between them on the couch, and immediately Rumi's arms are around her waist and she's curling up around Zoey to breathe her in like fresh air on a humid dayâand when Zoey turns to pepper kisses along Mira's temple, nose, cheeks, Mira realizes that maybe she can find it in her heart to forgive Derpy for what he's stolen from them for the past two days.
---
A few days later, early in the morning during breakfast, they make a breakthrough.
"Derpy," Mira's voice is firm and tired. "Get down from the counter."
He looks at Mira, stops what he's doing, and then proceeds to actually get down from the counter.
They all freeze.
"Mira." Rumi blinks. "Mira, he never listens to any of us."
Zoey's standing in the back with her hands in her hair going: "Whoa! Holy shit! It's you! You're the demon-tiger whisperer! You're our only hope! Maybe he'll finally stop stealing my food!"
---
It turns into a whole thing. They buy training snacks. They consider a whistle but Rumi vetoes it. Zoey buys a laser pointer but has yet to try it out.
Mira holds her hand up to catch Derpy's attention, points to a spot on the floor, and commands him: "Sit."
He just stares at her. It's a work in progress.
Zoey, however, looks up from her phone. "Have you ever, maybe, like, thought of using that tone of voice for reasons unrelated to training our giant pet demon tiger?"
"What?" Mira blinks.
"What?"
"You saidâ?"
"I didn't say anything."
---
Derpy sits, stays, and then holds up his paw for Mira to shake.
"That's crazy." Rumi says in disbelief, crouched on her haunches with Mira and Derpy out on their balcony on a lazy afternoon.
Mira can't help the self-satisfied laugh. "God. I'm good."
She lets go of Derpy's (giant, over-sized) paw and moves closer to scratch behind his ear. He leans in, easy and comfortable, purring low in contentment. It's sweet, and makes her chest tighten around a feeling that one could possibly, maybe, call pride.
Rumi hugs her knees, looks at both of them tenderly, and says: "He looks up to you."
"That'd be a first," Mira laughs absentmindedly.
There's a pause.
"What does that mean?"
She doesn't really think she means anything by it. Maybe just a force of habit. Growing up with a golden child of an older brother does that to a person, Mira thinks. Especially when you donât exactly have the social finesse to make up for it. And honestly, she was fine. She's about to wave the question away and tell her it was nothing, but when she turns to Rumi, she sees that she's frowning at her. Like Mira had just said something that hurt her.
"Um," Mira stammers, startled by her demeanor. "I didn't reallyâI think I was just saying whatever."
"I look up to you." Rumi says firmly, brows knitting together. "And so does Zoey."
Mira just blinks at her.
Rumi sees the confusion on her face and scoots closer beside her. She reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind Mira's ear. "There's so many reasons to. You're you."
The simplicity of it all is what gets to herâthe sharp clarity of hearing words she never knew she needed to hear.
Mira breathes them in slowly, and then chases the warmth of Rumi's hand along her face. She wants to say something witty to wash away the vulnerable tension in the airâbut her mouth stays pressed together.Â
Rumi rubs her thumb softly against her cheek and says: "Just you," she smiles. "Perfect you. Beautiful you. Hot-headed when she's hungry in the morning you. I'm pretty sure Derpy feels the same."
Mira smirks, finally finding her voice again. "And Sussy?"
Rumi grins. "I don't think Sussy likes anyone."
They laugh, pressing their shoulders into each other, and Mira lets her head fall softly on top of Rumi's.
---
Mira gets to know Derpy. Somewhere down the line, Derpy gets to know her too.
He rubs against her leg in the morning because he knows she likes it, and quietly sits next to her to keep her company when she's having tea.
He follows her around whenever she waters the plants in Rumi's tropical rainforest of a balcony, and joins Zoey when she goes on night patrols on her ownâbecause he knows it makes Mira feel better.
One dreadfully rainy evening that Zoey and Rumi need to be away, he lounges on the floor next to the couch.
