17 Works by MikeRowave
Listing Works
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“Okay let's talk about the other lead— Shauna, uh…”
“Shauna Shipman.” Nat finishes for her, rolling her eyes. “Shauna Shipman is a walking PR nightmare. She's a method actress in a disastrous marriage to a failed comedian and, if I'm being entirely honest, a walking fucking closet case. But you didn't hear that from me.”
Jackie makes a lips-locked motion and tosses the key.
“She is also, to her credit, one of the best actresses of our generation. Lottie worked with her on No Time Left, said she was one of the best scene partners she's ever had. Also, um—” Nat chokes, stumbles, “a very good kisser.”
Jackie shuts off her curling iron, ruffling her hair outward, and winks at Nat through her phone camera. “She sounds exactly like my type."
“Jackie, no.”
or, the actors au <3
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your doorstep calls my name by MikeRowave
Fandoms: Hawkeye (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe
19 Nov 2025
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There, face down on her bed, wrapped in her dark purple comforter and drooling on her memory foam pillow, is a person— a blonde haired person, in smudged lipstick and what looks like a leather jacket, from the tip of the collar Kate sees peeking out from under her blanket.
So Kate does the logical thing. She has a black belt in five different martial arts. She’s a state champion fencer, and a world champion archer. She takes one look at the potentially dangerous home intruder sleeping in her bed, and she does what any smart person would do. Duh.
She whispers, “Oh, what the fuck,” turns around, promptly collapses on the couch in the living room, and falls asleep.
OR: Kate is a grad student at NYU. All it takes is a blonde with a habit of breaking and entering to change everything.
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Nat turns to look at her again, face pinched in righteous anger. “If you didn’t want to be here, you didn't need to come, Lottie.”
Lottie runs a hand through her hair, fingers clenching at her roots. “You don’t fucking get it, do you? I want to help you, Nat.”
“You want to help me?” Something desperate, a moment of possession, flashes across Nat's face at Lottie’s words. “If you want to help me,” Nat growls, leaning in close enough to press against the bars, “then get me the hell out of Wiskayok.”
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Van takes the little piece of roll from Nat’s fingers and still manages to work one last drag from it, stubborn little fuck she is. She blows the smoke towards Tai, whose eyes flutter closed as she inhales. “Whaddya say, Nat? Wouldn’t you rather spend the summer by the beach with your two bestest friends instead of cooped up at home with your mom and her soaps and an empty fridge?”
“Don’t you start shit about my fridge, Palmer.”
“Let me sell it to you, Nat.” Van leans back down into the grass, her hands raised up to the sky in a frame. “I can picture it now. We’re such good roomies we don’t need a chore chart or anything. I’m gonna learn to surf. Tai’ll bring home the bacon at her big city bureaucrat job. We can all walk down to the beach every night to drink beers and watch the sunset.”
(or, nat and van and tai pack up and move from wiskayok to ocean city, new jersey. and nat cant stop running into lottie matthews.)
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“Van said you were unoccupied,” Taissa starts, like it’s an apology, like her presence is unwanted. Her footsteps fall just short of the small clearing Lottie rests in, like it’s a sacred circle that she refuses to enter. “This is the misthia I told you about—”
“Natalie,” Lottie smiles. “I recall.”
Natalie is bound in leather straps and iron armor. Scale mail that accentuates the cording of her arms, white linens that flow around her knees in the brisk breeze, a leather cord across her brow that pushes her choppy dark hair away from her eyes— she is everything Lottie has seen in her dreams a thousand times over.
And she is here.
(or, the oracle/misthios au)
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In the entire time Lena has been head chef of Luxe Luthor, “the elegant gastronomic heart of the National City uptown food scene”, no restaurant has ever lasted a year in the location across from her.
So when Chef Kara Danvers moves in, not even intending to prove her wrong, and starts winning over the hearts of National City, major food critic Cat Grant, and Lena Luthor herself?
Well, sign Lena up as scared and horny.
(Hungry. Hungry. She meant hungry.)
OR
Lena and Kara are rival chefs in National City, except Kara doesn't know they're rivals.
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love is more than just a game for two by MikeRowave, thebluewritingbench
Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)
15 Apr 2022
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Lena is laughing softly at her, and Kara can feel the buzz of it where Lena’s back presses into her thighs. She huffs, irritated. “You want spontaneous? Fine.” She reaches down to Lena’s hand, currently maneuvering her controller, and slips the ring off her thumb. “Here.”
Lena cranes her neck away from the TV to stare up at Kara, thumbs stalling on the buttons. “Hey, that’s my—what are you doing?”
Kara presents the ring before her. “Lena Luthor,” she starts. “You’ve been the love of my life for almost as long as I can remember and my best friend for even longer. And I would be… beyond happy to spend every moment of the rest of our lives together. Marry me?”
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or, five times Kara proposes to Lena at game night, and one time they get engaged
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When Yelena gets hurt, she can always count on Kate to patch her up, and maybe help put her a little bit back together.
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i am the rain, i am the sun (i am the run and i’m the runner) by MikeRowave for kraximillian
Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)
16 Jan 2022
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In the low light, Kara watches them approach. Their dark gambeson, heavy coat of chain, and ornate breastplate all indicate militaristic authority, but the armor appears ill-fitted as it shifts around them. Their gait is awkward, like the weight of the steel is unfamiliar to them, but Kara cannot make out their face, the dark hood of their cloak pulled too far down and the torchlight too dim for any noticeable features to show. A gloved hand reaches forward to pull open her cell door.
With aching legs, Kara pushes herself to her feet.
