#re!danver

[storytellering]

Commission for _MORTlS on twitter ♥︎

[lucyllawless]

Lena prefers sleeping at her girlfriend's apartment.

[ekingstonart]

“Here they are. We have a few different lines of toys here, different sizes, and the squeakers themselves vary from brand to brand. Some of these are very loud.”

—from Treats and Collars on ao3

Thank you so much @makicarn for commissioning me to illustrate this scene from @trashpandato’s ADORABLE fic! It has been an absolute pleasure working with/for you both!

[sssammich]

fic: come what may

a/n: this is a continuation of THIS post which was inspired by the fanart. please give that fanart some love if you haven't, it was so very compelling to me and that's why we're here.

anyway read the first part and then come back to this lol

---

Lena retreated to the single stall washroom after graciously thanking everyone around her for their applause and cheering. In the quiet of the small space, she was able to think about the last five minutes of her life. 

It had been a week since she had spoken last with the caped hero, the word ‘villain’ rang in Lena’s ears still to this day. 

It had stung her, lanced through her more like. But in this world, she had no choice but to keep moving forward if only to survive. She knew that reintegrating Lex back into her life was a risk, but what was the alternative? To let back in the one person she’d trusted with so much of herself only to be the same one who broke Lena irreparably? It figured that they would be one in the same. Supergirl had a habit of being duplicitous, after all. 

Despite all of these thoughts, the dance had been more than she anticipated. For a brief moment in time, her world narrowed to the size of the dance floor when she and her former best friend twirled and glided across the space, held close to one another, swaying to the beat of the song.

Until Supergirl called out to her, the tenor of her voice bringing up a world long gone, the time together but a distant memory. Only to then ask her, “what’s your plan here, Lena?” 

The illusion broke through and shattered all around them, and her eyes darkened, her heart hardened. 

“You will never trust me,” she announced finally when she looked at Kara’s beautiful face, her equally beautiful blue eyes. Now, an enemy. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

She pulled away and turned, not sure she could look at that face again, anymore. Still, she would admit that it was enough consolation to see Supergirl on edge, to put her on her red-booted back foot.

She recalled turning her head slightly and caught enough of Supergirl's departure from the middle of the dance floor and into the evening sky. It gave her some satisfaction, but not nearly enough to placate the ache in her chest. 

Lena stared at her reflection; her makeup remained impeccably applied, impeccably in place despite the exertion of their dancing. The heat of Kara’s hands lingered all over her body, the warmth of those hands pressed into her, holding her in the illusion of safety as the song notes progressed. Her former best friend was clumsy in her movements, at least at first. It would have delighted Lena plenty to see Supergirl stumble her way through her movements. Yet, she held her own and led the two of them throughout the dance floor in an acceptable tango. On any other day, any other moment, she would have been charmed by it, let herself be led around so long as they stayed in each other's arms.

But those moments were no longer accessible to them. 

She returned to her guests and maneuvered through the compliments and conversations, but every now and again, she glanced up into the open sky. Just in case.

—

In the end, Lex was defeated and rid of once and for all. The details of it were fuzzy to her now, but none of it mattered. Simply that he was gone from her life for good, that he would no longer be a terror to anyone and everyone, to those she loved. 

Once again, however, she was left to pick up what remained of his ruinous rampage, if only to be surrounded by something beyond her isolation. 

It was just a few scant weeks ago that she’d reached a truce with Kara and her Superfriends (nevermind that she’d once thought of them as her own friends, as well). Now here she stood weeks later: alone. 

Lena had run out of options or excuses and finally sought out help from Kara without hope or expectation for true reconciliation or forgiveness, from either of them. They’d drawn their lines from one another so long ago, she’d considered them carved in stone. 

Now she stood on her empty balcony overlooking the city just after the sun had set and the sky was now engulfed in dark blue. 

Without a brother, a mother, a father. An orphan, twice over. It seemed that she was destined to live in solitude. They say no man was an island, yet perhaps Luthors were. 

She gazed at the last remnants of the setting sun across the horizon, not giving away that she heard the sound of a cape billowing at the far end of the balcony. She made no move to say or do anything, simply took a sip of the amber liquid in her glass. If Supergirl had anything to say, then Lena was not going to stop her. 

“How are you?” Kara finally said, after minutes trickled past them. 

She scoffed, unable to help herself. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Kara hovered outside of the balcony. She simply took another sip of her drink. 

Kara, never one to leave well enough alone, moved so that her feet touched the ground and she stood somewhere behind her. Lena closed her eyes and took a swig of all of her remaining drink. 

“You’re trespassing.” 

“I know.” 

“I can have you arrested.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

“A dance.” 

Lena quickly turned around, Kara standing only a few feet away, her arm outstretched. She glanced up and met blue eyes, an ocean of patience. 

Resigned, Lena unfurled the fist by her side and placed it in the offered hand. She took a step forward until their bodies were almost flush with one another, Kara’s other hand placed on the small of her back. An easy fit between them. A thought that Lena shoved into a box for rumination and reflection later on. 

“There’s no music,” she commented needlessly even as she put her free hand on Kara’s shoulder, her nerves manifesting in lightly scratching the fabric of the supersuit under her fingertips. 

“There’s always music.” Just then, Kara pulled her phone from a hidden compartment behind her and pressed the screen until soft music started playing. It was the final duet in Moulin Rouge between the two leads, where she and Kara shed a tear or two when they watched it in the past—a distant lifetime ago. They were now extraordinarily different people from those versions of themselves. 

“This musical was a tragedy.” 

The superhero shrugged, her eyes focused past Lena’s head. “I know.” 

“Are you trying to tell me something?” 

Kara eventually returned her attention until their eyes met and Lena waited. She watched as Kara took a deep breath and offered Lena a cautious smile, resignation plastered on her own face. “I’m trying to tell you a lot of somethings.”

She studied Kara’s face, wanted to glean any kind of information from her features alone, but Kara betrayed nothing. “Start with one.” 

“I’ve been practicing.” When she furrowed her brows in confusion, Kara clarified by twirling Lena out of her embrace only to pull her back into her orbit once again. This time without bumbling through any of the movements nor without a stutter in her steps.  

The move surprised Lena enough to take her breath away, her senses suddenly alight as she considered what any of it meant. When? How? Why?

“Tell me another,” she whispered, her hands grasping tighter onto Kara just as the song started to swell. 

“I want to start over.” 

Lena stopped in her tracks so Kara did, too. Distantly, Lena observed that neither released their holds of one another.

“Why? We’ll only hurt each other.” 

“Maybe. Probably,” Kara supplied before tugging Lena back closer to her and swayed side to side to encourage Lena to do the same. “But life without you in it is infinitely worse, I think. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll take my chances.” 