They couldn't even be with each other. Zoey's gone off to a two-day shoot in one end of Korea, and Rumi's getting filmed for an advertisement in another. Mira's in her fuzzy bear sweater, curled up on the couch and looking for something to keep her entertained. She stares at her phone and decides against sending Rumi and Zoey yet another pitiful rendition of I-miss-you and decides to put on a movie.
There's the low rumble of thunder outside, and then Mira sees Derpy's oversized paw lift up into the air, and then plop down onto her face.
"Derpy," she scrunches her nose and pushes it away. "What are you doing?"
He turns on his side so that he could reach her up on the couch betterâand she realizes that he's doing it because he's banned from climbing up to join her. He throws his paw over Mira's arm this timeâand the soft weight of it somehow comforts her. She leans forward to take a look at him, and notices that he's looking down onto a spot on the floor, and looks back up again to the far end of the couch.Â
Zoey and Rumi's spots in the living room.
I miss them, too.
Mira sighs, gets up from the couch, and sits down on the floor beside him. She leans onto his side the way Zoey does and opens her phone so she could look at her lockscreen.
It's a photo of all three of them.
"It's okay," she gives him a pat on the head. "They'll be back first thing tomorrow morning."
---
Mira dreams of piping hot ramyeon and a giant, fluffy couch that could walk. Somehow, through the haze of sleep, she could hear bits and pieces of Rumi and Zoey's voices.
'She's so cute!' There's a whispered giggle. 'I can't believe she fell asleep like that.'
And then, a steady: 'I'll carry her to bed.'
She feels something soft and warm press against her temple. Then she feels another sensationâfeatherlight kisses peppering the crown of her headâbefore sheâs jostled awake by arms behind her knees and across her back, and the disorienting feeling of getting lifted up.
She's too drowsy to be embarrassed about it. When her eyes flutter open, she sees the iridescent marks meandering lazily along Rumi's neck. 'Close your eyes.' Mira feels another kiss on her temple, 'Just sleep.'
Distantly, she hears Zoey cooing at their tiger: 'Thanks for taking care of our Mira.'
--
"Mira?"
Zoey's looking at her with her big, brown eyes and perfectly practiced pout and she doesn't even really need to do that anymoreâ
"Yes?'"
"Derpy's trying to eat my notebook again."
Mira stands up and kisses the crown of Zoey's head as she walks by, "I gotcha."
---
"Mira!"
This time, Zoey's shouting from the living roomâand when Mira walks in, she sees Derpy splayed out on top of Zoey, who's starting to go blue in the face. Rumi's trying to yank Derpy off her by the tail (which can't end well), and Derpy looks like heâs having the time of his life.
She lets her have a minute to laugh at them.
"A little help!" Zoey wails.
Mira whistles. "Uppies!"
Derpy gets up on all fours, Zoey finally gets to breathe, and Rumi stares at her incredulously and goes: "Uppies?"
Mira burns red in the ears. "It's what worked."
---
"Mira?"
Zoey's peeking through the crack of Mira's door left ajar, a pitiful look on her face.
"Yeah?" Mira looks up. She's sitting by the side of her bed, folding her clothes.
"I know I'm always bothering you about it, but Derpy broke into my room again and I think he's about to send one half of all my socks into the spiritual ether and my socks will have to live forever partner-less and that sounds horrible to me so we really need to tell him to stopâ"
It's so ridiculous that it makes Mira lean forward with her hand on her stomach and laugh.
Zoey pouts. "Hey! It's the sockpocalpyse for me! This isn't a laughing matter!"
"You two have become so needy ever since Derpy came around." Mira wipes at her eyes.
Zoey tilts her head at her. "Do you mind that?"
"What?" Mira looks at her through her glasses. "Of course not."
"Good!" Zoey beams, her initial timidness forgotten as she walks into Mira's room just to drag her out of it. "And we've been like this way before Derpy."
Mira laughs. "You're not wrong."
"Besides," Zoey threads their hands together and pulls Mira along down the hallway. "I like it."
"You like what?"
"That we need you." Zoey opens the door to her bedroom, her hand still holding onto Mira's. "I like needing you."
