#(( and like yeah she still gives him grief about being an ex criminal ))

[waitlifted]

(( dunno why but now I'm thinking about how we never really see Cassandra reference "Flynn Rider", he's always Fitzherbert (or Eugene if she's feeling generous, a whole list of insulting nicknames if she's not). I mean it makes sense, he'd started going by it again by the time they actually meet each other, even if she knew him by reputation before and all.

honestly despite the venom she can put into saying his name sometimes, it's probably really good for Eugene's safety and well being that she does. after all, if she had that old moniker coming up as a constant reminder of how the man in front of her was her previously declared nemesis that committed all those violent acts against her dad and the other guards, it would be much harder for her to restrain from strangling him. instead she manages to (somewhat) disconnect him from his past actions and just be mad at his present actions instead :^) ))

#ooc. #(( and like yeah she still gives him grief about being an ex criminal )) #(( but 'ex criminal' is several rungs down the ladder of hate from her feelings on Flynn Rider specifically so )) #(( for the record (in case you're new or have forgotten/just missed it) i the mun *love* eugene. tts said malewife eugene rights )) #(( it's just cass that has severe beef with him that takes a long time to let go of oops ))

[ornamental-coral]

Snake-Birds and villainy (or not)

This is sort of an extended reply to this ask

I’m a Snake Bird.

Oddly enough, I have incredibly few favorite characters who are Also Snake Birds. 

...Okay, actually. That’s not strictly accurate. It’s more accurate that I’m not Infatuated with many true Snake Bird characters.

I have a number of characters who I Like who are Snake Birds. But it’s often painful to watch Snake-primary characters navigate a narrative. Anyone who writes will be familiar with old advice that goes something like this: “Stuck!? Find something Bad for your ink-baby to deal with”

Snake Primaries’ motivations are their people and those people are the center of their souls, so to have that threatened and just raw-nerve exposed can be great for nail-biting on-the-edge sort of action (ie Breaking Bad) or just make me, a sympathetic Snake, want to claw my heart out. For Bird Secondary characters this can also be hard to deal with as part of the narrative because Birds thrive on being... overprepared. And they need time to research (or have people they trust provide new information) when they are thwarted, which means pacing out the story to account for that time. And Deus Ex Machina is out, so the Bird-second really has to do the work themselves or end up a bag of [less-effectual] nerves.

This is part of why Snake Birds are not popular protagonist material and they’re more often the villains. They may occasionally be sidekicks or partners (think “dueling-second” type partners more than “I am also the leader” type of partners). Stiles Stilinski is probably a fandom favorite example for this type of Snake Bird. (Hi “house favorite” ‘nonnie, congratulations on also getting me to really expose the fact that I consume too much questionable media and find things to like about it, although I really don’t think Teen Wolf was that bad).

Stiles is ruthlessly loyal towards his best friend Scott, and only a little softer with Lydia because she’s almost more ruthless than he is and secondary-matches with him and they both understand what it’s like to hide part of that because it would scare the people they love or want to be loved by. But he wears himself to exhaustion researching and investigating because the monsters he faces are Time Sensitive, because His People are In Danger, and [he believes] only he knows enough to do anything about it. People can and have written “what if’s” with Stiles as the protagonist though and it’s a darker story because this cold-house combo, when called on to be the hero on their own, is not stereotypically concerned with any greater good, can, and will take out the source of the problem asap and erm permanently so it can’t come back and try hurting Their People again.

Oddly enough, Teen Wolf works with Stiles as a sort of secondary-protagonist because Scott, the main protagonist, is a Double Puff and the Hufflepuff secondary also likes putting in the work. This slows down the narrative enough for Stiles to keep up (which sounds funny when you think of Stiles literally being one of the smartest people in his school).

There are very few of the Lions among the Teen Wolf cast (actually they killed the only one from the original ensemble which probably says something about the writers. Jeff Davis also produced Criminal Minds and we see a similar lack of Lion secondaries there) and this simply changes what you can do with the pacing. In the show actually, a majority of the antagonists are Lion flavored, which is unusual and what really what provides a lot of the urgency needed to move the story along.

