lantern davies of the white lantern corps.
in brightest day, there will be light

Living this life is getting easier. That’s what she tells herself, daily, without fail. She nods and accepts the demands that come with having the colossal power of stars, the space stone itself, at her fingertips, and supersonic speeds within reach. She casually bucks against the leash-and-collar that the government would have her wear. It’s all a part of the deal, she reminds herself. She keeps her loved ones as safe as she can, because she’s agreed to this; this mantle -- this responsibility -- now sits on her shoulders, as much as it has Carol Danvers’ once upon a time.

The Captain, according to Cara’s research (apart from Carol’s omnipresent opinions and anecdotes) holds herself steady, jaw set while so many threaten to shake and throw their hands up; Carol always stares ahead and furrows her eyebrows, determined to tow everyone along with her, step after heavy step, until her dying breath. It’s what she’s always done, some part of Cara -- the Danvers-reminiscent part of her that’s always existed -- has always known. It’s what she’s meant to do, and the bed she’s made. The Captain, with her wide mouth and blinding punches, boldly pierces through the surface tension, she rallies, and she leads by example.. Or tries to.

That the summary that Cara’s gleaning from the books. The woman in her head, she knows, has lived another story; one far richer than those saturated panels have described. Those details, however, aren’t hers to share or record.

Instead, Cara reads and reads; she watches and questions the artificial intelligence in the Avengers compound, questions herself as she paces back and forth in a conference room.

Who do you think you are? she finally asks her reflection in the glass; it’s a query grown with time, a reflex that dares to take her father’s accusatory tone, a blow that's cushioned by the misplaced concern of her mother.

How dare Cara even presume that she, of all people, could get away with running her mouth? For being a loud voice of passionate dissent?

Who do you think you are? Some kind of superhero?

The question drops like a stone into a deep well. For a moment, and only one, it cuts through the fantastic powers and the woman of war declarations and the rhetoric that comes with being an Avenger. It shreds through the many-diplomas and the million-dollar-home and the Perfect Life. It slices, grating up against the bone of her fear, and the wound bleeds, beading and trickling downward in phantom rivulets when she looks back at the plentiful volumes describing Carol Danvers’ life. Cara Leigh Davies feels her own doubt collect and puddle, threatening to contribute to the selection of people who want to say who she’s been, and why. What would Carol do? she's asked more than once, and the answer comes quicker than anticipated.

The woman in question knows love, greed, fear, and hope. She meets these emotions with willpower, compassion, and in some cases, rage. Everything has winding roots and everything has its blossoms, and Cara is the one person to follow them -- to intimately and willingly understand Carol Danvers in a way that very few can. This quiet confidence, this compassionate assurance and plucky determination she’s got, is a readied tourniquet to the blade that doubt holds to her jugular. Cara -- it seems -- is the one who meets these feelings head on, acknowledging them with a curious mind and cautious heart, before letting herself add to the house of cards that is their unity: superhero and scholar.
to cleanse the soul, and set wrongs right

You’re not Atlas, someone had once said; but Atlas, according to the many myths she’s read about in the last few hours, was condemned and stood alone. Cara had very much chosen her own fate, and yet; who do you think you are? rears its head once more. Her breath only threatens to leave her lungs. With a resolute stare at her reflection in a glossy, hi-definition monitor.. It does not ‘whoosh’ itself away.

The air stays with her, just as much as her own swollen heart and red-rimmed eyes, while she punches in passwords and disarms F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s wild concern. Her breath stays in her chest while her heart hammers, because she has a partner and a home and people relying on her, and a world to save. There have been cosmic foxes and a goddess, laughing, down at their plight. Fear and grief for the past, she reasons, can exist, but they cannot reign. Carol, raring at the bit somewhere inside, seems to agree. They can accept the crippling pain this awful week has caused, but they neutralize it with action. There has never been any other choice in the matter. Neither Cara nor Carol has ever known anything different; a small solace in the horrors they're seeing.

Doctor Davies, do you wish to activate the safe house protocol?

Yes, she replies to the automated query, pacing a few steps before grabbing a few of Wyatt’s belongings and exiting the workshop. There’s a watch and a cell phone charger specific to the phone that Tony’s modified.. Wherever Tony may be. A spike of concern wells in her gut at the bitter conclusion, but Cara doesn’t linger on it. She knows, just as well as Carol does, where it came from. Instead of overthinking, Cara coltishly swipes a fist underneath her nose -- it’s running a little as she puts the essentials in a backpack and decides; Eris wants a fight, and she’s not about to go hunting a Greek goddess and Wonder Woman nemesis with an angry-tear-clogged face. Action.

Safe house protocol will engage in one minute.