“Do not stand on my account, Captain.” The figure says. Then, with an unexpected softness: “I have not come in vengeance like your visitor last night.”
“So you say,” Kara calls out. “And yet you come in the armor of a King’s knight.”
The General pauses. From the tone of her voice, Kara thinks she might be smiling. “So it appears.”
OR: Kara Zor-El, feared pirate of the endless seas, gives herself over to protect her crew from King Lex. There, in the dungeons beneath his castle, she meets the Knight, the General, the Princess, Lena Luthor.
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you light my morning sky (with burning love) by MikeRowave, thebluewritingbench
Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)
01 Nov 2021
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There’s a fucking rose on the back of Lena’s neck.
The lighting in the tower bathroom is harsh, sure, and unflattering, yes, but the good thing about the fluorescent glare is that it provides decent enough illumination for any number of activities: patching up wounds, reading in relative silence, and, of course, investigating mysterious burning tattoos on the back of one’s neck.
And Lena is sure—certain, in fact—that the mark sitting right below her hairline, taunting pink against the paleness of her skin, is a rose, in the exact same swirling pattern as the love totem.
So that’s not ideal, really.
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The love totem is destroyed, but its essence lives on. And that essence seems to have found a new home—the back of Lena's neck. Luckily, she has Kara to help her figure out who she's in love with. Kara, who seems prepared to guess that the subject of Lena's affection is just about anyone but herself.
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“Are the candles really necessary?”
“They’re an important component of the ritual, Kara.” Lena replies, the deadpan quality to her voice more teasing than serious.
Kara glances around at the scene that surrounds her. The dim lights, drawn blinds, loose chill to the air—not to mention the upwards of probably thirty candles encircling her— she halfway expects a group of robed wizards to emerge from the shadows and start chanting or something. Or for a dragon to suddenly fly in through the tower window.
“It just feels a little bit like overkill to me.”
OR: Lena is Kara's hot witch wife, and Kara would let her do anything to her.
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“Here, here,” Kara mutters, guiding Sam to lean up against the wall as she fumbles in her pocket for her door key. As Sam leans back, she suddenly howls out a gasp of pain, and it makes Kara flinch-it's too raw, too familiar to the sounds she had heard, had ignored last night for what they were. She shakes away the flashes of memory that threaten to consume her. Not now. Another time.
“Don’t put too much weight on that leg,” Kara whispers, crouching down to help Sam shift her weight without hurting it too much. She taps Sam’s ankle gently, quietly encouraging the woman to shift her stance. As she does, transferring her weight from her back leg to the other one, she slumps a little further against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” Sam whispers, voice no louder than a weak growl.
OR: One night while hunting, Kara finds an angry wolf. She doesn't realize the wolf is Sam until it's too late.
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collection of my tumblr drabbles
Chapter 4: i think kara should get a little jealous of andrea being the one lena calls from newfoundland
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She has a different ringer set for Lena, you know. It’s nothing special, really, just a softer, slower Apple-provided tune than the chirpy, high-pitched ones she uses for the rest of her family. She had changed it right after she and Lena had made up, the real time, right before she had been... taken, before everything that happened after.
She never wanted to miss another call or text from Lena.
She had hoped she’d get to hear it more before the Phantom Zone.
OR: hey cw, why'd you have to make the 6x08 supercorp phone call off screen?
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Everything is fine. Nothing is changing. Nedley’s just getting a little forgetful, is all.
Nicole is the Angel’s Shield, and that means she won't let anything harm her family. She swore to protect them until the end of eternity if she had to, which means she cannot let Nedley, the man who practically raised her, slip through the cracks.
She would never let that happen. Nedley is fine, she promises herself. Everything is fine.
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Time passes. Nedley gets sick. And then, he gets worse.
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“CAREER OPPORTUNITY”, the newspaper advert read. “LOOKING FOR A MAN OF LETTERS WITH EDUCATION IN THE FIELDS OF HISTORY, ANTHROPOLOGY, ARCHEOLOGY, AND THE OCCULT.”
Waverly Earp was certainly no man, but she checked all other boxes, quite better than any other man might.
“SALARY WILL COME IN THE FORM OF ONE (1) $28.75 CHEQUE AND NEGOTIATE ONWARD.”
Waverly supposed that was less than ideal. But she had to admit, it was certainly better than what she was making at Shorty's right now.
“PLEASE VISIT ONE N. HAUGHT AT 465 ON BROADWAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 AM AND 2 PM. PLEASANT DEMEANOR, GOOD APPEARANCE. PLEASE ARRIVE SOBER.”
Waverly liked to believe she was quite pleasant, and certainly good looking by the standards of most men (unfortunately). On the matter of sobriety, well- she wasn’t Wynnona, at least.
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AKA, waverly is an anthropologist, nicole is a Great War vet turned cyrptozoologist, its the 1920s and they have fun.
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Realistically, she knows its a bad idea to let out a blood curdling scream in a dark street, at night, in a busy city, but she doesn’t care because she’s thirteen and there’s all these expectations weighing down on her, crushing her, and she doesn’t know what to do. So she screams, and its low and its guttural and it feels so fucking good, and once she screams she does it again until her throat is hoarse and she doesn’t feel the pressure of her parents legacy anymore and she just feels like she’s kinda floating.
And when Nicole opens her puffy eyes again, she sees that she actually is floating.
About five hundred feet off the ground.
Then Nicole really does scream.
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Nicole’s parents were heroes, and they were strong and powerful and most of all invincible, and when Nicole’s abilities first started to appear, she knew all she wanted was to be like them when she grew up.