I haven’t sorted Breaking Bad, but @wisteria-lodge has added some of the characters to her live sorting list, and I agree that Walter White might be the Snakiest-Birdiest protagonist ever. And I haven’t finished the series At All so I don’t even knows if he stays the protagonist (as opposed to some kind of anti-hero) because it hits the line between edge-of-seat suspense and eat-your-heart-out. As far as a story goes, there’s a reason Breaking Bad is such a famous show, but it’s also uniquely un-bingeable because the result is (at least for this introvert) something almost as bad as a post-concert drop.

Spoilers and further conversation below because some of you have probably gotten tired of my ramblings:

Another likely Snake Bird candidate is James Flint of Black Sails. (See! I do have taste!!)

I hesitate to name him a Bird Secondary though because he is so single-minded (at least to the point in the show I am) in his quest to wrest control of Nassau from the British. He’s decided realizing the dream that killed one of his lovers is the only way he will ever be able to give Thomas’ memory a measure of peace. Doing everything in Thomas’ name is a pretty Snake Primary thing to do, and James Flint at least models Bird Second when he has the time. He likes to read and was able to learn multiple languages apparently, but I think that it was as much for the sake of being on the same page as Thomas and Miranda as anything else. He doesn’t have time to pursue knowledge for the sake of it and tends to kill his way through problems if he has no other options. It’s far more likely to be that he is a Snake Primary Lion Secondary with a fairly developed and mature Bird Secondary that he uses to tweak the direction of his Lion’s charge, but at this point neither make him happy because his Snake is so torn up with Thomas’ fate he’s ready to burn the world.

Anyhow it’s more common for Snake Birds to play the villains or not to “play” at all. The Snake with their people in place is a Snake that can and will follow their persons’ lead, and is internal with the rest of the Primary and Secondary performance so they’re harder to drag into the narrative action 

If you want to force a Snake to act, once again, threaten their people. A Snake without their people to protect (and be morality pets to some extent), and all the Bird resources to be able to plan a dozen way towards their enemy’s downfall, that’s an easy villain. And one that has a readily available arsenal of plot-worthy obstacles to throw in the way of your hero combined with the grief-fueled rage to never stop.

That’s what Thor’s Loki is about. He can’t get his father’s approval and he’s sick to death of being shown that his brother, his most important person, doesn’t appreciate him, and then on top of that he learns he’s not really a son or brother, so he goes ballistic. (He’s at least modelling a Snake breakdown, but he also tries to make places to belong, so I’m still not sure if he’s a Bird instead. More on that after June I guess).

Tl;dr

Snake Birds are easy villains and I’m not going to deny that a lot of us love whipping up a good plot (that was a writing pun it’s okay to laugh) so the giant axes swinging from the ceiling? the pit full of alligators? the seventeenth iteration of the kidnapping attempt in Megamind? yeah, a bored Bird Secondary could have come up with all that stuff.

If any of you are writers, having a Bird Secondary protagonist is Hard and having a Bird Secondary in your ensemble is Still Hard unless they’re a rapid-fire bird with plans to spare, has resources ready to go, or the ensemble is built in a way that supports the kind of time a Bird Secondary needs to regroup if their plans are foiled.

Also watching people who house match exactly with you in media is hard and painful but also really validating and everyone should have that experience at least once.

#snake primary #bird secondary #ornamental thoughts #i don't like to sleep has anyone else noticed ahaha #sortinghatchats #ornamental wanders

[modern-vellichor]

Grief, is a Beautiful Thing

Stage 5: Acceptance

Series Masterlist

Acceptance; a person's assent to the reality of a situation, recognizing a process or condition (often a negative or uncomfortable situation) without attempting to change it or protest it.

He's what you need. He's always been there for you, and now you see it. Now, as you stand on the roof, sun washing you of your sins, of the weeks and weeks of nothing but silence and sorrow, after the months of constant turmoil and grief. This is freedom. He's been there through it all.

When your relationship with Steve fell apart the first time, he was there to pick up the pieces. Then when he fell apart, Bucky was there to hold you up, he was there so that you could fix Steve. And when he left, and you broke and scattered across all ends of the earth, he picked you up, and put you back together.

