look I know it’s been like 3 years since any women had a a meaningful conversation in an MCU movie but that’s no reason to skimp on the femslash there are so many possibilities
Helen Cho and Claire Temple go out for coffee; end up falling in love over mutual complaining about their ridiculous superheroes.
Pepper Potts and Hope Van Dyne meet up to negotiate cooperations between Stark Industries and Pym Tech. Aggressive negotiating turns into eye fucking turns into making out in someone’s office.
Sharon Carter having a ridiculous crush on Bobbi Morse ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. boot camp and wanting to tear her hair out every time Bobbi gets back with Hunter.
Ayo accompanies T’Challa to Avengers Tower on business; is so hot that Useless Bisexal ™ Helen Cho actually drops whatever she was holding.
The Avengers appear on Trish Talk and after being totally unimpressed by any of the guys Trish Walker discovers she can’t even make eye contact with Natasha Romanoff without turning bright red. What are coherent sentences?
Jane Foster and Lady Sif get tired of waiting for Thor to quit dicking around and notice one of them; Sif sweeps Jane off her feet and they ride off into the sunset together.
Jessica Jones starts jokingly flirting with Claire Temple, asking if she wants to cross another Defender off her list. To her absolute shock Claire takes her up on it.
Before she infiltrated Stark Industries, Natasha Romanoff went undercover at Pym Tech. She stole their corporate secrets and Hope Van Dyne’s heart.
Daisy Johnson and Wanda Maximoff take a day off from being stressed out baby superheroes with crappy lives and messed up families to go see a movie together. Making out ensues.
Melinda May, who deserves nice things and rough sex, starts hooking up with Agent Piper, who’s a little scared but also really doesn’t want to question her luck.
Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis have been living together for a year and a half, but don’t realize they’re married until they absentmindedly kiss in the lab one night.
Gamora, the most dangerous woman in the galaxy, becomes a stammering dork when faced with Mantis being completely adorable. Mantis is puzzled.
I could do these literally all day please come talk to me about MCU femslash or tell me yours I need more gay MCU ladies
She’s mild and meek and the most
desired girl, nearly idealized from Randall’s point of view
hag = live fence, rihhi = mighty/
rich, Heinrich = keeper of the realm
Henry keeps Angela and Monte d’Or
safe until Randall’s return. Also he’s the richest and most influential man in
or = gold, le = the, de/ d’ = of,
dorer = to gild. Ledore = the golden one
Friendship is the real treasure, not
the Azran gold that Henry found.
Randale = riot
Not much to find here, unless you
are German and think of riots when you hear that name.
hruod = glory, lant = land, Roland/
Orlando = famous all over the country
„No risk no glory“. A whole town was
built for him.
ascot = ascot (duh!)
Randall likes to wear ascot-like
things around his neck.
Raymond = guardian/ warden
watches over Descole. He might
even have been his warden, especially if you take Sycamore’s original Level 5 name
foster care = something like
adoption but a little less
He might have named himself Simon
Foster when he became Raymond’s foster child. Or he was foster dad to himself.
Poor little boy.
des = prefix that negates whatever
follows, col = collar
désolé = I’m sorry/ disconsolate,
Descole calls himself a husk and
claims his former self to be dead. All he has to live for now is revenge. What
other prefix would such a man choose than the negative “des”. The meaning of “désolé”
puts the focus rather on his tragic fate and sorrow before he tried to kill all
pain by creating the persona of Descole. Maybe he’s even sorry he put his
family to such a risk by challenging Targent. Nice extra that a word for collar
can also be found in the name, since Descole wears a very special “collar”. “Jean”
then only matches the French last name, it’s one of the most common names
there, appropriate for someone who has seized to exist. Or maybe he liked a
reference to Jeanne d’Arc, the rebel? Jean Valjean?
While the notoriety surrounding the recent wikileaks articles had died down considerably, both he and Claire wanted to preserve their privacy as long as they could. Only a small, trusted handful of Jamie’s close family and friends knew what had happened and Claire had only told Joe.
The press had no inkling thus far. Jamie bought a car seat and sometimes drove on days when he needed to transport Faith. If he and Claire were taking Faith on an outing together, they sometimes arrived separately. He’d also taken to wearing a beanie to cover his hair and often wore sunglasses. He refused to be too paranoid about it, the nip of winter was still occasionally in the air and he’d noticed that people tended to pay less attention when they were bundled up. His focus was on spending as much time as he could with Faith and getting to know Claire.