Lena’s heart felt like it was getting catapulted across time and space. And maybe it was actually getting catapulted along with every sway she took with Kara. Still, she couldn’t help but push. “Even with a villain?” 

Kara grimaced slightly before flashing an apologetic smile. “Sure, Lena. Even with a villain.” 

“I was one, you know,” she offered, watching for Kara’s response. She was complicit, had gotten her own hands dirty. She owned up to that. 

“I know.” But Kara simply shrugged and brought them closer. “Believe it or not, I’ve been one, too. You’re not exactly very special in that department, Lena.” 

A small laugh that bubbled out of her caught her off guard, and Kara smiled at her before spinning her away and back together again until Lena hid her face against the crook of Kara’s neck until the song finally ended. 

They parted from each other, Kara taking a step back until she was a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Thanks for the dance,” Kara said. 

“You’ve gotten better.” 

“I appreciate that. It means the practice has been paying off.” As if nodding to herself, Kara gave her a smile and began to turn so as to take off into the night sky, but Lena stopped her. 

“Tell me one more,” she urged, realizing she didn’t want their interaction to end quite yet. 

Kara then looked over her shoulder. “Can I come back tomorrow?” 

“If you’d like.” 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll hold you to it.” 

Kara’s body twisted so she was looking at Lena more fully. “Goodnight, Lena.” 

“Goodnight, Kara.” 

Lena watched as she took off into the sky, disappearing into the night. She’d stayed out there for a little while longer, the heat of her drink coursing through her veins while the moment between them warmed her against the cool breeze that passed through. 

Nothing had yet been fixed, and there was a long road ahead of them. But something in her caged heart had loosened, allowing her to breathe again. That was a start.

[budgebuttons]

OH BOY it’s zineposting day o3o

ty @supercorpzine for making it happen again, the success of this project is really very special.

[hunkjodiefoster]

A relationship study of Liz Danvers and Evangeline Navarro:

"I am not merciful"

"Keep breathing"

"He sees you"

"Nobody ever really leaves"

I NEED MORE OF LIZ DANVERS AND EVANGELINE NAVARRO PLEASE ISSA LÓPEZ

The way they went from hating each other in the beginning of the season to Liz putting up her shield one last time when Evangeline mentioned Holden. To Liz letting it all out when she could've died at any second, she trusts Navarro with talking about Holden, and if Navarro didn't put as much care into her by stripping her of her clothes and putting her by the fire, warming up her hands, telling her to keep breathing, Liz would be dead. Evangeline stuck with Liz until the very end. They both cling to the other for help, like it's their last day on earth. They're partners at work and in life. They can't be separated anymore, can't live without each other. Either romantic or platonic, they're desperate for the other to stay with them.

[wolfie-bee]

Ties that bind

read it here as a twitter fic

"You know, when you showed up at my door this morning I didn't wanna let you in." Kara's words are a soft vulnerable truth, but the weight of them lodges deep in Lena's chest.

She knows, had seen the inky lines of mistrust etched across Kara's face that morning when offering the beginnings of an apology and a plea to help stop Lex.

There's tension in the lines of Kara's shoulders and Lena's eyes get stuck there as she looks down at her feet and stacks her hands on her hips. Then they dissolve into silence.

Well why are you still here? Lena wants to ask. Why am I here? But the words feel heavy, hurt springing like blood on her tongue.

Guilt immediately rushes in, you stole from me, you convinced me to steal for you and you used kryptonite on me!! an echoing ring in her ears that instantly liquefies her resolve. Her jaw tenses and ticks, and she dips her head, shifting her eyes away from the otherworldly gravity that Kara's holds.

Kara lifts her head and her eyes fixate on Lena's as the silence stretches, a stormy sea of emotions churning in their blue depths. The intensity in them tenses Lena's spine and she folds her arms tightly across her chest like a physical shield from their direct assault. She doesn't recognize this look, hates the uncertainty as bitter indignation crowds her stomach and the words you betrayed me, you broke my heart lock with startling force behind her ribcage.

"Alex was right," Kara chuckles humorlessly, "I'm not rational when it comes to you. I think with my heart and not with my head."

"Funny, Lex said the same to me."

Kara's expression turns inscrutable, and Lena doesn't know if it's because of the mention of her brother or their similarities when it comes to dealing with each other. She figures it's a little of both.

"But…" Lena continues, swallowing her pride and the lump forming in her throat, "is that such a bad thing?"

Kara doesn't answer. Instead, she lets out a shallow breath, forehead crinkling like this conversation had already become too much. She had shut this conversation down one too many times when Lena had tried to broach it earlier. But damn if it doesn't make Lena want to crawl out of her own skin.

She'd thought they were making some progress, had felt the tentative stirrings of reconciliation as they'd worked together to stop Leviathan. 

It's disconcerting that she can't get a read on Kara's eyes as she takes a step back, red boots scuffing against the floor. And Lena's heart aches at the physical distance like an ever widening chasm between them.

"On Krypton, trust was something sacred." Kara starts softly, inhaling a large gulp of air that draws Lena's eyes to the glyph on her chest. "We broke that in each other, we caused each other so much pain and -"

"Pain is a necessary part of life," Lena says hoarsely, the words quivering on her tongue. "I learned that the hard way when Non Nocere failed."

Another bout of silence falls over them and Lena uses it to turn away from Kara, gathering strength for what she's about to say next. 

"So I get it. You don't have to trust me in order for us to keep working together."

"But I want to…" Kara answers immediately, and there's earnestness in the soft tremor of her voice. "you came through today at every opportunity and I - I'm not saying that you have to keep doing that but, I want to trust you, Lena. I want to let you in again."

Lena releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding, relief spreading like fissures across her heart, a warm hopeful balm in her veins as she squeezes her eyes shut.

"Kara," she breathes out, lips trembling as she forces out the word. A host of reasons why they shouldn't do this flashes through her mind, the biggest of them being that Lena didn't think that she deserved to hold on to the tentative reins of trust being offered.

She hears her take a step.

Then another. 

And another. 

Until Kara's pressed right against her, a comforting warmth at Lena's back that makes her heart tremble as those warm familiar hands land on her shoulders. The touch nearly makes Lena flinch. She doesn't know why it surprises her since Kara has always been the more tactile one between them. And her brain stalls in trying to furiously calculate exactly how long they've been apart.

Kara notices, of course she does. She breathes out shakily, hands drifting along the curve of Lena's shoulders and the small of her back. 

Lena trembles at the feel of it, her touch starved body aching to be held in Kara's arms again. Because Kara is warmth and light and Lena still loves her with the inevitability of a new day and the gravity that binds them to each other.

