#Doreen Green x reader

[6rookie-writer0110]

Request - Headcannons for Doreen, Kamala, and Nadia van Dyne when they find out their S/O wrote "DUMMY" on Wolverine's (Laura) forehead while she was sleeping and is now chasing them.

Doreen Green aka Squirrel Girl

•” Y/n, it's not a good idea to do that. You know she has a temper” Doreen said.

•” it will be funny” You try not to laugh too loud.

•You write ‘dummy’ on Laura’s forehead.

•You took a picture of it and the flash woke her up.

•You got scared and she starts to glare.

•”Y/n... What are you doing with that Sharpie?” Laura asked.

•Her claws came out.

•You start to scream and run away.

•She starts to chase you

•” I told you, not to do it, babe!” Doreen yelled.

•Doreen did check up on you when Laura almost killed you.

•Doreen gave you a speech about why you shouldn't have messed with Laura.

•But Doreen couldn't help to laugh when you were running and screaming.

Kamala Khan aka Ms. Marvel

•Kamala told you it's a bad idea but she tried not to laugh.

•” it's your funeral,” Kamala said.

•” She started it,” You said.

•Kamala watched you write ‘dummy’ on Laura’s forehead.

•Laura woke up.

•” You have 3 seconds to run away” Laura growled.

“Y/n, run!” Kamala yelled.

“Three!” Laura yelled.

•Laura starts to chase you around the house, and Kamala is laughing.

•But Kamala is recording Laura chasing you.

•You are screaming for help but Kamala is busy laughing and recording.

•Kamala shared the video with her best friends.

Nadezhda "Nadia" van Dyne Aka The Wasp

•Nadia was working on something in the lab.

•she saw you run in and hide in the closet.

•” Why is your shirt ripped!? Is that blood!?” Nadia asked.

“You didn't see me!” You yelled.

•You just hide in the closet and try not to make a noise.

•” Where is Y/n!?” Laura yelled.

“Is that the word dummy on your forehead?” Nadia asked.

“Because Y/n wrote it on my forehead when I was sleeping! When I see Y/n, I will kill them!” Laura yelled.

•Laura left the lab and your heart is racing rapidly.

•You come out of the closet and you are terrified.

•” You are an idiot for doing that to her,” Nadia said.

“I thought it would be funny” You whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Nadia asked.

“So... She won't hear me,” You said.

•in the middle of the night, Naida was sleeping and she heard screams.

•She runs out of the bedroom and watches you running away from Laura.

[amphibiahawks321]

M!Reader : Doreen you get down from that tree this instant!

Doreen : No! You're gonna yell at me (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

M!Reader : I'm not gonna yell at you I'm gonna criticize you

Doreen : Still the same!

M!Reader : it's not my fault you forgot to tell the squirrels to go outside when we left the house

M!Reader : Now you need to clean the mess they made sweetheart!

M!Reader : how about after you're done cleaning the mess I'll make some peanut muffins?

Doreen : peanut muffins?! ╹O╹?!

M!Reader : Yes dear

Doreen : ok Fine ^w^

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 10

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

TEN: Let the Sleeper Awake

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

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Summary: Simon returns in time for the May Day celebration, wanting to surprise his doll, but watching her perform has him viewing her in a very different light.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Spice- just a pinch, Mention of masturbation, Fluff & Feels, Simon checks out doll, Doll checks out Simon, Idiots in love lust, the 141 have a chat sesh, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Beltane (a.k.a. May Eve/May Day) is a fire and... ahem!... fertility festival. So, I thought, what better time for Simon and his doll to finally realize that there's a little more than friendly feelings between them. Let the sleepers awake. 😏)

Word Count: 2.9K

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Chapter 10

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“Beltane magick here we sing

Chant the rune and dance the ring

Joy and blessing shall it bring 

Let the sleeper awake!”

― Doreene Valiente, Beltane Chant

-

The village green was a hive of activity, preparations for the May Day celebration in full swing.

Booths, tents and stalls lined the streets, vendors setting up their wares and stocking up for the large crowds expected for the two-day celebration. An abundance of flowers, real and fake, decorated the whole of the village’s heart, garlands and wreaths attached to every available surface, every shop window sporting bright floral displays.

The maypole had been raised at the back of the green, its brightly colored ribbons fluttering in the warm breeze. The volunteers performing this year were gathered off to the side taking a break from their practice, you and Fiona among them.

The two of you had been roped into volunteering, so you both had to learn the performances from scratch. Fi especially was struggling with the interweaving moves, cursing under her breath every time she made a misstep.

“If I’d known it was goin’ t’be this big of a pain in me arse, I would’a hid in the loo when I saw Margie comin’,” she groused, wiping a forearm across her brow. She turned up her bottled water and took a large gulp as she glared at Margie Bartleby, proud owner of the Tea Room and the entertainment director of the festivities this year. “All tha’ woman needs is a bloody whip t’crack over our heads.”

You sniffed in amusement, not bothering to comment. You knew Fi was just venting her frustration and didn’t mean a word of what she said. You and she both adored the older woman, though you had to admit that Margie could be a right task master when she wanted to be.

You sipped at your water as you pulled your cell from your back pocket to check your notifications, drifting under the shade of a tent to see the screen better. You were hoping to see a message from Riley, but you were again disappointed.

He’d been gone since the last week of March, only a week and half after you had moved in with him. There had been no word from him save for a single text around mid-April to tell you if all went according to plan, he might be home by the end of the month. You had really been hoping he would make it back in time for the May Day celebration, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. He always seemed to be deployed during holidays.

“Still no word?” Fi asked, joining you.

You sighed and slipped the phone back in your pocket. “No.”

She nudged your shoulder. “Maybe ye’ll get a May Day miracle an’ he’ll show up dressed like Jack o' the Green.” Her grin turned lewd. “Can’t ya just picture it? Riley wearin’ nothin’ but a patch o’ moss over his dangly bits with oak leaves stuck all in his mask?”

“Fi-ona!” Heat crept up your neck to your cheeks, yet the image she created popped unbidden into your head.

Your face grew hotter as you imagined him dressed as Fi had described, the mental pictures in your head far from chaste. Riley was built like a Norse god, and even with the mask he earned his fair share of appreciative glances. You couldn't help but look, too; you were his friend, but that didn't make you immune to him.

