#belcvas

Rain pattered on the roof of the RV, steady and dull as a leaky faucet. The mattress was uneven, air tinged with the smell of damp fabric, and her back ached. She pushed herself upright nevertheless. What else was there to do? Habit moved her through the motions-- boots on, jacket zipped, step outside into the moss and mud.

They walked the perimeter first, same as always. Round and round. The trees didn't change, they never did, but she traced the loop because it gave her a sense of control, however small. If something crossed their line, she'd know. (Or at least they'd tell themself they would.)

The pond came next. The water here was still, murky, until it shifted with a low ripple-- Todd lingered, hulking just beneath the surface. She crouched at the edge, talking low to him about her plans, her grievances, the names she hated today. He never answered, not anymore, but a single slow blink of his monstrous eye was enough to steady her. Enough to keep her from disappearing completely. See ya later, alligator.

i never know what to say to these things, so here is a little cherry and yelena hand heart 🫶

is your muse attractive? — @belcvas: 👀 <3

‘ surely, you’re messing with me. if you have to ask, people are inherently blind. but, since you are asking me ... yes, i do find you attractive. i'd be crazy not to, lil widow. ’

» "you were never going to do anything i said."

❱ [ 'this is the last straw' prompts ] ❰

John stared out the jet's window, jaw clenched tight enough to make his head throb. The hum of the engines was steady, almost soothing, but nowhere near enough to ease the tension bleeding off his shoulders.

"I was listening," he said finally, voice low, not quite meeting her accusatory gaze. "I just didn't think every move needed a damn play-by-play."

It came out rougher than he meant. He ran a hand over his face with a wince, fingers dragging over the edge of a bruise he hadn't bothered to ice. This wasn't how he wanted their first duo mission to go. He trusted her more than anyone else on the roster, if he was being honest. But the way she'd rattled off instructions over the comms --clipped, surgical-- had gotten under his skin. Not because she was wrong (she never was) but because it felt like she didn't trust him to get it right.

(Still, he hadn't followed orders. And that wasn't like him, at least not with her. John decided he had too much on his plate to unpack that.)

He glanced at her across the cabin, where she sat poised with the same steady stillness she always had after a mission-- unreadable, but quieter than usual. With them both seated, he didn't have to crane his neck down to see her face. It twisted something low in his chest.

❛ If you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜ for Kate. // accepting. @belcvas

Street light casts the shadow over Yelena's face in Kate's loft; an unfortunate fact because she wants to gauge her mood. Kate Bishop is only aware of her own, envy mixed with grief mixed with god knows what that makes her heart thud so hard against her own ribs. Did Black Widows have enhanced hearing? She didn't know, but hoped not— otherwise things would get embarrassing enough for her, very fast.

It's not like she wanted Yelena to go; she only didn't want her to see the surprise slash disappointment over being an Avenger before Kate was. It was childish, sure, and made more confusing by how happy she felt for Yelena. There's nothing more than the Widow deserved; the recognition and an opportunity to do something more.

Her own team was yet to be assembled, and while she trusted that Kamala Khan can lead an impressive team of her own; she's always dreamed of something else. Of being something else.

None of it was Yelena's fault, though, it's what her therapist would say, so reluctantly Kate takes a big breath and closes her eyes- hand running through dark curls that fall down her shoulders.

(Yelena has barged in right after her own shower, ready for bed. The thought is now completely abandoned).

"I don't want you to go." Kate speaks softly, scooting a little on the couch; a silent invitation for the other to join her if she wants. When she speaks again, her voice is back to playful, a peace offering, considering just how many times Yelena has done this exact same thing in the last couple of years.

The voice comes from behind, much a shock to the previously occupied man. Every ounce of focus he had been pouring into his book—more so the same sentence over and over—is now fast tracked into sitting up straight. His back slams taut against the chair, brows shooting upwards as he stifles a throaty cough.

Atlas squirms, hands waving in absent-minded surrender as he turns to the blonde. How long has she been standing there? How did she even get back here? This staff room is only available to the MHD. It's practically an invasion of privacy for her to even be—

okay, the irony isn't lost on him here, actually.

His head shakes, wide brown eyes darting to anywhere she isn't standing. A form he's memorized. Watched too many times in her weaker moments. After a deeply exaggerated exhale, Atlas shrugs.

"Uh—face." He waggles his pointer finger all around his features. "Brain. Dreams put in faces from memories... neurological—uh. Science. It's science."

Smooth.

   To the bustle of the Metropolis streets , any potential threat had been completely masked by the stereotypical ambiance of city life . . . but to a Kryptonian ? The sounds of rampant gunfire approximately twenty stories above where she had been testing the claim of ' world's best cup of coffee ' ? Well they were clear as crystal glass being run mere millimeters from her ear canals .

   I'll handle this one , Clark . She mused to herself , despite knowing that her cousin was currently clocking another routine nine to five at The Daily Planet . . . which meant it was up to The Woman of Tomorrow to save the day !

   Glancing both ways momentarily , the Kryptonian would take the cue and barrel down the nearest alley . . . making sure the surroundings proved indistinguishable enough for what was the trickiest part of the whole superhero gig . . .

   . . . Slinging her backpack off her person and to the ground , she would proceed to begin remove articles of clothing ; starting first with her blue zip-up , then came her fingers curling around the hem of her red v-neck when suddenly . . .

   WOOF !    WOOF !    WOOF !

   Not now boy ! she tried to reason with her beloved Krypto whilst continuing to disrobe , black denim jeans sliding down to around her knees . . . hastedly kicking her blue Chuck Taylors off her feet to allow for the remainder of her pants to come completely off .

   BANG !    BANG !

  Despite time moving at a stand still relative to the speed in which Kara was moving , the gunshots still registered with full clarity . . . prompting her to move even swifter ; carelessly bundling up her street clothes and shoving them into her bag .

   WOOF !

  ❝ Krypto ! We can play later , dude .❞ The iconic red skirt was donned with relative ease . . . then came the red thigh high boots .

   CRASH !    BANG !    BOOM !

   There was no time , ironically enough . . . punting the backpack behind a dumpster , she would turn her attention momentarily to her canine companion ,  ❝ Stay . ❞

   WHOOOOOOOOSH !

   Taking flight , Kara would put the rest of her ensemble on the go . . . her blue long sleeve top and red cape coming to rest over her modest bust and defined back muscles respectively ; all that was left was the golden belt that connected top from bottom . . . and once that was in place ?

   SHATTER !

   Bursting through a previously undamaged plane of glass , Supergirl would begin surveying the scene to see a ponytailed blonde in tactical get up ( @belcvas ) that was trading bullets with currently unidentifiable gunmen ; both parties stopping in their tracks to look at the Kryptonian in bewilderment .

   ❝ Now , I'm sure that we can talk this over like adu- ❞

   BANG !

   The bullet shot by one of the masked goons proved totally inconsequential to The Woman of Tomorrow . . . though it did prove a minor annoyance given how it rudely cut her off mid sentence , residual gun powder now present just above her left eye .

   Like a speeding bullet , Kara would close the distance between herself and him . . .

   ❝ That was really $%@#-ing rude , you know ? ❞ the subsequent punch was masterfully restrained , yet still undoubtedly effective . . . sending the assailant to the ground with only a newly missing tooth as collateral damage .