Kara's touch is an irresistible force and Lena can't even find it within her to be angry that her defenses were practically nonexistent as the tension melts from her in seconds.

That warmth reaches all the way to her toes as those hands slide in a comforting press down the arch of her spine to settle lightly at her hips. Before Lena can think herself out of it, she turns, just to see her face as the desire to reach out, to touch, loosens the threaded beat of her anxious heart. 

The hands on her hips bunches in Lena's blouse almost to the point of contention and she freezes, lifting her eyes to Kara's. This is the closest they've been in a while but the uncertainty in Kara's eyes is almost Lena's undoing. She allows herself a small conciliation, grasping onto the hands already clinging to her, as if that could somehow convey the mix of emotions thrumming inside her chest.

The wall between them all but falls away as Kara loosens one of her hands to reach out and cup her face. Lena leans readily into the contact and Kara's eyes soften, allowing her a glimpse of the woman she'd fallen in love with.

"How do I let you in again?" Kara asks, a shaky plea that loosens tears from her devastatingly attractive eyes. Lena wants to reach up and kiss them away, but her insecurities leave her rooted to the spot.

"Maybe you shouldn't," She answers truthfully, her doubts manifesting as those small broken words.

Kara's palm trembles against her cheek and Lena closes her eyes, moving to shift away. But Kara's other hand presses more insistently against her side, warming her through her clothes and Lena nearly chokes on her name, can't find her voice which gets lost somewhere in the trembling cry struggling to break free. 

"I know I hurt you by not telling you my truth." Kara says, drawing Lena's eyes to hers. "And I'm sorry. I haven't had a lot of practice doing this. Growing up I was forced to hide my abilities because the people around me could get hurt and I - I know that's no excuse, but I hope -" Kara stops abruptly, lips trembling too much to continue.

And Lena doesn't want to talk about this anymore, can't talk about it without breaking down again. Her heart aches for Kara, for this woman born of different stars and the hardships she faced. So she closes the rest of the distance, folding herself into Kara's embrace.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that." She whispers, tucking her face against Kara's neck as those warm arms go around her. 

"Lena," the way that Kara says her name has never failed to make Lena's breath hitch. "I hope that one day you can forgive me."

Her trembling arms lock around Kara's shoulders, and Kara nuzzles against her hair, chest expanding as she breathes Lena in. Lena closes her eyes and oh, Kara's touch is grounding and these arms feel more like home than any place on earth ever could.

She doesn't expect the soft lingering kiss that Kara leans in and presses to her temple and the intimacy and affection of it shatters Lena's careful composure. Tears fills her eyes, tears that spill down her face as her breathing shortens and they don't have time for this, they have to stop Lex from whatever he's plotting, they have to -

But patient, gentle Kara frames her face between warm palms, tenderly brushing the tears away with the pad of her thumbs and the anchoring force of another kiss pressed sweetly against her skin. 

Her kiss is light dawning in the darkness, darkness that rushes out from Lena's heart and flees from the crevices of her soul as Kara's kisses move across her temple and down to her eyebrows. She doesn't stop, pressing them in reverence across her eyelids, sweeping along the bridge of Lena's nose down to the apple of her cheeks, a sweet calming force that quiets Lena's mind.

It's new, this level of intimacy, the fact that they've never really used kisses for comforting each other in all of their years of friendship. Lena finds that she can't get enough of it, craves the press of Kara's warm mouth on her skin and can't believe that they've never done this before.

She flushes brightly when Kara tilts her chin with a hand covering her jaw to drop a kiss just below Lena's ear and stills long enough for Lena to reopen her eyes.

Kara's cheeks are a lovely red and Lena's eyes get stuck there, admiring their rosy hue. She doesn't know what expression her face forms as Kara moves back a little but they stare at each other, all heavy lidded eyes and soft breaths mingling in the short space between. The staring lengthens to the point where Lena feels like she's about to combust beneath the allure of those magnetic blue eyes.

So she moves in, drawn to Kara, softly touching their noses together. The action elicits a wobbly smile from Kara's pretty pink lips and Lena closes her eyes again, hands falling to grasp onto Kara’s suit clad biceps. Her nose skims across the rise of Kara's cheek, and down to her calming fluttering pulse, overwhelmed by the scent of peaches clinging to her skin.

One of Kara's hands finds her hip again, the other mindlessly tangling in Lena's hair and Lena can't think of a safer place than these arms as she absentmindedly noses along the slope of Kara's neck till the point where the supersuit starts. Her lips tingle where they accidentally meet warm skin and she draws back a little to intentionally press them lightly against the hollow of Kara's throat. 

It's a bit concerning that she doesn't have the wherewithal to be mortified by her actions, but Kara's only reaction is a quiet breath against her ear.

So she does it again, soft, tentative.

This time Kara makes a tiny noise of encouragement that fills Lena with ardor and she wants to hear it again, has to hear it again. So she opens her mouth a little and scrapes her teeth along the corded muscles of Kara’s neck, feeling them flutter beneath the soft roll of her tongue. Kara's breathing turns heavy.

Lena delights at the response and the feeling of Kara's fingers tightening in her hair. She grows bolder with her kisses, moving back up Kara's neck and across the line of her jaw like a woman possessed.

This isn't something that best friends do. But right now they weren't even friends. And Lena's always been a little too in love with Kara to truly make her an enemy. 

"Lena," Kara says, the name a soft aching sigh as Lena presses a litany of sweet kisses along Kara's soft reddened cheek, unable to stop or draw herself away as those fingers clench tighter in her hair.

Kara's breathing is a mess, and she closes her eyes as Lena carefully tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, lips still pressed to soft warm skin.

"I'm sorry too." She whispers, soft, penitent. The tears come again, the shame at what she'd done a suffocating force as her lips tremble against Kara's skin, dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. "I hurt you and I know I can't make up for what I did but I promise, I'm going to try."

Kara's hand slips beneath the blouse that had loosened from where it had been tucked in her jeans and Lena's breath hitches as her warm hand lands on equally warm skin. She kisses Kara's cheek again, pressing closer, feels like they aren't truly close enough as she kisses her again and again.

Kara's lips catch the last kiss aimed for the corner of her mouth and her hand slides around to Lena's lower back, making Lena's heart flutter.

She doesn't lose stride, if anything, she's embolden, her silken mouth parting Lena's lips with a soft tremor. The kiss immediately deepens, no prelude, no hesitancy, only a soothing whisper of Lena's hands moving to tenderly frame Kara’s face and kisses as inevitable as freefall.

Kara's kisses are transcendental and Lena's mouth parts below hers as her thumbs sweep against the apple of Kara's cheeks, lips aching with apologies and promises.