When you heard Fi laughing at you, you blinked out of your daydream and narrowed your eyes. “Shut up,” you hissed at her, but couldn’t hide your wry smirk.

“Come along, lovies! Break's over!” Margie called to the group. “Let’s get back to it. We need to practice the bonfire procession and dance next!”

Fiona groaned, scowling. “God, I’ll be glad when we’re done with this. Never again,” she vowed as the two of you trudged back out to the green together.

-

Simon sat back in his seat, eyes focused out the window of the plane, half-listening to Soap and Gaz arguing about how they were going to spend their first night on leave. His cell phone was in his hand, your last text open. It was an image of the green decorated for May Day.

“Oi, Ghost! Ya should come with us t'night. We’re goin’ to that new pub in Hereford,” Gaz invited.

Simon slanted a glance his way, dark eyes glinting inside his skull mask. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“Ah, c’mon, mate. Readin' in your bunk isn’t plans,” Gaz replied, scoffing.

“Did ye ferget?” Soap spoke up, a mischievous smirk on his face as he bumped the other sergeant's arm. “Ghost has t’get’ home t’see his doll dance. Ain't tha' right, LT?”

Simon scowled at him. The nosy bastard had overheard him tell Price about you performing in the May Day festival, after the captain had asked him how "his doll" was doing. So, of course, Johnny hadn’t shut up about it since, pestering him for intel about his ‘wee doll’.

“Oh, that’s right,” Gaz drawled, his smile spreading wide. “Maybe we should go home with Ghost, then. You can introduce us to your doll.”

“Not happenin',” Simon gruffed. “Ya lot ain’t gettin’ anywhere near ‘er.”

Soap chuckled, puffing out his chest. “Worried I’ll nick yer lass, LT?” He smoothed his hand over his mohawk, flexing his bicep with a cheeky grin. “Canna blame ye. There’s a lot here t’tempt her away,” he teased, making his pecs jump beneath his tight tee. Gaz cackled.

Simon stuck his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down at the sergeant. “Ain't worried. Dee knows a wanker when she sees one."

"Oh-ho!" Soap crowed. "So, it's Dee, is it? Slipped up an' said her name, LT." He winked at Gaz as Simon muttered a curse. "Dee an' Johnny. Got a nice ring to it, aye?"

“Enough, lads,” Price called from behind his laptop, not even bothering to look up. The two immediately shut their gobs.

As soon as the plane touched down, Simon was up and heading down the ramp as it lowered. Grinning like a devil, Soap was ready to head after him when Price grabbed him by the back of his tac vest and hauled him back. 

“Bloody hell, lad, give it a rest,” he uttered lowly.

Gaz came abreast of them and leaned into whisper, “We just wanna know about her, Cap. I mean— it's Ghost. Kinda hard to imagine him havin' a bird. Has he told ya anything about her? Have ya seen a picture of her?"

Price scrubbed at his beard. “Never met the lass. Ya lads know he likes to keep his personal life private. Now, both of ya, leave it alone.”

“Canna believe yer no' a wee bit curious, sir,” Soap persisted. “Would ye no' like t’meet the lass tha’ caught the Ghost?”

Price wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t curious, but more than anything, he was just glad to see his lieutenant at ease, for a change. He was still a right broody cunt, but his attitude had definitely improved. “Lads, as long as she makes him happy, that’s all I care 'bout. Now, mind yer bloody business an' leave him alone, yeah?”

“Think he’d show us a picture of her if we asked nice?” Soap wondered aloud, undeterred. "I bet she's a right bonnie lass, aye? Have t'be t'get the LT all hot an' bothered." He waggled his eyebrows.

Price dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

-

Simon ended up parking behind the Dog when he finally made into to the village. Coming through the alley, he could see the crowd milling about the green and vendor booths, the smell of fried food and sweets wafting down the ginnel on the breeze. His stomach growled and he cursed himself for not eating something before leaving the base, but he'd been in a hurry to get home.

He usually stayed on base if he wasn't deployed when events like this were going on in Banfield. He hated dealing with the extra traffic and large crowds that descended on the village, but he could suck it up and deal with it just this once, since it was for you.

Apparently, he'd made it back just in time. Most of the crowd had gathered near the back of the green around the maypole, Margie's familiar voice loud and clear over the PA system as she announced that the maypole dance was about to begin.

Simon pressed through the throng of people, ignoring the looks and startled gasps as they shuffled out of his way. His eyes scanned over the dancers, searching for you, his eyes going a little wide when he spotted you standing with your back to him.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he felt like he'd been poleaxed, his dazed eyes roving over your figure. You were dressed like the other dancers, wearing a pastel satin undress covered in layers of wispy, see-through tulle, but the underdress clung to your breasts and hips, the swell of your bum accentuated by the slippery material. When you shifted your weight to pose in the starting position, a split in the underdress revealed the length of your thigh, the layered tulle separating to expose it.

Simon's mouth fell open under his surgical mask, eyes avid as the music began to play. He watched with rapt attention as you skipped and dipped and twirled, weaving in and out with the other dancers to braid the colored ribbons around the pole. Your hair had been left loose, a crown of flowers on your head, makeup done to give your features an ethereal cast. You looked like a fairy, flitting around, he mused. A really curvaceous, sultry, sexy fairy...

A familiar feeling tingled low in his abdomen and the front of jeans were suddenly too tight. He shook his head, grunting at his base reaction, but now that he'd seen you this way, he knew there was no denying it. You were stunning, the prettiest bird he'd ever seen. His pretty doll. Possessive pride welled up in his chest, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. That was his beautiful doll out there dancing; his.

When the dance ended, all the performers took a bow and then the crowd surrounded them. Simon hung back, waiting, wanting to see your expression when you finally spotted him.

So worth the wait.

It was Fiona that saw him first, nudging your shoulder and whispering at your ear as she pointed him out. The slight frown of confusion on your face transformed into a look of joyous surprise, your smile wide and beaming as you rushed to meet him, crying out, "Oh, my God! Ri!" as you leapt up to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

It stunned him at first, being greeted that way. Anyone else would have found themselves thrown to the ground with a knee in their back, but you? You he caught up in his arms and held on tight, breathing you in as his hands molded to your back and waist like he had done this a thousand times. It was instinctive and felt so right.