You were there for him, but you always knew this. When Tony was trying to kill him, you took his side. When he tossed and turned during the night, you woke him, and cooed, and held him until he dreamed of sweet things, honey and sugar and you. When he was so spent from putting all his energy into you, you put on a smile and fixed him up.

This was love. Of course you loved Steve, but he was gone, and he fell in love with you for all the wrong reasons.

You fell in love with Steve, you saw last the captain, into the deepest parts of his soul. You fell in love with his smile and the way he paced when he was nervous. You fell in love with the way he held you, and his beautiful laugh.

He fell in love with Peggy, and saw her in you. The way you held yourself, the courage, the glimmer in your eyes, it was all a reminder of Peggy, his Peggy, the girl he loved so dearly.

There were aspects of you that he loved too, but he never fell in love with the full you. He never saw it.

You deserved the kind of love that Bucky gave you, pure and unfiltered and raw. It was harsh and violent but it was sweet and addicting, he couldn't get enough of you. He wanted to hold you and breathe you, until you were engraved in his soul, until you had weaved yourself into the very fabric of his being.

You needed him. He was the only thing keeping you together.

"Y/N?", his voice, that honey sweet call of home, pulled you from your violent reel of self deprecating thoughts.

You didn't deserve to be left. You deserved to be cherished.

You didn't respond, not with words. Instead, you pressed your lips to his, gentle and soft, intimate, terribly so.

His response was to cup your cheeks, to trace his fingers down your spine, across your arms, up your neck, right back to your cheeks. Tears still spilled from your eyes, but they had changed, in context. It was no longer sad and desperate, now, it was happy, it was lovely.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, mumbling into your hair as he pressed kisses to your forehead, and then your cheeks, peppering your face and neck and leaving you warm.

"I'm sorry", again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry", he repeated it like a mantra. He was begging for forgiveness, maybe from you, maybe for you, maybe from Steve. You never really found out. But all you could whisper back was;

"in me, burns the most catholic of desires: to devour the divine"

And he stopped. His mouth shut, he simply breathed. That was his forgiveness. That was his penance, you were his vocation, his divine god that needed worship, he was on his knees, begging, screaming, and you uttered those honey sweet words, thick and sticky, and he was washed of his sins all over again.

"I love you", he was no longer begging. You were heaven on earth, this was peace, this was love. This was his declaration of his faith, his everlasting devotion to you, in all your comforting and broken glory. "I love you, I love you, I love you", uttered between desperate kisses and soft gasps.

"I love you too, Buck"

You did. You loved him. Even more than Steve.

He was always sheltered, always hiding you away,your love was soft and gentle and filtered, but not this. This was raw, gnashing teeth and criminal tongue, grazing your bare soul, flying like Icarus to the sun, hoping that Ares will catch you. This? This was criminal, near psychotic, this was manic and dangerous, but you two were safe, you were happy. This was unconventional and painful, but all the best things are. For the longest time, this was forbidden fruit. But it tastes so much better when you can't have it. Now you do, it's in the palm of your hand, sweet and addictive, and you dont ever plan on quitting.