The crest of the House of El presses tight against her chest and Lena presses a palm directly over it, a silent promise, a deep shuddering breath escaping her lips as Kara's second hand moves to join the other as they frame the dips on her lower back.

Lena's hands shift to tangle in the red cape on Kara's back as she kisses her with salt on her lips and forgiveness on her tongue. Kara's mouth trembles against hers, a reminder of the more difficult parts of the conversation still to come and a sweet tentative taste of the reconciliation awaiting them.

Happy Supercorp Sunday everyone!! Once again this fic was written on Twitter today in response to the gif tweeted above by @CSIRJen who's awesome and just provides inspiring tweets that make me write these weird little stories 😅 thank you to everyone who's gotten this far, I'm always amazed when people read all of my rambling words.

[lafoget]

i re-read young justice and think again about how peter david twice gave us what comics rarely show - abusive mothers who look like real living characters, not caricatures of bad parents. and at the same time, he allows them to receive arcs of redemption without sweeping their past sins under the rug.

bonnie king-jones and sylvia danvers are probably some of my favorite supporting characters in his works. they're tough women with many flaws who hurt their daughters badly, but also at the moment when they realize that they are about to lose cissie and linda, they stand up, admit their guilt and begin to work on themselves to fix these relationship.

it's not a complete reconciliation, but it's a start.

[rustingcat]

Supercorptober day 9 -

Fresh

[mr-m-murdock]

hi hello, i was wondering if you would write a sub!carol fic i’ve only found one amazing one on this god forsaken website 💔💔💔

dirty laundry [18+]

| carol x reader |

warnings: smut, sub!carol

a/n: MINORS DNI, DNR etc. Carol is a sub and that's a fact. THANK you anon for bringing this to my attention <3 (also I see you 👀)

It’s three in the morning when you finally wake to hear Carol’s feet come thumping down the corridor outside your room. She must be barefoot, but she walks like an elephant anyway. Not subtle, that woman.

And it becomes glaringly obvious that she’s not trying to be, either: she shoves the door open and flicks the overhead lamp on even though she knows you’re in bed and she recognises that it’s three am. The light startles you, burning through your eyelids.

“Oh, you dick,” you grunt, shoving yourself up on your elbows. You try to glare at her but you can’t even tell where she is, through tear-choked narrowed eyes. You blink and blink the light away and when you’ve finally got a focus on the room, that’s when she pulls her hoodie off and flings it right at your face. You scramble to disentangle yourself. So she’s in a mood. Well, two can play this game.

“Morning,” Carol says, facing the window and the dresser, and she grabs the hem of her t-shirt, arms crossed, and peels it off over her head. You get a nice big eyeful of all those flexing scapula muscles under the straps of her sports bra before she discards the t-shirt onto a nearby chair. She knows how much you hate the mess. So she’s trying to entice you and enrage you. Interesting tactics.

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask, rubbing furiously at your still-stinging eyes. Carol eyes you over her shoulder, studiously.

“Out,” she says. She reconsiders, digging her thumbs past the waistband of her leggings to pull them down. “Exercising.”

“Exercising,” you repeat, dry as you can muster. “It’s pitch black out there.”

Carol just rolls her eyes, turning back to the window, and that’s the final straw. You’re out of bed and up behind her before she has time to even tug her leggings halfway down her ass, and you smack her hands away sharply and shove her up against the dresser with your body. Her hips hit the wood with a satisfying thud.

“Hey,” she protests, but you can hear the telltale shudder in her voice. “I need a shower.”

You place your hand flat on her back, against her warm skin, and lean close to speak into her ear. “Don’t try and tell me what you need, Danvers.” You feel her tense a little. Good. The crawl of her muscle makes that vindictive heat in your chest fan and flame. “Bend over.”

She ignores you. You give her two of her lung-filling, shaky breaths to rectify the situation. She continues to ignore you.

You give her a hard shove at the top of her spine that surprises her and she folds and catches herself, palms to the wooden top of the dresser. Not a sound from her mouth, now. Those beautiful muscles over and under her shoulder blades contract and roll, and you trace them with the tips of your fingers, breath held in admiration.

You love to know how able she is to throw you off any time. How that shows how much she really wants this, given the fact that she’s collapsed under you so easily.

Your hand settles on the back of her neck and you pause to brush your thumb over the short hair at the base of her skull. Then you shove her face into the wood.

Carol grunts, though not on purpose, you think. Her elbows are up, hands still flat down, and she turns her face just a little to breathe. She’s warm under your palm: always so warm, like her blood’s running at a hundred and ten degrees beneath her skin. You trace the hem of her sports bra, then the line of her spine all the way down her back with just the tips of your fingers. She’s breathing hard.

Your hand reaches her waistband and you release the back of her neck, settling your hand on her axis instead, and you slip your fingers under the elastic of her leggings.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you say. And though she’s now panting furiously and glaring half at you out of the corner of her eye, she says nothing. Just a slight nod to tell you that she understands. That she wants this. You slide your hand into her hair and tighten it into a fist. In response, Carol bites down on a low sound that you can feel through your knuckles. “Quiet,” you say, and you grab her waistband, boxers too, and yank them down hard over her hips, down to her mid-thigh, and leave them there. You reach out once more and snap the waistband playfully against her skin.

Then you consider. You’re still pissed off, your thoughts flooded with the sharp anger of being woken so rudely, and you know you want to make her feel it. But you also know that there’s something she needs, otherwise, she wouldn’t have run the risk of provoking you. You pull a little on her hair.

And she’s being so patient. If you didn’t know her any better, you’d think the wait would be enough to make her beg for it, but Carol doesn’t beg. You’ve never managed to coax so much as a single Please out of her.

You nudge her left foot out a little, spreading her legs as much you can while she’s still trapped by her leggings. You lean down and kiss her shoulder, the side of her neck.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again,” you say, against her hairline where you know she can feel it through the bone. Then you grab the inside of her thigh, shift it sideways and tuck your knee in to keep her there, and you push two fingers inside of her. She’s so wet there’s no resistance - you knew she’d be dripping even before you’d pulled her pants down - and she rocks shamelessly back onto your fingers. Fair enough.

You can tell she’s attempting to watch you over her shoulder: you catch her at it when you’re pulling out a little, her brown eyes narrowing to lazy slits. Her cheeks are flushed red and when she rocks against you, her arms and shoulders tense. You start fucking her harder, and you hoist her leg up with your knee to give yourself more room. Carol digs her fingernails into the wood of the dresser, mouth falling open, eyes falling closed. Those might be sparks at her fingertips, scorching the wood. She’s tense in the lines of her back and her thighs, as if relaxing to pleasure means she loses to you. If you’d bother to articulate it, you’d tell her she lost the minute she let you bend her over the dresser.