You pulled back to gaze into his eyes, your smile becoming something softer, more intimate. "I'm so glad you made it, Ri. Can't believe you're finally home. I've missed you."

His chest went tight, a pleased flush warming his face. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Missed ya, too, doll. 'S good t'be home."

He had a sudden, intense urge to pull down his mask and kiss you. His fingers twitched on your back, muscles spasming in his arms. He couldn't recall the last time he'd kissed a woman on the lips, but damn if he wasn't gaggin' to bloody do it now. From the soft, hazy look in your eyes, he didn't think you would mind it, either, which only made the temptation worse.

You both turned your heads, startled, when Fiona giggled. She was already lowering her cellphone to look at the pic she had just taken. Simon tensed, his first instinct being to bark at her to delete the photo, but then another idea popped into his head.

He lowered you to the ground, stepping behind you before planting his hands firmly on your hips and pulling you back against his chest. "Take another one, Fi. Want t'send one t'my team."

She dutifully took the picture, smiling as she stepped forward to show you both how well it had turned out. "That one's a keeper."

Simon stared down at the picture, liking the way the two of you looked together. A rush of heat coursed through his veins at the sight of his hands on your hips, your hands covering his. He glanced over at your face as you studied the photo, and he could only describe your expression as incandescent; you were bloody glowing.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his side as his eyes met yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "Definitely a keeper."

-

Simon ended up with dozens of photos saved on his phone by the time the festival was over. His favorite was the one Fiona had first taken, the one where he was holding you up in his arms, your heads together. He set that one as his screensaver.

However, the one he viewed the most was the one he took at the bonfire the last night of the festival.

He took it during the bonfire dance, you and the other dancers circling the high flames as you swayed and undulated in a jaw-dropping, frenzied dance that had wrecked his world. His heart had been beating as hard as the drums, his eyes fixated on you with a predatory intensity.

Then you had looked at him.

You had seen him in the crowd, a teasing, open-mouthed smile directed his way as your arms lifted over your head and you rolled your hips in a move that punched the air out of his lungs. He had lifted his phone and snapped the photo, capturing the moment.

He captured your sultry smile, that hooded gaze that was meant just for him. Your body's curves stood out in stark relief against the dark, your silken skin aglow from the flames. Every time he looked at it, he ended up in the loo with his cock in his hand, choking back his groans as he desperately fisted himself to completion.

It was bloody torture watching you disappear into your own bedroom later that night, every cell of his body on fire with the need to follow you. He didn't, but he wanted to. It was the fear of losing you that finally had him shuffling off to his own room, settling for your photo and his calloused hand.

It was on Sunday afternoon that he got a notification that the team was in their private group chat. You and Fi were gone to the shops, and he was sitting on the patio, drinking a Stella and enjoying the garden. Might as well join in, he thought; he had nothing better to do at the moment.

As soon as he entered the chat, Soap and Gaz started asking for details about the festival and, of course, you. Feeling a bit sadistic, the first photos he shared were of the green, the bonfire, the pub.

[SOAP]: Come on LT. U ken what we want! Show us a pic of ur doll. 😏 [GHOST]: No [GAZ]: Pleeeeaaaase!!! 🙏🏿🥺 [PRICE]: Bloody hell. Ignore them, lad. [GAZ]: We just want to see her Cap... [SOAP]: Is she ugly? I bet shes ugly. [PRICE]: SOAP! [GHOST]: Far from it johnny [SOAP]: Ur killn us LT! Just 1 pic pls pls pls!!! [PRICE]: Stand down, Sgts! Jesus Christ!

Simon couldn't help himself. He wanted to show you off. There was a smug smile on his face when he forwarded them the photos of you in a zip file.

There was a minute of inactivity, then the messages began to ping in rapid fire succession.

[GAZ]: That's ur doll?! She's bloody gorgeous, m8! 👍🏿 [SOAP]: sTEAMn fUKnJESUS!!!! [SOAP]: Insta-chub 👀🍆 [PRICE]: Well done, lad! She's a beauty. [SOAP]: Shes ded bonnie. U should introduce me 😈 [GAZ]: When can we meet her??? Is her friend single? 😏 [PRICE]: Behave, lads...

Simon huffed in amusement, feeling rather cocky as he began typing.

[GHOST]: Thx cap. [GHOST]: Her friend is single gaz. [GHOST]: U can suck it johnny. She's MY doll [GAZ]: Yeah. Suck it Soap! 😅 [SOAP]: Fair enough but... [SOAP]: Can I keep the pic of her @ the bonfire? [PRICE]: Christ. I need bloody a drink. Congrats, Simon. *(PRICE has left the chat.) [GHOST]: Hm. Just the one pic? [SOAP]: 🙏🥺 PLS??? [GHOST]: LOL [GHOST]: Hell NO [SOAP]: 😭 [GAZ]: 🤣🤣🤣

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[criticizing-blogger]

Fudge

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gore

Word count: 3423

In a small, snowy town of Minnesota, a black Chevy impala drives into a motel parking lot and settles into an empty spot up front. Two men, brothers, stepped out. The driver was a shorter man with a crew cut style;  his hair a straight, dark blond, matching his smooth forehead to his strong cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His eyes were hues of a forest, an earthy green that revives grass from the harsh winter. His stature is short, a brown shirt covered with a black and red flannel and that covered by a brown, leather jacket as his pants were blue going over his brown boots.

The passenger was tall, taller than his brother. His hair was shaggy brown and long, shoulder length to be exact but brought wonders to his features. The man’s eyes were the softest of brown, infused with a deep green as if he held a forest inside them. He wore a blue and white flannel with a grey, denim jacket. Pants were a light blue and like the other man, they, too, covered his dark brown boots.

The two looked at each other before walking into the motel. The bell on the entrance door jingled signaling the employees that customers were walking in. A plump, ederly woman who stood behind the check-in counter smiled and greeted them. “Welcome. Bed for one?”

“N-no...we’re not….we’re not together.” The taller man of the two stuttered.

“It’s okay sweetie. No need to be ashamed. We don’t judge here.” .

“Yeah, no need to be ashamed, honey.” The short man spoke as he spanked the taller man, grinning in amusement.

He gave his brother a look of annoyance. She gave them 2 sets of keys and he grabbed one before walking off.

“He's something, isn't he?” He winked and walked away with his key. 