He holds you hand. He likes to come up from behind, wrap his arms around your waist, place sweet kisses on the nape of your neck. He likes to hold you close, tangle your legs together under satin sheets and cool moonlight. He learns poems to whisper to you in the deep dark of the night. He presses his forehead to yours, he smiles at you when  you're not looking, he laughs when you do, he cries when you do. He watches all your favourite movies, listens to your favourite songs, reads your favourite books. You take him to your favourite places. He loves it, he loves you. "Hey, Steve", you chirp, leaving against the cool marble of the headstone, roses littered all over the grave. He's loved even in death. "long time no see". It had been almost three years. You like talking to Steve, he never argues back, no sarcastic comments or judgy looks. You like to think hes listening, that he smiles at your stories. People leave roses and bouquets of white, red and blue for the captain. But you leave wild daisies and lilies, agapanthus and hyacinths, for Steve. He always liked lilies, you did too, The Funeral Flowers. "Buck's doing a lot better nowadays, hes sleeping through the night again. I am too, for the most part, I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, just missing you. It sucks", you sigh and let out a breathy laugh. Bucky left you to get coffee, so you popped in for a visit. "Theres way more photos around the compound now, of you and the team, Morgan too. She's getting so big, Steve, you should see her. She's exactly like Tony, same eyes, same brain, same stupid decisions. I keep telling her she has to be at least 16 to be an avenger, because that's how old Peter was when he became one" A vase falls over next to you, you sigh, picking it up, "manners, Steve. Anyway, I'm in love" "Yeah, crazy. He's not as soft as you are, not as sheltered, Sam loves it, constantly making fun of you, how your ex and your best friend got together. I think I wanna marry him, Stevie" A cup of steaming coffee is shoved in your direction, Bucky smiles down at you. "Look at this, Rogers. The bastard finally cut his hair, would you believe it?" Bucky shoved your shoulder as he sat down next to you, leaning against your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. "shut up", me mumbles. You laugh. Song like and wonderful. You wanted to marry Steve, once upon a time. You still feel guilty, but Steve's gone. He got his happy ending, you deserve yours. This is your happy endings, overpriced coffee and sunny afternoons, 2ams spent in your car, driving to God knows where, secret poems exchanged in the dark. You still talk to the moon, your saviour, your keeper. But you no longer beg for the sweet relief of death, or numbness, you no longer cry about love lost in the dark. Now, you chant, you sing, you dance, you're in love. You're yourself again, everyone notices. "Lady moon", you whisper. You're on the roof, hot mug in your hands. "tell me he loves me as much as I love him. This is heaven on earth", you smile to the sky, to the star that shines brighter than the others, to the lost souls floating up there. "He does", you jump a little as Bucky wraps his arms around you. "he loves you more than you could ever imagine" A single tear rolls down your cheek, it gets lost between your lips as you press a chaste kiss to his neck.

Eternity. You wish, you hope.

You don't know it, but Steve would be happy for you. He remembers how broken you were when he found you, when Tony found you. He remembers saving you, even in death he loved to see you smile. He remembers how Bucky never slept through a night, he remembers walking into the gym at 6am only to find that Bucky had been there for hours already. He remembers the tears he had shed in secrecy, the pleas for peace and freedom. He knows that you give him peace, he dreams of sweet things with you in his bed. He knows his heart warms with your touch, and he smiles at the twinkle in your eyes. Steve wouldn't have left if it meant leaving you, or Bucky, but you had each other. Steve left because he knew you would piece each other back together. You meant everything to him, so did Bucky. Steve got his happy ending, and you got yours.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #captain america x reader #bucky barnes #marvel fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic

[birbleafs]

[fic] An Interlude Between Friends

Series: Artemis Fowl Rating: G Genre: Friendship & Humour, Post-series Character(s): Holly Short, Artemis Fowl II, Foaly Warnings: Feels, probably. Mentions of past (major) character death Summary: One cursory glance from the report scrolling across her visor screen and she’d already caught on that this was less a scouting mission and more Friendly Intervention, A.K.A. Maybe Get Whatever’s Gnawing At You Off Your Mind With A Friend. Or, in which Holly Short comes to terms with the changes in her life but remains grateful for the little constants—one being her friendship with a certain Artemis Fowl.

A/N: For indefiniteimpala, as part of the AF Yuletide Exchange 2019. Happy holidays! I had a lot of fun writing about Holly and Arty again and hope you'll enjoy this story :) This fic is set post-TLG, without taking into account the events in The Fowl Twins as I started drafting ideas before the new book was released (so no spoilers for TFT). Many thanks to Digi-bro for the last-minute beta work ♥

Fic can also be read on AO3 _______

She could hardly hold back her laughter as he recounted the incident where, out of his love for his darling mother and against his better judgement, he had offered and participated, several weeks ago, in an amateur bake-off organized by Angeline Fowl and her colleagues as part of the Trinity College fundraising event for Dublin’s homeless.