The wood isn’t made for this kind of exertion. It smacks against the wall as you thrust, hips behind your fingers to give yourself momentum, and Carol flinches at the sound.

She’s trying so hard not to make a sound herself that she’s biting into her lip, eyes screwed closed now. She’s so warm, and slippery-wet, so much so that you release her hair and hold her hips down against the dresser instead to get a purchase on her. You love seeing her like this, devoid of all that sure control she usually exudes, trying so desperately hard not to show you how much she loves it.

You know her better than to be fooled. You know her so well you can see the rise of her orgasm in the minuscule ripple of tension across her shoulders and you know when to speed up the pace until it’s obviously almost unbearable and she’s crushing herself against the wood of the dresser, legs shaking, clenching around your fingers.

And then you pull out. And you step back. Carol gives a great shudder, still tense, still expecting, and you’ve moved away before she even realises she’s not come yet. You slap her on the ass and make for the bathroom.

“Oh, what the fuck?” you hear her groan: that’s her finally coming to her senses, speaking directly into the wood of the dresser. You stick your hands under the faucet and scrub away her slick from your fingers, unable to stop a triumphant grin from spreading across your face. Got her back.

When you emerge from the bathroom, drying your hands on your sweatpants, Carol is shakily ridding herself of her leggings and boxers, hands braced on the edge of the dresser. She looks up as you pull open a drawer in the other dresser by the bathroom door, and scowls at the look on your face.

“You’re such a-” You fling a t-shirt at her and it wraps around her face, cutting off the rest of her sentence. She grasps at it and rips it away, a scorching glare ready.

“Yep,” you say, popping the p. You climb back onto the bed and draw the covers back up to your waist, collapsing face-first into the pillow. “Takes one to know one. Get a shower and come warm up my bed, sweetheart.”

requests | masterlist

18+ taglist: @blckrwidow, @olicity-boo , @natashasilverfox

notes: no I don't have a thing for edging shut up.

Let me know if you want to be added to the 18+ taglist (if you have your age in your bio!)

[skyler10fic]

Fall Back Into You

Summary:

Carol Danvers and Daisy Johnson were high school sweethearts, but when leaving for university pulled them apart, they broke up and went their separate ways. Now they are adults who just got jobs after graduation...

For @yearoftheotpevent's high school sweethearts (also sort of hurt/comfort!)

Read on Ao3 | Fic Playlist

-----------

Chapter 1: Haunted by the Ghost of You

Carol was 23 tonight. She’d put on a good show being happy with her friends at the bar, but now alone on her fire escape, one foot dangling off as she watched the lights of the city below, the birthday just ached. She swirled the beer in the bottle before bringing it to her lips, then leaned back against the brick wall and sighed.

Pathetic. That’s the word for being a 23-year-old still pining for her high school sweetheart. Undergrad had been chaotic enough to distract her, but now that was over and real life had begun. Her lifelong dream of being a pilot ended in withdrawing from the ROTC Air Force officer path and focusing all of her attention on aerospace R&D. Her friend group had shrunk to a few who stayed in the LA area after graduation. Now she was hoping that an entry-level university job and grad school would keep her from feeling… well, anything.

Someone tonight said her parents would have been proud of her. But Carol huffed out a bitter laugh at the thought now that she was alone. She’d wanted to respond, “We’ll never know, will we?”

Her dad had been upset at rumors that his 14-year-old daughter had been seen holding hands with another girl in ways that solidified what everyone had suspected. Mom had convinced him to go with her to the Officer’s Club banquet on base. While they were out, there was a storm. He’d had too much to drink. He’d been so angry. And he never saw the speeding truck that hydroplaned right through the red light at a flooded intersection.

How could she take comfort in assurances that her parents would be proud when the last words they spoke to each other were shouted through tears and pleas for the other to change?

The next four years at a new high school in California, living with Aunt Wendy, had helped heal not only Carol’s complicated grief over her parents’ death but the complicated life they had had as a family. And the brightest light breaking through those clouds was a transfer student in their sophomore year: Daisy Johnson. Carol had been understandably terrified to be too close to Daisy, especially with such an obvious crush on her. Still, in time, surrounded by Aunt Wendy and the school GSA and Daisy’s persistence in flirting without pushing Carol’s boundaries too far, Carol had let herself fall head over heels. Daisy and Carol were always together. Eventually, the summer after graduation closed this chapter of their lives. One fateful August night, they drove out to the desert and lay in the bed of Carol’s pickup stargazing and savoring each second together, knowing that in the morning, Daisy would be headed to MIT and Carol would move into her dorm at Caltech.

A long-distance relationship seemed impossible, especially with no guarantee of living on the same side of the country anytime soon. They said a tearful goodbye that night—and again in January after they hooked up during winter break, and again as Daisy called to let Carol know her parents were moving to the East Coast that summer and Daisy wouldn’t be in California again for the foreseeable future. They had to stop pretending. It was really over. Closure.

But for Carol, Daisy haunted her even still, all these years later. She tried to date, but it always felt like cheating somehow. A thousand times, Carol thought about reaching out, but Daisy’s sobs over the phone that last time they spoke always stopped her. Let her go, Carol told herself. Let her move on. Daisy had a right to live her own life without the burden of some girl she dated in high school still bothering her. Who knows, by now she could be married and happy with someone else.

Carol tried to count her blessings as she watched the traffic move along the highways below. She wasn’t alone in this life. She had a beloved brother 10 years older who had practically raised her along with their aunt. A group including a best friend who had her back no matter what and a goddaughter whose smile lit up the world. A new boss and faculty advisor who believed in her at a new university for a fresh start.

And a new, quiet one-bedroom apartment full of boxes to unpack in this city of possibilities. They said anything could happen here. She looked up to the sky, though she knew the stars were rare due to light pollution, and most of the pinpricks of light turned out to be airplanes. A jet shot across the sky and she pretended it was a shooting star.

She made a birthday wish for something good, a pleasant surprise, to make this year more than just another cycle of pain and numbing. She figured that was specific enough for any trickster god and vague enough to appease her therapist’s encouragement to stay open to joy and hope.

The horn honks of taxis, chatter on the street, and the tunes of a midnight busker serenaded her as she finished her beer and headed inside to get some rest. Careful not to trip over any half-unpacked boxes, she tossed the empty beer bottle in the recycling on her way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She washed her face quickly, ashamed of the tear-streaked makeup, and then felt silly for feeling ashamed since she was alone and no one had seen it anyway. Or maybe she was ashamed that the heartache hadn’t just been grief for her parents or fear about her new life, but missing someone she should have gotten over a long time ago.

—------------------

The wicker couches of the bar’s outdoor patio provided a perfect place for gossip and bonding between a small circle of UCLA coworkers.