The brothers walk out of the building and towards their shared room. Walking in, the walls are a dark, plain green with brown wood trims and the flooring white carpet. By the door to the room was a mahogany desk with a small, black desk lamp on top, a painting of a forest hung above. A dresser, the same color as the desk, stood against the wall with a small green dining table and matching chairs beside it. Across the table on the other side of the room were two separate beds with an end table in between and a large lamp on top. On the far side of the room across the entryway stood a door to the small bathroom. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, consists of a small, white sink on a grained counter top, the sink cabinet matching the dresser. A white toilet sat on the black and white tile floor, towels neatly folded on a silver rack above.  And next to the toilet was an off colored white bathtub with a few unknowable light brown stains on the sides; white tiles stuck to the walls and a silver showerhead attached above.  The bathroom walls are beige.

Dean slams the door shut and drops his bag onto the bed closest to the entry. He rummages through the bag grabbing out a black and white suit and a gun. Sam does the same before walking into the bathroom to change as his brother changes in the main room.

 “Witnesses first?” Sam shouts.

“You can question witnesses,” Dean spoke, fully decked out in his suit as Sam was when he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll check out the crime scene.” 

Both men tuck their guns into the back of their pants and the fake FBI badges in their front suit jacket pockets. The same routine they do in almost every case. With their feet covered by white socks with black dress shoes, guns and badges ready, they headed out the door and to the first crime scene.

The small parking lot of the only hardware store in town, had attracted plenty of locals who stood behind yellow tape and two police officers at each end keeping them in line. Police cars and ambulances swarmed the outside, officers questioning witnesses all the while the EMTs checked for injuries. Despite the lot being small, Sam and Dean were able to maneuver around everyone. They found the sheriff talking to the owner of the store. 

“Excuse us, sheriff.” Dean spoke causing the man to look up from his phone.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, putting his device away.

They pulled out their badges from their front pockets flipping them open. “I’m Agent Page and my partner here is Agent Young. Can we ask what happened here?”

The sheriff squints his eyes at the fake I.D.s and sighs. “According to crazy Doreen-” pointing a finger at an elderly lady with an annoyed officer watching her- “there were small men walking out of the store wearing bloody clothes and holding tools stolen from inside.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Dean asked. The sheriff gestured towards the store.

Sam stayed to talk to the man while Dean went inside to check out the scene. The first thing he noticed was splatters of blood over the walls and counter where the checkout counter is. He carefully leaned over the counter so as to not get blood on his suit or mess up evidence, his eyes roamed over the area to see a man dead, multiple stab wounds to the chest. He leaned back away from the counter to look over it. Smack dead in the middle of the blood splatter was a tiny handprint; as small as a child almost. Dean took out his cell and shot a picture and sent it to Sam.

Turning away he looked down at the floor for any further evidence. The blood hadn’t gone too far as most of it laid where the man is. Less clean up he supposed even though he knew it wasn’t the time to make jokes but does it anyways. Dean kept walking throughout the store. Nothing could be spotted on the floor. Even the shelves didn’t show signs of anything supernatural. They just looked ransacked. 

But something shiny caught the man’s attention from the corner of his eye. A bell. A small, gold bell. He walks towards then bends down to pick the object up. As it sat between his thumb and index finger, he slowly inspected the object. What the hell, he thought. Unfortunately he couldn't think further as his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up from behind. Dean quickly stood and turned only to let out a sigh of relief. It was just his brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, noticing Dean a little tense.

Dean opened his palm and showed him the bell. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He picked it up to inspect it. As it is just a bell, nothing more. He pockets it and starts to tell Dean what the elderly lady had said. “According to Doreen, when she was walking past the store, she saw little men walking out with sets of tools covered in blood, the same for their clothes. Apparently they were wearing red and green striped pointed hats that contained bells on top, the shirt and pants matched and the shoes were pointed upwards on the end of them, also with bells on top.”

Dean looked at him like he didn’t believe any of the words that just came out of his mouth. And he doesn’t believe Sam. “So dwarves? You’re saying dwarves. Like Santa’s little elves.”

“I-uh, I mean, I guess,” he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck realizing the elderly woman might actually be crazy just as the sheriff said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does any other witness say anything actually useful?”

Sam shook his head. 

“So no one else saw elves? Not even Rudolph?” Dean sarcastically spoke, making it Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

Dean sat in his car parked in front of a small house with the window rolled down talking, no, flirting to a woman while Sam sat inside a house talking to the family of the dead employee from the hardware store. The woman, Dean learned whose name is (y/n), was trying her hardest not to laugh at his failed attempt of flirting with her. Which, he was epically failing and miserably. 

“Okay dude. Look, you’re cute and all but you are literally the walking cliche of James Dean. I’m not interested.” she spoke before walking off just as Sam was coming out of the house having heard everything and chuckling. 

“That was awesome.” he states getting into the impala.

“Oh shut up,” spoke  Dean, annoyed, as he started the car and drove off. “What did they say?”

“According to the mother, nobody told her and her husband that their son is dead. The sheriff said that the guy, whose name was Greg, died sometime around six this morning. And despite it being several hours later, they never got a call.”

“Anything useful?”

“She said that Greg had been seeing little men for about three days and shrugged it off as drinking too much. It seriously sounds like elves.”

“Yeah, no. There is no such thing as elves.” Dean spoke, obviously still not believing Sam.

“Do you remember the case with the girl that was in a coma and her dad was reading her fairy tales?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“What if this is something similar except the whole disney sugar coating? Like how the mice were turning into servants and how Cinderella was being abused by her stepmother except this time it's elves.” Sam explains.

“Unless they’re dwarves from Lord of the Rings, I’m not buying it.”

.    .    .    .

Seven in the morning rolled around when a bedside alarm goes off. A hand reaches out and slams the top of it shutting it off. Yawning, (y/n) pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches. She gets up and walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to do her business. When finished, she walked back into her room changing into some black leggings with a red sweater and white socks. After changing she walked downstairs putting on her black boots lined with white fur and a dark red double lapel jacket. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

The weather outside was freezing causing her to slightly shiver. The ground is covered with pure white snow. Her boots leave small prints in the snow from the front door to her vehicle. She quickly gets into her car and lets it run for a few minutes before turning the heat on and leaving. She was used to the cold weather as she has lived in Minnesota for most of her life so the snow didn’t bother her.