She says it so casually, like it didn't fluster Mira. "Oh."
"I hope you know I'm going to need you forever," Zoey says it like a threat but it's the most wonderful thing Mira's ever heard in her life.
It anchors herâmakes her feel secure.
"You're stuck with us, Mira." Zoey's looking at her with a serious expression. And then it slowly breaks into a grin. "Rumi can barely tell left from right and I'm twenty-four years old and can't follow a recipe book."
Makes her feel like there's somewhere she belongs.
"I'm doomed," Mira deadpans, but the corners of her mouth curl up. She lets go of Zoey's hand to curl an arm around her waist.
"Do you know that whenever you're away," Zoey throws her arms around her shoulders. She's grinning. "Rumi and Derpy have a little whining contest about it?"
That gets a laugh out of her.
"So, yeah." Zoey giggles and brings her hands up to cup Mira's face. "We're needy. Deal with it."
Mira smiles, then leans downwards to plant a kiss on Zoey's forehead. "I think I'll manage."
"Now go get my socks!"
---
"It's cold," Zoey whines into Mira's shoulder while they watch another rerun on the TV.
"We have blankets," Mira replies flatly.
"It really is though." Rumi huddles closer on her other side.
To be fair, it's the middle of January and snowing outside. Not even Rumi, their unofficial furnace, was warm enough to keep the cold at bay, and her toes have started to feel uncomfortably chilly.
"I'll put the thermostat higher," Mira begins to get upâbut two pairs of arms circle around her like they couldn't bear the thought of Mira dislodging herself from their pile.
"If you get up I'll cry," Zoey says, and Mira knows she means it too.
"Don't make Zoey cry," Rumi leans back to stare at her, but she laughs when Mira just rolls her eyes.
"Well either I get up or we freeze to death."
"Or we let Derpy up on the couch." Zoey giggles.
"No."
"He is pretty warm," Rumi hums.
"No giant tigers on our very nice couch."
"He doesn't even shed!" Zoey pouts. "His fur dissolves into⌠spirit dust, or some shit!"
"It's the principle of the thing," Mira shakes her head.
"Now you're just being bull-headed," Rumi elbows her side.
Mira looks over to Zoey, drowning under her hoodie, and sweater, and blanketsâand then to Rumi, who looks more relaxed than Mira has ever seen before.Â
Theyâre both pouting at her.
She can almost physically feel herself give in. Her shoulders sag, and she sighs while she says: "Fine. Derpy, uppies?"
His eyes slowly pop up from the side of the couch, and he quicklyâat least, quick in terms of Derpyâbrings his two front paws on top of their laps and awkwardly starts climbing up.
"Oh, shitâ" Zoey laughs, "That tickles!"
"I think we're going to dieâoof!" Rumi gets a solid paw in the stomach.
"Derpy your breath stinks!" Mira scrunches her nose, trying to turn away from his excited attention.
It's a bit of a messâlike a bad physics problem. He turns around this way and that, poking, prodding, and accidentally kicking one of them in the face with his hindleg, but eventually Derpy finds a way to lay down comfortably for both him and all three women on the couch. They hear a flap of wings and see that Sussy has decided to grace them with their presence. They settle onto Derpy's head, causing Derpy's ear to twitch this way and that.
"See?" Zoey says, straining through the weight against her chest. She's smiling though. "This is why we paid for this expensive-ass couch. It fits our whole family!"
Mira freezes.
Rumi just laughs. "I'll put the show back on then. Can you see over Derpy's fur, Mira?"
There's no response.
Rumi turns back after Mira's silence. Zoey lifts her head so she could look, too.
"Mira?"
"Don't look," Mira begs pitifully. Her arms are trapped around them both and she can't hide behind them.
But of course they'll still lookâthey always will.
They'll always see her.
Mira feels the tears sting at the corner of her eyesâand then she starts laughing a little because, wow, isnât this just the most ridiculous thing to cry about? The fact that their couch was big enough to fit her whole world? To fit her heart.