Jamie had seen or spoken with Faith every day, becoming familiar with her routine and Claire’s variable work schedule. He began to get a feel for his daughter’s moods and personality, the things she liked to eat, what interested her.
Mrs. Crooke was delighted that her early mornings and late evening hours were fewer and farther between with Jamie stepping in as he may to help Claire cover early morning drop offs and afternoon pick ups at the daycare centre and supper and bedtime when Claire had evening rounds. Mr. Crooke had just retired and they wanted to spend time together. Juggling schedules was a learning curve but they both made a real effort to accommodate one another; neither of them wanted to burst the fragile bubble they were currently existing within.
When Claire had an early call or Jamie late meetings, an unavoidable happenstance in each’s respective line of work, they would shift things around so Jamie could start his day with his daughter, instead of ending it. On those mornings, Jamie would skip his early run, getting to Claire’s while Faith was still asleep. Claire would bid him a quick good morning as she hurried off to get to the hospital.
Her not too subtle plan was clearly to throw he and Faith together as often as possible and build their bond. He didn’t mind and in repayment of such trust he did his best to pay attention to the things she thought most important for Faith and hope he’d be able to keep his actions consistent with hers.
Faith was especially adorable when she first awoke, her hair resembled a bird’s nest full of twisting strands, chirping away to herself as she did her best to make her bed and get herself dressed. He respected how Claire was fostering her sense of independence and responsibility. So while it would have been quicker for him to help her do certain tasks and speed her along, he didn’t rush in first thing and take over the morning chores. Instead, he’d wait until the chatting grew to an audible pitch before checking in on her.
Faith would squeal in delight on the mornings he popped his head in to greet her. Her smile, the best part of his day. He’d take stock of how far she’d gotten on her own. Then he’d lend her a hand to straighten the bed, pick up the remaining impedimenta strewn across the floor. Then they would put the finishing touches on the day’s ensemble. Sometimes tights would need to be rerouted, snaps realigned. Faith had very definite ideas of color and pattern matching, which he’d learned to, if not accept, then at least ignore.
“She picks her clothes out the night before and lays them on the bench near her toy box.” Claire had explained. “I used to buy things that all matched and try and keep the outfit together but gave that up soon enough. The pants will be in the wash or the sweater’s gone missing, or Faith wants to try something else with the tee shirt.”
Jamie didn’t say anything as he followed her around while she showed him where everything was kept and how it usually worked, but something must have shown on his face as he took in tomorrow’s ensemble of mismatched green hues. She gave him a rueful smile.
“It’s fine, she is learning to figure out what she likes. Better clashing clothing as a toddler than a terrible tattoo as a teen.” She sagely observed.
He’d responded with noncommittal, “Mmphm.”
The combinations could be somewhat arresting, at least to his eye. But, in all fairness, he’d never paid a lot of attention to what Jenny’s lassies wore.
Then again, he had two good eyes, did he not?
One day shortly thereafter, a morning both parents were booked, it was up to Mrs. Crooke to cover. Jamie had picked her up from daycare to find her in yellow and red striped pants and a neon pink and orange floral shirt. He snapped a picture of her and texted it to Claire, sans comment.
“Your way of saying she needs better parental guidance?” She texted right back.
“Never a chance.” He replied with an emoji of someone crossing his heart.
“Bright lad,” came the response, delighting Jamie.
By far the most difficult part of getting Faith ready in the morning had been the hair. When he tried to comb it out Faith would squirm and cry out when the comb hit a snag. Jamie was slightly traumatized by his first forays into being her stylist.
Claire had a deft touch and was able to ignore any protestations from Faith, brush never hesitating, simply getting what needed to be done done. Jamie thought that was the same pragmatic attitude that likely made her an excellent surgeon. Whether due to skill or familiarity, Faith seemed to tolerate it better from her than him.
After one particularly trying morning, in which Jamie gave up and shoved a hat onto her head instead of continuing a losing battle, he called Jenny. He’d never once heard his nieces complain or whine (nor had Ian come to think of it) and both of their lasses had hair longer that Faith’s.