Needless to say, it had been Artemis Fowl the Second’s most excruciatingly embarrassing attempt (and subsequent failure) at making cherry soufflé. “Couldn’t you have gone with the chocolate cake instead?” Holly grinned, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “First of all, it’s not simply a chocolate cake,” Artemis said, brows creased as though offended by such blasé abasement of a world-renowned delicacy. “Sachertorte is a Viennese speciality, with an illustrious history as the centrepiece of a long-simmering feud between Hotel Sacher and Café Demel that spanned two whole centuries. And second, despite the clean simplicity of its look and flavour, it is far more tedious to bake than your classic soufflé.” Holly groaned, her grin quickly morphing into a wince. “Spare me the sordid details, Arty. Does it matter anyway? You make working the kitchens seem like an extreme sport, exploding sandwiches and all.”

This time it was Artemis’s turn to grimace, her words hearkening back to yet another old, embarrassing memory. Still, he had the grace to accept the jibe, conceding defeat. “Touché.” They sat, side by side, in the shade of a towering oak overlooking the remnants of the Martello tower and where the old Berserker Gate once stood. Clusters of orange roses bobbed between blades of green, the summer breeze a gentle ripple through the meadows. Holly closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun over her skin and the scent of the fairy roses wafting all around them. As much as she loved her home and friends back in the Lower Elements, there was always a bone-achingly deep sense of yearning that she shared with all fairies for the world above. She would always miss the unbridled joy and freedom she’d bask in whenever she soared through the endless skies, taking in the view of the lands before her, watching the sun slowly inch its way back into its woodland nest of aspen and silver birches that lined the horizon while the skies rippled from shades of burnished gold and vermilion into a deep, velvet indigo canvas where the stars would flicker, one by one, a scattering of candlelight in the night. The two friends—human and fairy—had taken to spending what little time they had together like this, whenever Artemis wasn’t traipsing halfway across the globe for weeks on end as a guest speaker for various academic conferences, or whenever Holly could spare a few days or hours off, depending on her schedule and on Commander Kelp’s fluctuating moods. Or in this case, depending on a certain centaur’s propensity for sticking his nose into other people’s business. Holly frowned. Truth be told, ever since she’d finally (albeit with a little half-hearted reluctance) accepted her promotion to Wing Commander of Recon Special Ops, she had, quite surprisingly, been in a dour mood, short on patience, and even sharper with her tongue. Foaly was used to her smart comebacks, of course, and usually he enjoyed trading witty jibes with the elf. But even he had found her words to be a touch more churlish than usual. And that was saying a lot coming from the centaur, whose hide was as thick as it gets. Holly knew Foaly was concerned, as any decent friend would be, and had tried to nudge her into talking about whatever it was bothering her, to no avail. What she didn’t realize was how far he’d been willing to go to get her to talk—if not to him, then at least to someone, even if that someone was a young Irishman waiting leagues above Haven. “‘Sightings of the extra-terrestrial inhuman kind’? I can’t believe you of all people would pull a stunt like this behind Trouble’s back,” Holly had muttered when she arrived at E1, easing her pod into the docking station. One cursory glance from the report scrolling across her visor screen and she’d already caught on that this was less a scouting mission and more Friendly Intervention, A.K.A. Maybe Get Whatever’s Gnawing At You Off Your Mind With A Friend. “I didn’t go behind the Commander’s back,” Foaly’s protest crackled over her comm speakers. “He agreed that you needed a time-out. But with your promotion to Wing Commander, and as a friend, he didn’t want to impose a forced leave upon you. I just convinced him that a tiny bluff was probably easier and way more efficient.” Holly only snorted, a flare of irritation rising from her gut. She held her tongue, however, not trusting herself from vocalizing a scathing remark. As if he had sensed her indignation through the static, Foaly gave an apologetic cough and said, “Listen Holly, I’m worried about you, all right? This probably isn’t the best way and I’m sorry for the bluff. But whatever’s been bothering you... You can’t keep it bottled up like this. Besides, it’s been a while since you two met. So, try to make the most of it, yeah?” The centaur gave a short, breathy chuckle, to lighten the mood. “Even newly minted Commanders need to gambol about in strawberry fields sometimes. I heard that in a Mud Man song once—or maybe it was by that gnome and dwarf act, Dung Beetles? Huh, I’m