“Alright, that’s enough about Fitz and me and the wedding. How about you, Daisy? Any new love interests this summer?” Jemma asked Daisy. This girls’ night was getting more confessional the longer they talked into the night and the more cocktails they drank. A waiter came by with their bellinis, and Daisy took the opportunity to think about how much to share with these new friends.

“I’ve only been here a few months,” Daisy pointed out, but the girls called her out for deflecting the question. “I don’t know, I dated around in college, some girls, some guys, but nothing really stuck and I guess I just want to settle in here before trying again.”

“You never know,” Elena remarked with a small shake of her head. “I met Mack before I’d even moved back from Miami. My sister-in-law introduced me to people here to try to get me back in LA, and now…” She held up her hand with a ring to make any girl jealous.

Daisy shrugged. “I guess it could happen. It’s just been a really long time since anything has gone past a third or fourth date. Love just doesn’t work out for me.”

“C’mon,” Piper prodded. “Give us something. Surely you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Well…” Daisy squirmed. The alcohol washed away her filters and hesitancy. “There was once. A long time ago. It’s stupid.”

This led to a cacophony of “No, tell us!” “Oh you can’t tease us and then not…” “Daisy…”

She was in too deep and couldn’t stop now. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. Okay, so there was this girl in high school.”

“Aw, teenage sweethearts?” Jemma cooed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daisy admitted sheepishly, “the whole prom photos, holding hands under our desks, making out in the parking lot, Valentine’s flowers and candy kind of deal. Suuuuper cheesy. We were there for each other through everything, and I thought we’d be together forever. But we both got into our dream schools. Caltech didn’t accept me, and MIT didn’t accept her, and the decision was made for us. So we broke up.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?” Piper filled in. She was on the edge of her seat, fully invested.

“I mean, okay,” Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes at herself a bit, “we did sort of spend the following Christmas and New Years together, but then after that, my parents moved to be closer to me and to my mom’s parents in Boston, and we needed to get on with our lives. She’s way out of my league anyway. She was going to be an Air Force pilot, maybe even become an astronaut, and I work in IT. She was literally reaching for the stars, and I spend all day writing code and eating Doritos.”

Jemma sent Daisy an expression that said she was being too hard on herself. “You’re a cybersecurity specialist for The University of California system, that’s not exactly failure by any measure.”

Daisy took a sip of her drink and smiled to herself. “You didn’t know her. She was perfect. Not just Barbie blonde—sure, she was beautiful—but so fierce and smart and brave. I could never have been enough for her anyway. She’s probably prepping to go to Mars or something right now.” Daisy laughed, but behind it, the women could see past it to the ache. They fell quiet.

Elena broke the ice, “And here you are with us. Damn, that’s sad.” They all laughed.

Jemma raised her glass. “I propose that Sunday brunch is devoted to making a dating app profile for Daisy, who’s with me?”

“Here here!” Piper clinked her glass with Jemma’s.

“Hey!” Daisy protested.

“Girl, you need to get back out there,” Elena agreed and clinked her glass.

Daisy didn’t think anything would come of it, so she accepted it solely as an opportunity to grow closer with these new friends. She had known Jemma before moving here through Fitz, who had also gone to MIT, but Elena, Piper, and the rest of their crew were still getting to know and accept her as part of the family. Might as well go along with this game, and at worst, she’d get to know more people in LA. At best, maybe she’d be proven wrong that true love only came once in a lifetime and if you missed it or it came too early, nothing else could compare.

--------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2: One Single Thread of Gold Tied Me to You

Daisy scrolled through social media apps on her lunch break, stabbing a salad with a plastic fork with the other hand. Early September in LA was still summer hot, so she sat indoors in the faculty club cafe under too-bright lights and surrounded by faculty bragging about their research or star students. She’d been one of those students once. Now she was successfully launched into the professional world, scrolling through photos of engagement announcements and tragic news events and lists of self-care tips that always ended in a discount code for their products.

She sighed and opened her newest app, the dating profile her friends had set up a few weeks ago. Daisy looked around to make sure no one could see what she was swiping through and then checked the options the app presented her with this week.

She dropped her fork and paled as she swiped to reveal a familiar face. Grown up now, but still a blonde bombshell, with a smile that didn’t quiet extend to her eyes. Others probably wouldn’t notice, but Daisy still remembered every expression that provided a window into Carol’s innermost thoughts. The profile details were sparse, but Daisy read over them like they were water in the desert. Carol wasn’t a pilot after all. And she was still here in LA. Close by, living within a mile, the app said.

Daisy remembered to breathe and swiped through the photos once more. Paddleboarding, hiking, a very sexy picture of her doing archery in a sports bra and tiny shorts… Daisy was tempted to screenshot that one, but it felt a little creepy.

“Hey!” Fitz greeted her and launched into an enthusiastic update on how his latest project was doing as he sat down. Daisy jumped and dropped her phone, but not before hitting the huge heart to “like” Carol’s profile.

“Shit shit shit,” Daisy cursed as she saw what she’d done. She unliked it, but it was too late. She knew Carol would get the notification all the same. Maybe Carol didn’t have notifications on and never checked this app. It didn’t seem like she was all that active or interested in it given how little was on her profile.

Fitz, of course, required an explanation, and before she was done, Jemma had joined them, and Daisy had to start the humiliating story all over again.

Fitz and Jemma exchanged a silent expression that said loud and clear that they were plotting something, but for Daisy’s sake, the couple moved on to discussing how their first-year students were faring in the labs they taught.

—---

When her morning shift was done, Carol checked her phone as she walked to the faculty club cafe for lunch, and the first notification made her stop in her tracks, right outside the door.

“It can’t be,” she mumbled to herself. It wasn’t just a Daisy who had liked her profile, but her Daisy. The photo showed a more mature 23-year-old verson of her ex, but it was undoubtedly her. Single, then. No kids. And the app said she lived not far from the university. Here. Not 3,000 miles away. Two. Two miles. That fact repeated over and over in Carol’s mind.

The profile was marked as brand new, only created in the last month. And Daisy had found her. Maybe the like meant she didn’t know whether to say hi, if Carol would want to reconnect. Or maybe she just wanted to acknowledge that they were both in the same area, on the same app, and this was her way of avoiding starting a conversation. Or maybe she did want to talk, even just to catch up as old long-lost friends, and wanted to make sure Carol could handle it. Could she handle it?

If it gave her the chance to see Daisy again, even if just for a few hours over a drink? She could handle anything.

Which was a very lucky conclusion, because the door she had stopped in front of to stare in shock at her phone opened outward. Quickly.

“Ow!” Carol held her cheek and backed away from the door, squinting her eyes shut in pain. “Damn.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” a familiar voice rushed out before changing tone completely. “Ohhhh my God.”