“Please, tell me how? This morning there was a stramash like to wake the dead. I’m no’ going through it again, so what do ye know that ye havena seen fit to tell the rest of us?”
Jenny laughed but she knew that Jamie hated admitting defeat and worried he was hurting his daughter.
“Detangler,” she confessed promptly, “it’s sold in a wee bottle at the salon. It costs the earth but ye spray it on the hair before you comb and it takes care of most of it. As for the rest, divide the hair to sections, then take hold of one section at a time, grab the locks in one hand near the crown and hold tight wi’ the one hand whilst combing wi’ the other, it pulls less. Ye just slowly work the tines through and don’t pull down too hard.” She advised.
“Any other tips?” As long as he was already throwing himself upon his sister’s mercy, he thought he might as well go all in. Jenny hummed a little as she thought.
“She likes music?” Jamie mmhmed in the affirmative.
“Grab yer tablet and load it up with OK, Go videos, all of them, ye can’t go wrong. She’ll be nicely distracted until ye get the hang of it.”
Three mornings later, Jenny received a text from him.
“Blessings of Mary and Bride upon you, a miracle!” With a photo of Faith taken from behind her head, reflecting her face in the mirror, smooth, whole head with shiny ringlets aglow.
Half a minute later one more text, “Tho I canna taker her to the gym wi’ me. I’m scarrit what the lass might try!” With a picture of Faith mid-twirl in imitation of dancing on treadmills from Here It Goes Again and a big smile emoji.
The new morning hair protocol was such a hit, even Claire remarked upon it, praising him mightily. Jamie’s ears grew pink, perhaps he was getting a handle on this parenting thing after all.
Mornings were a rushed time of the day and perhaps that was why Jamie preferred afternoons and evening with Faith. He would leave the office, just a little earlier than usual in order to make the pick up and got to spend a few hours with her. While he had outfitted his own flat with enough child paraphernalia to keep Faith safe, more often than not, he’d bring her to Claire’s, letting himself into her flat with a spare key. Claire didn’t mind his being there and it was often much easier to keep Faith occupied on her home turf which allowed him to finish out his work day from Claire’s living room with minimal interruption.
On Claire’s later shifts, Jamie would prepare dinner with Faith. Claire laughed the first time she’d walked into the kitchen to see him in her “Kiss the Cook” frilly apron, a gag gift from Joe, who meant the kiss part to be aspirational but also knew how terrible her culinary skills were.
She’d framed the card that went with it and hung it near the stove. It read:
If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,
Your best chance is with a scalpel, not a spatula!”
Jamie kept using the apron, anyway. He liked the silly domesticity of it and it was, after all, hanging right there; it might as well get some use.
Living alone, Jamie rarely cooked but now he looked forward to it. He joked that he knew her kitchen much better than his own. Claire joked that he knew it better than she did, too and it was true.
Faith was curious about everything and willing to do her part, like her mother she was a doer and not a watcher. It was an easy way to spend time together. Claire had a colorful step ladder that Faith used to reach sink and countertop.
She would climb up to stand next to him and mix and stir and wash vegetables. They experimented with vegetables and sauces, different kinds of grains. He’d rarely given much thought to planning a meal but Faith gave him a great incentive to do so. Besides, she made it fun. If she liked something, you knew it, if she didn’t her lips would pucker and sounds of protest would quickly emerge.
Any veg that could be dipped apparently passed muster but she had suspicions about all leafy greens. Her deepest reservations concerned spinach and kale. They were “slimy.”
Thinking himself clever, he made a chicken noodle soup one evening and slipped some chopped kale into it. He popped the meal in front of her and, not making eye contact, picked up his spoon. She eyed it fishily without doing the same. He knew she was watching his spoon as it travelled from bowl to mouth.
“No’ hungry, Faith?” he tried to sound matter of fact.
“What’s it?” She finally asked.
“Chicken soup. Ye like it, and I used the swirly noodles with all the colors.” He helpfully added, focusing on positive attributes.
“Mmphm.” Her mouth formed a hard line.
Jamie bit the inside of his cheek, recognizing where she had picked that expression up.
“Carrots and potatoes, a little onion, too.” He added, she loved all of those.