Her family.
--
fin
--
A/N:
I just think Mira being the unofficial tiger whisperer would be funny and sweet.
This is a gift to @princington who makes amazing art! Thank you so much for sharing your art, it gives us all such joy!
Thank you to @nosiidam - who I love deeply - for beta-reading!
Finally, this fic is inspired by a comment left by AO3 user Cryoforge - full credit to you! Thank you!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Finally got around to writing a fic for K-Pop Demon Hunters. I swear this movie did something to my brain and now Iâm obsessed with it.
Also if someone whoâs more experienced with AO3 tags want to help me figure out what tags to use on this that would be helpful. Iâm still new to AO3 and have no idea what tags work best.
I will outlive him. I will be here when he is gone. I will be here when he has been erased. I will be here, telling stories, loving my wife, protecting my friends and family, cherishing joy and kindness and diversity. I will be here. He will not. It is only a matter of time.
Iâm outliving that bitch, too. And everyone like him. The point isnât that the cruelest of the cruel will vanish when the old man kicks it. The point is that we have been here long before them, and we will be here long after. Queer people, people of color, women, every minority they disparageâwe are not new. We belong. We are forever. They are fighting a losing battle, and I will not be laying down and letting them have it.
I believe in kindness. Compassion. Art. Stories. Love. I believe they are worth living for even in the darkness. More so, even, when the shadows seem impenetrable. The point isnât that the cruel are going away. The point is that I will be here, striving to outlive them, no matter what.
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I will outlive him. I will be here when he is gone. I will be here when he has been erased. I will be here, telling stories, loving my wife, protecting my friends and family, cherishing joy and kindness and diversity. I will be here. He will not. It is only a matter of time.
"For mature audiences" not as in "legally allowed to see a boob" but "can see a fictional character do a bad thing and not immediately go on a crusade against the author"
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In time travel movies, when the time traveler asks 'What year is this?!?' they're always treated like they're being weird for asking.
When in reality, if you go 'What year is this?!?' people will just say '2024. Crazy huh.' and you go 'Wtf where has my youth gone.'
And if you ask 'And what month??' people won't judge you, they'll just go like 'SEPTEMBER!!! Can you believe it?!?!' and you go 'WHAT?!? Last time I checked we were in May?!?'
Stumbling into a diner and asking "What town is this" isn't weird, the workers will think you're on a road trip
If you ask them "Where's the nearest Nano Deck?" they'll assume it's a shop they've never heard of and say "Sorry, I don't know where any of those are"
Going into a store and telling a cashier "I need pods for my comm device" will just get you a "Never heard of those, maybe try Radio Shack?"
I think the problem is that people who create sci-fi movies have never had to work customer service jobs
âWhat are you doing here?â Lena said, on the other side of the phone line.
Kara was already moving, lunging for the window, shedding her civilian clothes so fast she blurred into a streak of red and blue, the phone still mid-fall from where her hand had held it to her ear to the osprey cushion. She wasnât thinking when she rattled windows with her passage. Less than a second later, the air snapped taught around her and burst with the cracking fury of a sonic boom as she bolted across the city in a ballistic arc that took her from her apartment to the upper floor penthouse office at L-Corp.
She was still too slow.
Lena was calling her name, her own phone flying from her hand into space as two men manhandled her over the railing into open air, almost six hundred feet up. Kara watched it happen in agonizing, hateful detail. She could hear every thudding panicked contraction of Lenaâs heart even as she could count ever stitch in the side-seam of her dress.
Faster. Faster faster faster faster.
Any faster and sheâd ignite the atmosphere around here.
Lena was perpetually falling, reaching up in a futile attempt to grasp the sky. Those thumping heartbeats came slow to Karaâs ears as she focused herself, time around her slowing to match her speed.
She has to do this perfectly. Hit Lena too fast and sheâd kill her. Lenaâs screamed stretched into a shrill endless peel as she fell, raw terror contorting her features.