Carol put her hand down and opened her eyes. They stared at each other, speechless for an eternity.

“Hi,” Carol said finally. This was not at all the reunion she’d dreamt of for over four years.

“Hey.” Daisy returned and smiled breathlessly. “Oh! We should get you ice. That’s gonna bruise. Sorry, again.”

“It’s not your fault, I should have…” Carol saw her opportunity and took it, no matter how purple her cheek was about to become, as they walked to the ice dispenser. “Well, okay, it is kinda your fault.”

As they reached their destination, Daisy sent Carol a puzzled look as Carol held up her phone. Carol unlocked it and showed that it was open to Daisy’s dating app profile.

“You liked me,” Carol explained. “And that’s why I was standing there.”

“So you stopped in front of the door to see what a dork I still am, and then there I was, hitting you in the face.” Daisy laughed and held a wad of napkins filled with ice up to Carol’s face.

Carol’s hand replaced Daisy’s on the makeshift ice pack, but their bodies stayed close.

“How are you here?” Carol asked in awe, hardly able to believe her eyes.

“I work here.” Daisy shrugged. “My friends started grad school here this summer, and they helped me find a job in cybersecurity. I was ready to come back anyway. I’ve missed a lot about this city.”

The conversation easily could have gone into small talk jokes about Boston winters or comparing traffic or all the flaws of Southern California. But Carol was stuck on the fact that she was now coworkers with her high school sweetheart.

“Yeah? Like what?” Carol let the leading question slip out before she caught herself. Of course Daisy didn’t mean her. She couldn’t have even known Carol was still in the area, much less at the same university in the same city.

Daisy smiled and shook her head. “Maybe some of the people.”

Jemma and Fitz saw them and rushed over.

“Wait, is this…?” Jemma asked as soon as Carol lowered the dripping, melting ice napkins.

“I’ll get a proper ice pack,” Fitz volunteered. “But don’t share any juicy details until I get back.”

Carol looked to Daisy for an explanation, so Daisy made the introduction.

“Jemma, this is Carol. Carol, this is my friend Jemma who was with me right after I liked your profile and I told her about us. And that was Fitz, Jemma’s fiance. He also knows the whole story.”

“Ah.” Carol understood Fitz’s comment now.

Jemma shook Carol’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” Carol couldn’t hide how this pleased her and decided to turn it into teasing Daisy. “You told your friends about me?”

“No, not a lot. It came up in conversation, like twice,” Daisy explained. “One of which was a few minutes ago about your profile on this dating app that Jemma made me join.”

Carol turned back to Jemma. “I’m glad you did.”

Fitz returned with the ice pack, but as soon as he handed it over to Carol, Jemma ushered him away. “We’re going to let you two talk now.”

Despite Fitz’s protests, Jemma led him toward the exit with a hand on his back. “I’ll fill you in, just come with me.”

When the other couple was gone, Daisy turned back to Carol. “I hate to say this, but I really need to get back to work. How much time do you have? Do you want to grab something and walk me back?”

“Yes!” Carol answered a bit too quickly. Daisy waited as she grabbed a chicken sandwich and fruit cup to-go and paid. They left the building and began walking toward Daisy’s office. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’re not stationed on the moon or something!” Daisy playfully hit Carol’s arm. “I would have thought you’d be spending more time in the air than on the ground these days. It never would have occurred to me to look for you down here.”

Carol shrugged. “Didn’t work out.”

“It was your dream for so long…”

“Yeah! Not great at blindly obeying orders, it turns out.” Carol deadpanned, and they broke into a snort-laugh.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense,” Daisy giggled, remembering their teenage shenanigans.

“Plus Dr. Fury talked me into R&D. I’m over there.” Carol pointed to a building down the street. “Come by sometime and I’ll show you around. At least, the parts I know about. I’ve only been on the job this summer.”

“I started in August. For a month, we’ve been this close and never knew it.”

“Now we do.”

“Painfully aware?” Daisy made the joke about Carol’s bruise so she didn’t have to. They stopped in front of Daisy’s building. “This is me.”

“Hey, do you have plans for dinner tonight?” Carol stuck her free hand in her pocket, and she scuffed her shoe on the ground, suddenly feeling 16 again.

“For you? I’m always free,” Daisy promised. “But yeah, I also don’t have any plans anyway. Wanna show me your favorite spot?”

“I know just the place. 6’clock. I’ll text you the address.” Carol smiled. Muscle memory told her to peck a kiss goodbye, but Carol didn’t want to rush things and didn’t even know if Daisy was open to even potentially having those feelings again, so she used all of her willpower to draw back and walk away.

“You still have my number?” Daisy asked, just to be sure.

“Same as always?”

“Yeah. Same as always.” Daisy’s heart fluttered. After all this time, Carol kept it. That was a very good sign. Then maybe she’d pick up that it wasn’t just Daisy’s number that hadn’t been lost to time.

—---------------

Carol’s fire escape was crowded that night with two reunited lovers, two bowls of pasta, and four years' worth of stories and emotions and life. They talked long after the bowls had been replaced by glasses of wine and the sunset over the Pacific far on the horizon had been replaced by the nearer lights of the city, giving hope in the dark.

Maybe not everything dies in the fall. Maybe some things that go dormant in summer regrow years later, in the first chilly breeze of autumn nights.

[wlwomegaverse]

I'm slowly working on the Peggynat (that's the ship name, right?) ask box fic because I've never written them, even if I do like and read it. it'll probably be OOC even if I rewatched the what if episodes just for that.

[onyxmusemusings]

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

-----

Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.” 

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

[pyroclastic727]

The Marvels is being scathed by critics, and that's a good thing.

I finally saw The Marvels today. I'm a bit late to the party, so all I saw about the movie was the teaser at the end of Ms Marvel, and way too many critical reviews of it.

Now, obviously on Tumblr you find the good reviews, like, the cats outnumbering the white men and how Kamala Khan is, like, basically all of us. But in person, I've had someone tell me that it's bad because Rotten Tomatoes rates it 43%, which-- besides wondering why anyone would listen to Rotten Tomatoes, I'd have to wonder why the website would give it such a low rating. The easy answer is that the Tomatoes review committee is populated by white men, who, upon having no one to relate to, react badly to the movie. But I think there's more to it.

The Marvels is a revolution. Through its character-driven writing and brazen exploration of morality, it rewrites the superhero formula completely, by questioning what exactly it means to be a superhero.

The Marvels was directed by Nia DaCosta, an award-winning Harlem native and creative visionary whose approach to this film was to define these characters as humans, not as superheroes. Her approach to heroism directly addresses that the idea that a hero is not always right. A hero, DaCosta claims, is "someone who's trying their best with the information and tools they have at the time. They'll always get it wrong." Carol Danvers's arc directly addresses this, as the resolution of her subplot involves her re-igniting the sun that she snuffed out. Her heroic act is to undo the damage that she wrought.