At that moment, a shred of the kale slipped off of his spoon and hung unceremoniously from the underside directly in her line of sight.
“Nooo!” she cried out. Her pouting lips started to shake and tears suddenly maring her round cheeks.
Her voice rose in pitch and volume. “Out! Out! Ickies!”
The look of hurt betrayal in her eyes was far, far worse than spending a half an hour trying to pick out all the kale bits before ultimately concluding it a lost cause. As he stirred her mac and cheese, a reparation offered for his transgressions, he realized that he should have made two versions, a larger one he knew she would have no objections to and a smaller version with the kale to try.
When Claire came home, he promptly confessed.
“You brute! Is it the sin of commission for adding in the offensive veg or the sin of omission for selective ingredient listing that you seek absolution for, my lad?”
“Both.” he admitted. “The look on her face,” he shook his head back and forth. “The memory will give me the nightmare for sure. Her eyes grew big and her lip started to quiver. Ye’d ha’ thought I’d added Jane into the soup!” He shivered in memory.
“Parenting,” she blithely observed, “isn’t a spectator sport. It can be a messy business. Te Absolvo, Jamie.” Claire made the sign of the cross and kissed his cheek.
In sympathy perhaps, she ate an extra helping of the tainted soup and pronounced it delicious, he smiled as his ears turned a light shade of pink.
When he couldn’t be there in person, Jamie contented himself with a brief call. They found that while Faith was still too young to be interested in talking on the phone she adored “face-timing.” Faith would always end calls by giving him a “kiss” which, in all good manners he would need to return, with great enthusiasm.
Then Faith would invariably say, “now Mama!” and insist he do the same with Claire. His antics never failed to make her laugh and Claire smile. Jamie found himself oddly comforted by it, knowing that no matter what stressors and difficulties Claire had faced at work, at the end of the day, he put a smile on her face.
His favorite times by far though occurred when their schedules aligned and the three of them could have dinner together. In the quiet domesticity of her cozy kitchen they became accustomed to one another, in the small acts of setting table, passing bread, doing dishes. Jamie would always stay and help Faith with her pjs and put her to bed.
Claire looked forward to such evenings as well. She tried to be discrete as she watched from the doorway. She knew he didn’t mind her there but she wanted to give Jamie as much time with Faith as possible, trying her best to make up for the missing months between father and daughter. Not because it was her fault, but because had the situation been reversed, she understood how that loss would make her feel and what might help her make peace with it.
Whether Jamie told a tale from his own childhood or Faith picked out a book from her shelf, he was always entertaining. He had a lovely ear for dialogue and the characters sprung to life whenever he told a story.
Then he and Faith would play a quick round of modified “I Spy.” A simple way to teach her Gaelic. Each would go around the room and point to something and say the English world and then the Gaelic one, taking turns. The furniture, the stuffed animals, the images on artwork lining the walls. If Claire was still in the doorway, Jamie would usually include Claire in the game.
Every time he pointed to Claire, Faith would say Mama, but then when he would point to himself she just giggled or shrugged. This was an oddity not even Claire could explain. They’d given her lots of choices: Pa, Papa, Dada, Daddy, Dad, even Father but she refused to be rushed. He did his best not to feel a little disappointed. Ah, well, give it time, he would remind himself.
Jamie would kiss her forehead and whisper good night. Often, afterwards he and Claire would sit together for a little while before he left, sharing some wine and talking of things Faith related and of their own days as well.
Jamie came to understand how challenging her job was, how deeply she cared for her patients. He began to read her better, to know when something was bothering her. She had a terrible poker face but he was impressed that she would set such matters aside when she was with Faith. He understood without asking that Claire didn’t normally unburden herself. Jamie didn’t think she let too many people close to her heart. He didn’t mind in the least that he was becoming one of those few.
The only fly in the ointment thus far had been the unavoidable fact that Claire was a toucher, reaching her arm out when wanting to get his or Faith’s attention. She was also a hugger. She would sometimes give him a sweet kiss on the check in hello or good bye. He thought it must just come naturally to her and she probably had no idea she was even doing it at all, let alone with deliberation.
When they would sit together, he noticed how expressive she was with her hands, they’d roll out or curve up, accenting her story. Every now and then she would catch him staring at them and smile in question. What could he say?