The first place she headed for was the small cafe in town where she had breakfast almost every morning. The owner, Mrs. Smith has lived here for all her life and the cafe was passed down generation to generation. (Y/n) has known her since she moved here with her parents when she was younger. Mrs. Smith used to babysit her when her parents had to work. They were close and still are to this very day. The cafe has changed interior multiple times over the years as to keep up with modern times. But the outside has never changed. 

By the time (y/n) has arrived and walked into the building, her usual breakfast consists of fried egg, bacon and cheese on a toasted bagel, a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal with sliced bananas and black coffee, in her spot she claims as hers in the far corner of the building in the booth. It was her favorite spot as she could watch customers for inspiration for her writings.

While she ate and watched people come and go, two men in black suits came in, taking a seat a couple booths away from her. One of them, the same one she talked to, well, technically watched him fail at flirting with her yesterday, caught her eye. He puts on a charming smile fixing his jacket while he says something to the other guy, who seemed amused to see him fail again, and made his way over to the woman. 

He sits across from her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Agent.” she smiles, leaning back into her seat, waiting to watch him fail for the second time.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes. I just can’t seem to take them off of you.” 

She couldn’t help but snort while she took a sip of her hot coffee.

“Boy, that coffee looks hot. Just like,” Dean started before sheepishly saying, “hi.”

That caused her to raise her eyebrows. “Okay, now that was kind of adorable.”

Dean perked up. “So, did it work?”

She stood up, her breakfast finished. “Nope.” And with that, she walked out of the cafe with an amusing grin on her face. Dean’s mouth was open with shock. He’s never been rejected by a woman in years. Especially twice. He lets out a groan before closing his mouth and sitting at the same table Sam currently sat at. Sam was grinning letting out chuckles at his older brother’s failure.

“Oh shut up.” Dean told him as he grabbed a menu covering his red face of embarrassment while he looked for food. “So, what did you find from research last night?”

Sam who already knew what he wanted to eat pulled out his laptop from his computer bag and placed it in front of him. “According to Wikipedia, in Germanic mythology, a dwarf is a human-shaped, usually bearde, entity that dwells in mountains and in the earth and is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. But in this case, it's around Christmas time so instead of it being dwarves, we could be dealing with elves.”

Dean deadpanned and looked at the man across from him. “Please for the love of Chuck, you’re joking.”

Sam shook his head.

“I thought elves were supposed to be nice. Not all murdery.”

Sam shrugs. “I think at this point from all the shit we thought wasn’t possible, this goes along with it.”

“But why would elves start killing people and taking hammers and shovels and whatever else?” Dean spoke confused as hell. 

The only thing Sam could come up with is, well, he couldn’t come up with anything as they never went through something even remotely close to this. They didn’t have much to go on since they only talked to very few people and saw one crime scene. He already knew this odd case was gonna take more than a few days unlike most of the ones they have been on. 

“Sam sighed. “I don’t know. We need to look at the other scenes and see what happened there. Like the one lumber yard.” 

Before Dean could say anything, a waitress came up and asked them if they were ready to eat. Dean ordered a large, meaty breakfast, something likely to give you a heart attack if you ate enough of it while Sam got something small and healthy so he could keep his physique up. She wrote it all down, eyes widening when Dean spoke what he wanted and giving Sam a flirty smile as she took the meus from his hand, letting their fingers touch before letting them know she’ll be back with coffee and walks away with an extra sway of her hips. Dean watched her backside as she walked away till he couldn’t no more. He looked at his brother eyebrows raising up and down and smirking at him. “She’s hot.”

He just ignored Dean’s behavior as he was used to it. 

“Dude! You should go for her.” Dean states.

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, you need to get laid. That’s probably why you’re so tense all the time.”

Sam looked at his brother with annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, saving lives is more important than getting some.”

“If you won’t have her, I will,” Dean grins. “What happened at the lumber yard?”

Sam pulled up the local newspaper, called Morning News written on top in huge black letters, on his laptop. Everything that had happened over the last several days here covered a good part of the first page. On the left column showed rebuilding the bridge that connects the two surrounding towns as it was falling apart and unsafe to drive on. It didn’t give an estimate of how much it would cost to demolish it, which Sam knew was gonna be expensive, but to build another was gonna be much, much more. 

On the right column was a ten-year-old boy being awarded for selling the most chocolate in time for the holidays. He won a two hundred and fifty dollar gift card and got to leave school to go to any restaurant for lunch. He remembers middle school used to do that but he was never able to because of his father, John Winchester. He would’ve liked to do normal activities growing up, and still does, but with the line of work they do, he can only do so many normal things every other human gets to do. Otherwise, nothing of importance.

And on the bottom of the page showed the weather for the next seven, cold and snowy. No sun or warmth which of course is normal with it being winter. Before Sam could get off topic in his thoughts, he read the column of the murders until it told him to turn to page nine. The whole entire page, he notices, was covered about the murders of two men but three crime scenes. Sam didn’t bother reading the few paragraphs of the scene at the hardware store. Next, it showed what may have happened at the lumber yard which apparently happened first before the hardware store as the man who chopped wood there was found with an axe in the back of his head.

“So it says here a man, Finn Huckle, was found at three am two days hunched over the tree stump. His legs hacked and an axe stuck in the back of his head as his body laid over the tree stump he was using to shop wood. It looked like a regular murder accoring to the police until they saw Finn holding a pointy hat in his hand. It looked like he tried fighting back because he had skin under his nails. But when the lab tested it, the skin didn’t belong to anybody. Like whoever, or whatever, did this, doesn’t exist. However, at the last scene, at a children's park, in the sand box was a large, gaping hole with what they know is snow, surrounding the area.”

Dean took everything his brother said in. This was definitely something they haven’t dealt with, even heard of. But Sam says he thinks its elves seem to be making more sense, oddly to him, the more they learn what's happening in town. But why elves? Weren’t they supposed to be nice and make presents for good boys and girls? This case seems to be getting odder and odder. 

“Say it is elves, did they lose their mojo or something? Maybe they ran out of alcohol. I’d be all grumpy if I ran out of alcohol and had to deal with shit ton of kids.” Dean spoke gruffly.