It takes a minute for her to hit ‘send’ on a text message to the kid; the one jumping around in a suit that used to be worn by a predecessor.. One that all but broke her spirit and shook her faith without second thought. There’s something in her that lets it all go at the thought of Max, innocent in her mental crossfire, potentially panicking about the loss of his friend and terrified of what his hometown’s become. Ego takes a silent backseat to doing what’s right when she locks the front door behind her, peering down at the next incoming message. Jules. Doing right, she thinks, and offers a reply in lieu of saying nothing at all.
when darkness falls, look to the skies

This San Francisco, this reality and this world and this timeline, haven’t seen the likes of Thanos. They know the action figures, the memes, the square-jawed actors, and the books. They can only imagine what it’s like to be flung into space by a stranger, with no promise of returning. Carol Danvers will fully admit to feeling a certain degree of fear when Simon Baz slingshots her, fully-ignited and attached to a construct of green light, into space.. Relying on Supergirl to tow her back to Earth. The reality stone’s slithering hum and space’s sharp-edged crush are the only things that make sense, so when she draws upon any star she can reach, it’s with everything she’s got left. Fear says it isn't much, and Cara Davies can't contribute enough to counter the assertion.

Carol reaches farther and farther still, fueled by every adrenaline-laced roll of her gut; encouraged by the arrogant scoffs and humble huffs that her current situation’s met with. The stone tempts her. It impresses upon her what it’d be like to use its power to find home, and potentially wreck this world they’ve been deposited into in the process. The captain’s good sense immediately says no, of course, but it’s a second voice in the space void that fights with her, punching back against the very idea of being a sacrificial lamb to what’s been thrust upon her. Who do you think you are? the voice asks, bucking violently against the thrall of the reality stone. It's bright and warm and intense in the back of her skull.


When Carol breaks out of the meditative silence, she finds that she doesn’t push the stone away on her own. There are two people; one loud and bright, while the other is steadfast and soft all at once. They do it together, unleashing clunkily and cautiously, beating against the current of a black hole while a facet of their very universe gets drawn in deeper -- beyond the reaches of most space-bound beings. When Simon and Madelyn and Kara track and tow her back to Earth, she’s frozen and weary, dirty and tangled in a red scarf while the rest of the world celebrates a titan’s fall.

He’s the first person she looks toward once her feet hit the ground, whether they’ve been aiming directly for, or alongside one another. They stand together; it’s what they’ve always done, and this time is no different. Their bodies move differently than they're used to, the air smells like sulfur and smoke and low tide, and for once, they keep their damned mouths shut when it comes to commenting on their selfless victory. They did not fight for the ones they’d left behind. They’d fought for the ones ahead of them, the ones that inevitably, would keeping them safe.

Carol says nothing when she feels Tony’s chin bump the crown of her head. It’s just a hug, but she hasn’t held anyone this tight in a very long time. The Cara part of her listens and lets it be, but does her best to stop a set of gloved hands from shaking. She understands. She’s read the books at this point.. And is selfishly thankful that it’s Wyatt’s hands (literally) that are the ones holding her tight.
a new dawn comes, let there be light.

Carol’s yelling when the ring whistles through the plate glass window.. Granted, she doesn’t know it’s a ring at the time. Noodles is howling and Chewie is screaming while Tony is crouched over his laptop in the kitchen. Things have exploded in this house before and he hasn’t batted an eyelash, but when the white dog skids into the room with a tall blonde slip-sliding after her, it’s worth a glance.


The voice comes out of nowhere while the small object sails around their house like a bullet, a homing missile aiming straight for her. When Cara’s name is on the receiving end of the call, however, that Carol can’t help but puff her chest. That’s her girl they’re looking for; her other half. It’s by the request and proven capability of the woman in question, however, that Danvers eventually relents, and the doctor pulls her way to control most of their shared consciousness. They duck under the ring’s next pass and open the refrigerator door to use it as a shield. The ring hits it (hard) and (probably) dents it before falling to the floor like a startled bird before round two.

They (the humans) banter about foiled dinner plans, Carol’s smart mouth eventually earns her a whack on the head from the ring, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. tries to offer some sage advice via a Starkle reverse image search, but it doesn’t come up with many answers. A white lantern. Not green or blue or black or red.. But white. She knows nothing about white. The limits of both Cara and Carol’s knowledge is limited to hear-say and Starkle (it still doesn’t roll off the tongue, but when in Rome..) searches. This is where the research scientist insists on responding. It is her name after all that the ring’s called.


Later that night, she swallows down the anxiety; she knows what the Green Lantern’s done to Nasim, has seen what the Black’s done to Lou and how the Blue has affected Nora. Fear’s okay. Feel the fear, and then do whatever you were going to do anyway. It takes some coaching for her to twist the ring on her finger, self-talk to focus her mind. This won’t be easy, she knows.. But when has anything ever come to Captain Marvel easily?

The power is in your hands. Destiny awaits.

It was all straight from the superhero textbook, if Cara had to judge it for herself. She thinks of anger, greed, and fear, of willpower; hope, compassion, and love -- of Carol's and her own. They wash over her when she twists the ring around her index finger again; poring over Carol Danvers and the things this woman has gone through. Not once does she consider herself, nor why the ring insisted on calling her name, not the one of a lauded Avenger. None of it made sense, but she’d slipped it on anyway.. Because that was life; things happened, and she dealt with them, and/or she happened, and things dealt with her. This seemed like a little bit of both.

This doesn’t ever get easier, she hums to herself before folding herself into bed. .. You just get better at it.