Kara dove, slowing as she reached those last few millimeters of distance, forcing herself to match Lenaâs speed, dipping under her so that the bewildered woman dropped into her arms and they further slowed together, Kara coming to a stop midair, half way down the length of her fall. Kara bundled Lena into her arms even as Lena clutched her in desperate fear, grasping and clutching at her in desperate fear. A wail of agonized terror exploded from Lenaâs lips against Karaâs throat, followed by a taut cry of anguished relief.
âI have you,â Lena murmured. âYouâre okay, I have you.â
Lena was shaking.
âThey th-threw me off the balcony!â
They.
They.
Kara rose, cradling a treasure in her arms. They should have known better, these two thugs, these goons. To show her contempt, she blew them off their feet with a gust of air from her lungs. Tenderly, she placed Lena on her bare feet -her shoes had gone flying when she was tossed- and turned to her attackers.
One pulled a gun, the other ran. She crushed the crude little human weapon, so infuriatingly primitive and barbaric, almost forgetting not to pulp the wielderâs hand. As the other ran, she hooked her fingers in his collar and yanked, pulling him right back and over the railing. His scream satisfied something hateful within her and she wanted to stop herself from seizing his ankle, but she didnât. The weight of the crest on her chest was too much to bear it.
She did let him dangle though, begging her for mercy.
Kara jabbed the comms in her ear and barked orders to the DEO agent that answered her. It wasnât ten minutes later that half a dozen agents, led by Alex herself, were dragging the two men out of Lenaâa office.
Lena herself was standing on the balcony still, shivering in the late night chill. Kara pointedly ignore the way Alex stared at them both as Kara unclasped her cape from her shoulders and threw the heavy cloth around Lena, bundling her up in it.
Oh Rao, her poor feet on the concrete.
Kara didnât think. She picked Lena up again and carried her inside. Lena didnât protest or even speak, as delicate as a precious baby bird in Karaâs arms.
âWe can⌠we can deal with statements later,â said Alex. âIâll step out.â
They were alone.
Lena just stared for a moment, as Kara opened the drawer in the coffee table and took out the fleece blanket that Lena kept there for naps or those frequent nights when she just didnât go home, unable or unwilling to abandon her work for such pedestrian things as sleep, or her own health. Kara spread it across her, covering her feet. She just didnât want her to be cold.
Kneeling beside the couch, Kara stroked a loose lock of wind-ruffled hair back from Lenaâs eyes, forgetting herself, forgetting that she was the Super and not the Girl, right now. She couldnât help it. The Super was stoic, unruffled, full of bravado. The Girl wanted to fucking cry and scream in agony and blessed release.
She was okay. Kara made it. Lena was okay.
Lena was staring at her.
âHow did you know I was in trouble?â
The way she said it, it almost wasnât a question. It sounded flat, half an accusation.
âI was with Kara Danvers,â Kara was about to say, but the answer died on her lips, the lie too bitter to cross her tongue.
She was so sick of lying, and the reasons why she lied all seemed so⌠hollow, here, now, and Lena wasnât stupid. It was halfway there, Kara realized. She could see it in Lenaâs bewildered, quivering expression. The thought was there, half formed, and once the suspicion was formed, it was only a matter of time. Their friendship was built on pillars of sand and the tide was rolling in right now.
âItâs me, Lena,â Kara whispered.
Lenaâs eyes widened, as her nostrils briefly flared. Lena did not ask her to clarify, or explain. Her penetrating gaze merely searched, drinking in the details of Karaâs face in a way that made her feel both seen in a warm and comforting way and horribly exposed, the chill wind from the balcony door at her back. Yet the gaze was open, permissive. Kara noticed that one of her eyes was a little more blue than the other.
Rao, Lena was so pretty. She was beautiful, yes, in the austere almost untouchable way of a young powerful woman who weaponizes her looks, but that part of her was gone now, replaced by something open and vulnerable and soft, and usually reserved for Kara, not Supergirl.
Kara sat down in front of her, crossing her legs. She wanted to reach out and sooth the trembling she saw, her hand twitching of its own accord. Lena pulled the red fabric of her cape up and tucked it under her chin, making herself small.