Sam suddenly perked up, an idea as to why, if it is elves, acting dangerous. “What if they were hit with some potion making them angry?”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. Okay, maybe it is Santa’s little helpers, or logically, it's not. This is definitely something new. Before they can confirm what they think, they would need to see the hole at the park. His thoughts were interrupted with the pretty waitress bringing their food. She gave Sam his first, again, giving him a flirty smile then gave the other man his food, looking at him. Dean winked at her as he gave her his world famous smile he uses on all the ladies causing her to scoff and roll her eyes before walking off. Sam laughed at Dean’s flabbergasted look on his face. “Rejected by two women in one day. Got to be a new record.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off before digging into his food, annoyed.

___________________________________________________

DEAN X READER TAGS:

@akshi8278

[themusicplayedherlife]

Take a Chance (Domesticity)

pairings: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2k+

warnings: fluff, like legitimately pure fluff

a/n: this has been in my drafts for a while now, but I hadn’t felt comfortable posting it until now lol @forevans gave me the idea of writing a chapter that had more to do with steve and reader rather than them and the baby, and hopefully I did this justice ;w; anyway, let me know what you guys think!

summary: steve rogers and you go to the farmer’s market and steve enjoys his time with you.

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“Go away.”

He chuckles when you pull the comforter back over your head. “Come on, it’s time to get up. You said you’d come with me.” 

He’s come to learn you’re not much of a morning person since you’ve moved in—waking up late on the weekends and barely waking up on time for the weekdays. He just didn’t know it would be this hard to wake you up. It’s like fighting with a toddler to eat their vegetables. He wonders if Shrimp is going to have your stubbornness or his? Maybe a mix of both? Or right in the middle? 

“This early?” comes your muffled reply from under the blanket. “On a Saturday?”

“Yes,” he says, patting the lump that he hopes is either your leg or your back, if he’s touched you anywhere else, he’s afraid you might rip his arm out of his socket. “Come on. You said you wanted fresh flowers from a local florist, and you agreed when I gave you the details.”

“Is Bucky coming with us?” you ask. “If he is, I’m not going.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly why you’re asking. Any time Bucky comes over to pick him up for their Sunday jogs, you would complain about their combined high energies being too much for you. And Bucky takes full advantage of it, enjoying annoying grumpy you in the mornings, knowing that you wouldn’t give him the same reaction after you're more awake. “He’s not, I promise.”

The lump moves and you drag down the comforter. He’s greeted by your adorable face scrunched up and eyes narrowed in his direction. You’re trying to be intimidating but it’s cuter than anything and he can’t help but chuckle. He doesn’t stop laughing, not when you get up and shoot him another glare over your shoulder, or when you peek your head out of the bathroom to tell him off.

Yeah. He definitely wouldn’t mind if they had your stubbornness.

The morning wind whips around them--it’s full of sweets and fresh flowers, and local cuisines. In the distance, a guitar plays its song, accompanied by a smooth crooning voice. Maybe he should take you after a little bit of shopping to check it out, it'd be a good break.

“How are there so many people here already?” you mumble, maneuvering around the crowds of people picking out fresh produce, a few bartering with the vendors. 

He looks back at you and sees you falling behind, and he can’t have that. He holds his hand out for you to take, and you look up at him, eyeing him warily.

“I’m not going to hold your hand like a child, Steve.”

He wants to protest, remind you that you’ve held hands more than once and you’ve never seem to mind before, but that’d probably spike your need to wave him away. He settles on rolling his eyes and shoving his hand in your direction once more. You stare at it for a moment longer, and finally your fingers smooth over his, and without missing a beat, his fingers slip through yours. 

Your hand is small in his, warm and soft; fingers always seem to rest between his so easily, no fussing or fighting, always natural. 

Tugging you closer with a gentle pull, he leads you over to the general area he knows the florists to usually set up in.

You’re mumbling something under your breath—Spanish, again. He’s definitely going to have to brush up on his high school Spanish. Maybe Bucky and Tony would be willing to take some classes with him, or maybe he can ask your sister or mom to help him? And isn’t there a bookstore around here? He can probably find some language books while you're both here. Getting some toddler books would be nice too.

It’s not hard to find the stall he was looking for—it’s bigger compared to the others, full of varieties and even out of season flowers. He spots the familiar faces of Doreen Green and her mother behind the stall, wrapping up bouquets and greeting customers with their friendly smiles.

“Is that really a squirrel wearing a pink bow and handing out flowers,” he hears you ask, confusion and disbelief laced in your words. 

He follows your line of vision and spots Doreen’s red squirrel handing buyers orange flowers, every single person thanking the little thing and leaving with a wide smile. It’s practically the reason their stall is so popular. “It is,” he confirms. “Her name is Tippy-Toe.”

Without any warning, you’re dragging him over to Tippy Toe, a barely concealed squeal leaving your lips. You’re gushing over the squirrel who seems to be thrilled by your attention, handing you one of the orange flowers. 

Doreen finishes with a customer when she notices him, her brown eyes growing wide. “Mom, Steve’s here with a girl!”

He flushes at the sudden attention from the people around them and Doreen, but he should’ve known this would’ve happened. He just wishes it hadn’t. Thankfully, you’re too busy making cooing noises at Tippy Toe to pay any attention to them.

Her mom pauses in wrapping up a bouquet and hands it off to an employee to make her way over to you and him, a wide smile on her face. “Would you look at that? Stevie! And who is this lovely lady?”

Tippy Toe moves away from you to jump onto Doreen’s arm and climbs up to perch herself onto her shoulder, briefly hiding in her dirty blonde hair before poking out again. 

You snap your gaze to Doreen and her mom and introduce yourself.

“My fiancé,” Steve adds on, ignoring the bewildered stares thrown his way.

Doreen is the first to react, squealing happily and scaring Tippy Toe off her shoulder and back onto the table. “Oh my gosh! Congratulations!”

You clear your throat. “Thank you?”

“Oh! I’m so happy for both of you,” the older woman says, clapping her hands together, “This is such good news! Is this why we haven’t seen much of your mother, Steve?”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Yes, she’s been helping with the wedding and everything.”

“Hey, boss, I brought back some of those shrimp tacos you like so much,” an employee interrupts. “Brought back some veggie tacos for you, Doreen.”

They thank him in unison as the employee places two trays down and away from prying eyes, but it’s too late. You’ve already caught a whiff of them and Steve can practically see you salivating. “Those smell so good.”  