I look at your hands because I imagine how they might feel on me? My mouth goes dry thinking of how you held my hand the other day when we walked with Faith to the car but you didn’t even realize you’d done it?
When you hug me as we laugh helplessly about something Faith did that day, you have no idea how much I want to pull you tighter in my arms, how badly I want you to do it again. Have you not noticed that I always let you determine how closely we are held together and for how long?
That you’ve set me on fire and I have to curl my hand into a fist and bite my tongue to stop myself from showing you exactly what I want those hands to do next?
Jamie said nothing, of course and yet…yet something got stuck between his heart and his mouth at such moments and he wondered if she felt it too.
Quick Authors Note just to get this out of the way. Yes, I have actually decided to write. I am just as surprised as you all are, but I figured I just needed to rip off the band-aid and post something! Special shoutouts to my cheerleaders and best friends @mibasiamille and @internallydeceased because without them constantly yelling at me for not writing I would not be posting right now!
Also, if anyone can thing of a title for this chapter, hit me up, because I have hit a wall and It is really frustrating!
So without further ado, here is Chapter One!
“Mary. Go into the garden and bring me the Aloe Vera,” Claire demanded, pressing her gloved hands onto the bloody thigh of a Lieutenant Jeremy Foster, a soldier and university student who had sought out Claire’s medicinal talents for a rather particular affliction.
An hour prior, the young man had arrived at the steps of her home, begging to be treated, but refused to divulge what ailed him. Herding the debilitated gentleman into the rear of the house, Claire ushered him into the shed that had served as her makeshift infirmary: a place where she could tend to the patients of Bridgetown confidentially.
Sending a messenger to fetch her friend and assistant, Mary Hawkins, Claire begin to interrogate the lieutenant, pressing him for details on what brought him to her doorstep.
“I need to know what has happened to you, Lieutenant Foster. If you refuse to tell me what ails you, it is untreatable, and you might as well just go into town where Doctor Abernathy can attend to you”
Foster, delicately perched on the side of the “examination table”, sighed and lowered his head, refusing to meet Claire’s eyes. Normally a proud, stoic man, who carried himself about the port with an aloof sense of entitlement; Claire felt mildly pleased to see him reduced to such a state. Still, she had agreed to help him, and knew that the circumstances must be unusual to bring him to seek her rather than the resident doctor. She began cautiously moving closer to the young man, beginning to take a more passive approach to procuring the required information.
“Lieutenant Foster, Jeremy, I can promise you that nothing you tell me here will ever leave this room. You have my word; I am here to help you.”
The task of cleaning the mess completed downstairs, it was time to get the once derailed morning underway. A very focused Faith stood facing her open armoire in a clean shift rhythmically tapping her feet on the wooden floor. She ran her hands over the folded fabrics, concentrating on selecting the right one. Her deft fingers searched the necklines for the stitched letters her mother and aunt had meticulously sewn into them to spell out the color for her. The texture of the cloth was also an invaluable clue to her - if it was smooth, light, and delicate it was silk, good for Lallybroch’s formal occasions. Prickly, rough, and weighted meant wool - her beloved forbidden Fraser arisaid with stag brooch that kept out the cold, or her favorite autumnal skirt with rose applique. What she needed now, though, was one of her simple linen dresses, an apron, as well as her shawl for the busy day ahead. The one marked blue would be the right choice, she surmised considering what lay before her. Mam had promised, after their earlier argument, to take some time out of her schedule for a long overdue discussion.
GENDERBEND ROLESWAP MCU ( There is definitely a lack of POC )
Sharon Carter - Emily VanCamp as Iron Woman !!!
Alicia Masters - Kerry Washington as War Machine
Bobbi Morse - Adrianne Palicki as Captain America
Natasha Romanoff -
Jane Foster -
Darcy Lewis - Kat Dennings as Loki Helen Cho - Claudia Kim as Hulk Claire Temple - as Falcon
I have so much fun with this roleswap genderbend thing !!! I did this based on the suitable image only, more surprise. ( It may lack few characters sometimes, this time there is no Hawkeye ToT )
I love all the MCU actresses who have talents but not enough opportunity to show them. Don’t ever say women are impossible to do something when you didn’t bother to give them a chance.
I’m still doing this for other characters, it just need some creativity to be different cast everytime.