âItâs you.â
âYeah.â
âYou caught me.â
âI always will.â
Lena closed her eyes. âIâm tired of falling. God Iâm so tired of it, I just want him to leave me alone.â
Anger flashes in Karaâs chest, sending a jolt of heat up her spine as the red-sun fire burned within her, begging for release. She kept her eyes tightly shut.
A soft cry opened them again. Lena was crying silently in the manner of one used to hiding it, her chest hitching as she held it back.
âIf it werenât for you Iâd be dead, Kara.â
âI wonât let that happen.â
Something tightened inside her, clutching so hard she could barely breathe. Watching Lena fall had been like⌠like looking over her shoulder and seeing the green flash. Kara had pinched her eyes shut and turned away, not watching the blast, screaming in agony when the blast wave tossed her pod, too afraid to watch her world die, unable to escape it. Sometimes that feeling would wash over her and tear her from the embrace of a dreamless sleep and sheâd scream.
A soft, cool hand brushed her cheek. Lena reached out from the blanket and pushed away the errant tear. Kara couldnât help herself, and returned the gesture. Lenaâs skin was so delightfully soft, and whenever Kara touched her, felt her, it gave air to something like hot coals in her belly, and theyâd threaten to become an unbound flame.
Something was happening here and she wasnât sure what it was, but it was important. Kara had a sudden sense that this moment was a real one, an important one, and that she had just started bumbling through a choice that needed her full attention.
Lena was watching her, her soft intelligent eyes darting. Her breathing had calmed but she was agitated, heartbeat too fast, heat bloom crawling across her skin as her face flushed. A deep, powerful part of Kara woke up at the sight of it, something that she would normally have disdained had she remained on Krypton, a part of her that she might even have hated.
Her hand was still resting gently on Lenaâs cheek. Lena met her gaze and shifted slightly, pressing a touch harder against Karaâs palm. It was an acknowledgement. It felt permissive, inviting. Lena tilted her expressions slightly and looked at Kara through her lashes.
She was scared, Kara realized. Scared but perhaps hopeful. Things began to swirl in her head. She could drown in the heady scent of an office full of flowers.
âYou just keep saving me,â Lena said.
Kara rose to her knees so she could lean in, arching over her. This need, this impulse, gripped it like a firm hand on the back of her neck. It felt so wrong, so human, so Terran, but she didnât care. For the first time she felt like doing this because she wanted it, not to make herself feel human or soothe some itch.
She hesitated every moment but Lenaâs gaze remained fixed, a faint smile curling her lips as Kara drew closer, sliding an arm under her shoulders, very carefully pulling her up.
âI thought you were hopeless after the thing with the flowers,â Lena whispered. âOr maybe just regrettably straight.â
Kara wanted this to be right. She nuzzled her nose against Lenaâs, one last tiny little request, and murmured, âis this okay?â
In response, Lena closed the gap and their lips met. Kara hadnât felt like this since the first time she stepped off the ground into the open air. This was better than flying. Lenaâs kiss was just so her, at once brash and hesitant, a question phrased as a declaration.
Before long Kara was holding her.
âI wonât let anyone hurt you. I wonât.â
Lena released herself; there was no other way to describe it. It was like their past hugs but more, Lena embracing Kara as though sheâd like to be absorbed by her.
âI know.â
In the morning sheâd pay Lex a visit. Sheâd talk to Alex and Jâonn, make it clear that if the DEO wanted a Kryptonian on speed dial, it was time to make her priorities their priorities, and the first thing she was going to do was tear Cadmus out of their hiding places by the root.
It wouldnât be enough to just hobble their operations, she wanted them gone. Supergirl would work in tandem with the Kara Danvers until Lex Luthor had no friends, no allies, no resources. Even the prison guard who smuggled him his caviar would learn that any largesse towards his prisoner would summon a furious Kryptonian.
She would call in every favor, seek every ally, use every resource.
Right now none of that mattered. Lena was safe, and she was in Karaâs arms.