“Oh, would you like one?” Her mom offers, but you shake your head.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You turn to him unsure. “But, uh, do you mind if we get some after this?”

He can’t help but laugh. “Didn’t we just have oatmeal with strawberries?”

“Yeah, but I’m eating for two now, Steve. And Shrimp loves shrimp!” Oh, he knows. He’s already picturing all the weird cravings you’re going to get later in the pregnancy. Shrimp with chocolate? Maybe with mayo? 

A gasp cuts off his laugh, his eyes snapping in the direction of Doreen and her mom.

Doreen leans forward on the table, her eyes wide as she pleads with you and him, “Can I babysit for you guys when the baby is born? I promise you I’m really good with babies! There’s this couple from Harlem who always ask me to babysit their little girl, Dani, and if you guys need references I can totally ask them for one and—“

Her mom guffaws, reeling her back.“Woah, there, Dori, their baby hasn’t even been born yet!”

She takes a deep breath and exhales. “Sorry, just got really excited.”

You giggle, the sound bubbling out of your throat, surprising him. “If we’re ever in need of a babysitter we’ll keep you in mind.”

Doreen flashes you a wide smile and she gasps again. “You guys wanted to buy some flowers, right? What can we get for you?”

It doesn’t take long for them to make your requested bouquet, and when he’s about to pay, they wave him away. “As a congratulatory gift!” They had said, sending you off on your way, but not without another flower from Tippy Toe and a “don’t forget to invite us to the wedding!” from Doreen as you walk away.

“They’re sweet,” you say, lifting the arrangement of flowers to your nose. “Maybe we can hire them for the wedding?”

You say it so quietly that he almost convinces himself he hadn’t heard you correctly. But the quickening of his pulse and your uncharacteristic shy smile is proof that he did. This is probably the first time you’ve taken the initiative to think about something for the wedding without someone asking you to. It’s almost like… like you’re actually looking forward to that day.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed and lips down turned. “What?”

His lips curl up and widen as he takes your hand, shaking his head. “Nothing. Come on.”

“Weirdo,” you mumble, but you squeeze his hand and the two of you continue down the rows of stalls.

Arms laden with flowers, fresh fruits and vegetables, and sweet honey, you look for a place to sit and eat your tacos. He watches as you hum and eat, a chuckle escaping his lips before he can stop himself. You blink up at him mid bite.

“Sorry, you just make the tacos look appetizing,” he explains.

“They’re pretty good,” you tell him with a shrug; then you’re offering him the taco, one hand pinching the ends of the tortillas together and the other hand under it to stop any of the filling from falling onto the table. “Want a bite?”

Steve blinks and you nudge the taco forward again, enough for him to take a bite of it—the corn tortilla melts in his mouth, the shrimp and cabbage coated in seasoning and some kind of dressing ignite his taste buds—it’s spicy, but not unbearable, just enough to make his tongue tingle pleasantly. “It is pretty good!” He answers your expectant gaze, mouth still full with the bite he took.

“Told you!” You grin triumphantly and pull the taco away to finish it off without much thought.

He doesn’t know why that causes heat to rise to his cheeks or why his heart thumps harshly against his rib cage. He’s seen you share food like this with Vicky and your sister, sometimes even your mom, and Natasha and Wanda. But you’ve never shared food with him like this. So… why?

He doesn’t get to think about it too much with a voice calling his name. “Steve!” 

A familiar face greets him with a smile and a wave, and Steve hops onto his feet excitedly. “Clint! Hey! When did you get back?”

“Hey, man!” Clint greets him. “About two days now!” 

Before they can hug, a Labrador retriever jumps on him with an excited bark.

It takes all of his strength to keep upright. “Lucky! Hey, boy!” It takes a couple of pats and smooches to get Lucky to sit, but then he catches sight of you and tugs Clint forward, surprising both of them.

You’re quick to crouch. “Hey, there,” you coo, running your fingers through Lucky’s fur, and you let out a laugh when he surges forward to lick your cheek.

Clint’s eyes shift from you to him in surprise.

He rubs the back of his neck as you stand. “Uh, Clint, this is my fiancé,” he introduces you and then turns to you who is staring at his friend with curiosity. “This is Clint Barton a friend from college.”

“Nice to meet you,” you greet him politely, offering him your hand, but you’re taken aback when Clint wraps you up in a hug instead.

He grins at the bewildered expression on your face when he releases you. “I’m a hugger,” he explains. “Congrats. I’m invited to the wedding, right?”

“Of course,” he reassures his friend after a nod from you. “Why didn’t you tell us you were back?”

“Was waiting to settle in before I got in contact with everyone.”

“He moved to California after graduation,” he clarifies to you when he sees the confusion on your face.

You tilt your head in response, leaning back down to pet Lucky. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Clint confirms. “Lived in Sacramento for work.”

“Oh,” you perk up. “I’ve been there a couple of times.”

“Really? Did you ever go to…” Steve watches on as you and Clint start naming places from Sacramento, and warmth spreads in his chest seeing you get along so well with another close friend of his. 

As he and Clint catch up, you occasionally pay more attention to Lucky than their conversation. The dog sits at your side cheerfully as you run your fingers through his coat, tongue lolling out of his mouth. You both look pretty content.

Clint grins at him—a wild grin. One he recognizes from their time in college. It usually meant trouble.

“What?” He asks warily.

He only shakes his head, but his grin remains the same. “Nothing. You just look happy.”

Steve relaxes. “Yeah?”

Clint’s eyes narrow fondly, nodding. “Haven’t seen you like that since you volunteered to help design and paint that preschool mural in our third year. Remember that?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I remember.” How could he forget? He had been excited when the organizer, an old classmate of his, approached him with the offer. It was the last time he got to paint before he met you.

“Have you been painting lately? Or too busy trying to build a sentient robot?”

Steve laughs, his hand falling onto his chest at Clint’s words. “Is that what you think we’re doing?”

“You never know with Tony.”

“I see your point.” Lately Tony has been working on an AI for the office and for home use with more use than SIRI and Alexa, so if he really put the effort in to it, Tony could probably build a sentient robot if he wanted. Thankfully, he won’t. Steve’s eyes once more stray over to you and Lucky, your face practically stuffed into his golden fur as you give him back scratches. His lips twitch. “But yeah, started a project recently.” He wonders if you’re going to like his surprise.