When compared to old Marvel, this message just doesn't come through. In WandaVision, Wanda's grief is for a family that was killed by the Avengers. Yet, she is painted as a villain, even as she searches for a happy home, even as she at one point joins the Avengers. The Avengers cannot undo what they did, and don't really try. They defeat the big bad, sacrifice their lives, but nothing brings back Wanda's family. Nothing undoes that war. No one searches for Wanda after the event, to try to help her with her grief, except for Monica, and she's working against orders. Their heroics are militant, but while they excel at destruction, they leave the people they hurt in the dust.

This antiheroic plot of old Marvel is precisely what appealed to so many American audiences. Their protagonists are: a rich corporation, a super-soldier, a privileged teenager, a scientist who makes weapons, an ex-convict, a man born into godlike power, and I'm sure there are others but I don't actually care that much... (these would be iron man, captain america, peter parker spiderman, hulk, antman, thor, and etc). All these archetypes appeal to American ideals that the wealthy would sympathize with. They claim that there are people who are inherently bad and seek the power that they have, in the way that a poor person might want a job that a wealthy person wants their child to secure. They claim that it is their business to save those which cannot save themselves, and use this to get involved in wars that are not theirs, and beat up badguys whose backstory they have no way of knowing-- and they punch before they stop and listen.

They are cops in every sense of the word. The responsibility of the vigilante is to defend against evil, but part of that responsibility is to figure out who exactly is evil and who is in need of help.

The Marvels creates a team that tries to distinguish evil from good, and delves into the grey area between them. The final battle between Carol Danvers and Dar-benn has the superhero pinning the grey-haired antagonist to the ground as she begs for, then demands, that Carol fix what she damaged. Monica urges her to listen. Through this, The Marvels argues that a hero does not always beat up the bad guy and fight against unrelenting evil, but that a hero can be wrong, and that a hero can reconsider. It's kindness in the way that is revolutionary, where it's much easier to choose cruelty.

The fact that the movie is getting torn apart by critics, then, is not just because it is a "girls movie" or it doesn't have a strong white man for the white male viewer to sympathize with. The Marvels cannot appeal to Marvel fans because it rewrites the genre itself. It takes a film series whose purpose was to depict the struggles of cops, of the wealthy, of people with too much power who are trying to learn how to responsibly wield it, but don't. And it gives that power to people who have watched superheroes try and fail, who are slowly learning to be better heroes than the ones before them.

The next generation is a critique of the last, a group trying not to make the mistakes of the chosen ones that came before them, and as such, the movie exists to critique the movies that came before it. Therefore, a viewer of Marvel who would positively review it, due to sympathizing with the previous heroes and enjoying the power fantasy, would dislike it out of its existence being critical and contradictory to the films they like themselves.

The Marvels is not for Marvel fans-- at least, not those who saw the Avengers as purely heroes. Instead, the film reaches out to people who would have been against the old Avengers, who want a story that dismantles the unquestioned idealism of superheroes and writes about people trying to protect their communities and the people they care about.

So, let the critics complain. The MCU is shedding its roots as a pro-cop and pro-colonialism power fantasy, and evolving into an exploration of what it means to be a true hero.

[widowbitessting]

The One with the Scary Game

Word Count: 546

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Summary: MJ encourages you to play FNaF. What could possibly go wrong?

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom!Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

(I swear I got an ask for this, but can I find it? No. I remember it being along the lines of Natasha hearing Baby shouting: "Mommy!" and coming rushing to her aid. It's not the best thing I've written but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless)

xoxo

You really should stop listening to MJ.

It’s becoming a serious problem. 

Especially for your heart.

Even if you do want to murder her. 

“It’s not that scary,” You mimic MJ’s voice, pulling a face. “You’ll be fine, they’re only cuddly animatronics. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

You’re standing on the sofa, nervously bouncing as you re-check the cameras, begging Chica and Bonnie to stay away. 

“C’mon 6am. C’mon 6am…” 

Someone slams the fridge door and it startles you.

“Can you not!” You glance quickly back at Carol who’s smirking. 

“Sorry, little one. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Sure you didn’t.” 

You get laugh as a response as Carol leaves you to your game. 

“C’mon 6am…c’mon…” 

Your hands are so clammy it’s no joke. 

“5am! How is it still 5am?” 

You check the cameras again, letting out a whimper when you spot Freddie on the move too. 

“NO! C’mon now!” 

You exhale shakily. 

“Mommy…mommy…mommy…” It comes out in a quiet chant. “Mooommmyyyy.” 

You frantically check the doors, letting out an incoherent string of words when you stop Bonnie in time. 

“I can do this…I can do this…” 

You really think you are. 

Convinced you’re about the beat the third night, when you hear a laugh. 

Your body freezes up and you’re about to ask yourself what that was, when Freddie pops out of nowhere, scaring the soul right out of your body. 

You scream at the top of your lungs.

Shouting: “MOMMY!” as your controller is launched into the air; toppling off the sofa in a tangle of limbs. 

You lie there. 

Mortified. 

Envisioning the different ways you can murder MJ for telling you to play this game. 

The main light is switched on as Natasha comes sprinting into the room, blinding you momentarily.

“Who died?!” 

A sad noise leaves you.

And you point to the screen that says GAME OVER. 

“I did...” 

“Oh detka…” Natasha walks over to where you’re lying on the floor and offers her hand down to you. “I warned you not to play it in the dark.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You allow her to help you up and quickly wrap your arms around her. 

“Do I want to know why you shouted my title at the top of your lungs?” She asks, looking at you. “Got a secret kink you need to share with us?”

You bark out a laugh and playfully shove the red head away. 

“Nerd. I do not have a - no - I just, shut up.” 

Natasha just laughs at you and pulls you in for another cuddle. 

“My brave girl, hmm?” 

It takes you a second to reply.

“...yes.” 

“How ‘bout we leave the scary game for today? Wanna have a bubble bath with mommy?” 

Your eyes light up.

“With candles?” 

“Anything my sweet baby wants. Wanna race?” 

“You’re on!”

Natasha smiles lovingly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Wanna do the count down or shall I do it?” 

“You can this time.” You reply. 

“Ready?” You nod in reply. “3…2...1…Go!” 

Natasha darts off as you attempt to leap over the sofa.

Your giggles fill the quiet apartment as you dart up the stairs, just behind Natasha. 

“Get back here, Romanoff!” 

“Gotta be quicker than that, baby girl! I’m gonna win!” 

You let her win. 

Totally.