Clint’s watch beeps and Lucky is immediately on alert. “It’s time for us to go.” He stands and Lucky trots to his side obediently. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says to him before turning to you. “And it was nice meeting you.” You smile at him and agree. “Let’s get together soon!” he says, turning his back on you both and calls for Lucky—the two of them jogging back to their home.

He hums. “We should get going too. Unless you want to walk around a bit more?”

You shake your head and smile at him. “I think we have everything we need.”

The two of you walk back to the car, arms full with everything you chose at the market, but he still keeps one hand free to hold yours.

“We should get a dog,” he says absentmindedly, his mind suddenly alight with the image of you and your interactions with Tippy Toe and Lucky. “Adopt one like Clint.”

You laugh, eyeing him. “Is a baby not enough for you?”

He chuckles, swinging your arms back and forth as you walk back to the car. “We don’t need to get a dog now, but maybe later? Once Shrimp is old enough. They could be best friends, look out for one another.”

You purse your lips, thinking it over before your face melts into a smile. “That sounds nice. I’d like that.”

His face mimics yours, and he can feel his lips twitching as they move into a wide grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, squeezing his hand.

[inhumansforever]

Marvel Rising #0 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

The uprising starts here as the journey toward the new Secret Warriors begins with a fun team up between Ms. Marvel and Squirrel Girl.  Brought to you by the creative team of  Devin Grayson, Marco Failla and Rachelle Rosenberg.  Quick recap and review following the jump.

The adventure takes place at the Howard Stark Institute for Technological Excellence.  Kamala Khan has accompanied a group of students for a tour of the Institute and their tour guide is none other than Doreen Green (whom we can assume is interning at the institute for college credits).  

The tour is rudely interrupted by a group of renegade researchers from Advance Ideas Mechanics (or AIM).  AIM is a group of scientists who stop at nothing in their pursuit of knowledge.  The group had recently reformed from villainy under the leadership of Roberto DeCasta, but apparently a fraction has splintered off and returned to its evil, mercenary ways.

The AIM goons invade the institute, apprehending the various students and forcing them to go through some sort of genetic scan.  Kamala and Doreen each seek off to change into their respective superhero guises and it isn’t long before the AIM infiltrators find themselves squaring off against the combined might of the intrepid Ms. Marvel and unbeatable Squirrel Girl!

A battle ensues with Ms. Marvel uses her embiggoning powers to grab, punch and throw the villains while Squirrel Girl flips, jumps and does the same (while also ensuring that none of the priceless items at the institute are damaged). 

Both Ms. Marvel and Squirrel Girl are happily surprised to see each other.  They haven’t met before but are mutual admirers and both seem to think this team up has been long overdo.  

The two gel together and get along as well as one might expect.  Both are quite similar in their sunny sense of idealism and superhero fan-girl-ism, yet are different enough that neither seems to feel threatened by the other.  Their friendship is forged almost in an instant, sealed with the glee of being able to recreate the X-Men’s signature move: a ‘fastball special,’ a special attack wherein Ms. Marvel uses her embiggened hand to throw Squirrel Girl at the villains.  

It allows Squirrel Girl to access the door and, once it is open, she uses her squirrel communicating powers to let in a variable army of furry combatants.   The army of squirrel overwhelms the AIM goons and they are all defeated.  All but one, who manages to escape with the data they had come to collect.  The sole escapee dashes to a hidden alley and sends the information to an unseen benefactor, the villain who had sent AIM on this mission in the first place. 

  It remains unrevealed who this villain is, but they are quite pleased with the data that was collected.   Whatever genetic testing the AIM goons were conducting, it was successful in identifying a young subject possessing impressive super powers.  This subject is a teenage girl named Ember Quad, she is a latent Inhuman who has been bestowed by Terrigenesis with the ability to absorb and weaponize huge amounts of energy.  Clearly the villain has plans to use this youngster’s powers to some nefarious end.  

How this villain plans to do so remains to be seen and we’ll have to wait until the release of Marvel Rising Alpha later this spring to find out.  

It’s a fun outing.  Very much an all-ages comic, with action and dialogue meant to be accessible to younger readers.   The story is a touch pat, with a villain once more looking to exploit a young super powered being and weaponize their abilities for some sinister purpose.  Still, the somewhat generic nature of the plot allows for greater focus on the real draw of the issue… namely the long-overdo team-up between Ms. Marvel and Squirrel Girl.  These are a pair of heroes who have quickly become two of my all time favorites and it’s a blast to see them finally interacting one on one.  

And they are as fun together as one would expect.  Sort of like seeing two kids realizing that they each love the exact same things and just nerding out over it with unbridled enthusiasm.   It’s a blast and Devin Grayson demonstrates an excellent knack for scripting the two interacting together… it definitely has me looking forward to seeing more from the duo.

Marco Failla’s illustration is clean and dynamic.  It doesn’t take a lot of risks and follows an even flow.  It’s very good art, although I think it a mistake to assume that younger and/or newer readers will have trouble reading unconventional panel composition.  Granted, this is more of a general criticism of comics directed toward an all-ages audience.   Rachelle Rosenberg’s color work is bright and vibrant; it fits with the tenor of the story, offering a more cartoon-style feel.  

The issue wears its principles on its arm.  It is not at all shy about what it is trying to be.  Marvel Rising is about traditional superhero action with a more inclusive cast.  It isn’t trying to be cool or edgy in the least.   It’s a fully transparent invitation to a younger and broader audience, welcoming them to join in on the fun of the Marvel Universe.  

More seasoned or jaded fans might find it all to be quite ‘cringe worthy.’  Indeed I’m rather expecting some kind off blowback, castigating Marvel Rising as little more than politically correct pandering to the social justice sect.  I hope I’m wrong.  Surely the world of super hero action is large enough to accommodate a broader audience.  Furthermore, the general health of the industry is altogether contingent on appealing to this broader audience.  

I actually appreciate that Marvel Rising is so forward and unapologetic in its aim.  My only complaint is the notion that appealing to newer readers requires a straight forward and conventional approach.  The art and story here is good, but plays it rather safe.  If the project want to succeed in attaining its goals it may be necessary for it to take more risks.  

I definitely recommend checking it out.  It’s fun, it’s free and worth your time

Three and a half out of five Lockjaws.