always mixing up the two.” And so here she was, sitting beside Artemis Fowl, ex-criminal virtuoso and now friend of the People, listening and laughing together with the young man as he recounted stories of his latest misadventures of the non-magical kind and with hardly any actual thievery involved. Holly hated to admit it, but even a few moments spent with Artemis like this, away from the cacophony of city life in Haven, from the growing weight of all these new responsibilities, expectations—fears, uncertainties, disappointments —it was strangely comforting. She found some solace in his company and was grateful for it, but... She sighed, hunching forward. Despite her best attempts, she couldn’t stave off her earlier sullen mood from creeping through the brief respite. The sudden shift of moods between them hardly went unnoticed by Artemis, of course. She was all too familiar with how attuned he was to the slight changes in her body language. “Something on your mind, Commander?” Artemis ventured, his voice still light with teasing. Holly flinched visibly at his use of her newly conferred title as though he’d thrown a stifling cloak over her. An uncomfortable knot twisted in her gut. “This feels wrong,” she said abruptly, feeling the pinpricks of unshed tears sting the corners of her eyes. Artemis turned towards her, a flicker of puzzlement and concern crossing his features. Still, there was something in his gaze that suggested he was already making a calculated guess about the nature of her sudden distress. But he only leaned closer, nudging his shoulder gently against hers, even as Holly kept her arms wrapped around her chest as if to shield herself from opening up. From giving voice to the dull ache of grief and loss—fears, expectations, disappointments—she had carefully kept tucked away in the background amidst all the congratulatory wishes she’d received when her promotion had been officially announced internally to the rest of LEP. “What feels wrong?” Artemis asked. He paused, uncertain at first if she’d allow the contact, then gingerly reached for her right hand with his left to lace their fingers together. “All of it,” Holly sighed in frustration. She unconsciously tightened her grip around his fingers. The warmth of his touch was consoling and seemed to soothe something within her; she felt her vulnerabilities gradually surfacing as she spoke. “I know what this promotion means to the People, and it’s an achievement to know that I’ve worked through so many hardships just to come this far. I know it, I really do! But even so... There’s a part of me that almost can’t do it. It feels almost wrong to be a new Commander. To be standing where Julius and Vinyáya once did. To replace Julius.” “Technically, it’s less a replacement since you’re assuming command of a number of squadrons and thus continue to serve the People with your skills and experience,” Artemis began, before he caught himself. “But I digress. This isn’t the time for semantics. Especially since in hindsight, you had very obviously meant it in spirit.” Holly scowled, but she couldn’t stop a tiny smile from ghosting her lips. “Artemis, you’re my best friend and I love you, but you’re incorrigibly bad at cheering people up sometimes.” “That I am, and for that, my sincerest apologies.” Here, the young man attempted a contrite grin, even as his blue eyes softened with a touch of fondness. A rare sight indeed for Artemis Fowl, reserved wholly for those dearest to him, but one that never failed to draw a soft chuckle from the elf. “Look, Holly. You’re not replacing Julius,” Artemis continued, squeezing Holly’s fingers again in reassurance. “No one can replace Julius, much like no one can replace you. And I’m not going to drown you with platitudes—I’m sure you’ve already heard more than enough in the last couple of days. But I will say this: Julius would be immensely proud of you, as much as any of us here today. You know this, and I daresay there isn’t anyone else as qualified as you to carry on his legacy and all that he stood for.” Holly found herself matching his grin with a smile of her own at his words, the dull ache of sorrow and anxiety within her lessening. She squeezed Artemis’s fingers back, and was reminded again how much she appreciated their continued companionship over the years. And not for the first time in many years, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t known him, and Butler and Juliet. (She imagined it might have been quieter, simpler no doubt, but she was a maverick adventurer at heart and knew the boring life wouldn’t suit her anyway.) Holly chuckled softly, her mismatched eyes—one hazel, one blue—gleaming with warmth now. “Maybe you aren’t too bad at this cheering up business.” This time, it was Artemis’s turn to laugh. He inclined his head and gave her a polite nod, accepting the compliment with as much humility as his natural inclination towards smug victory would allow. “I learned from the best.” “My word, and flattery now too?” Holly was smirking now. “If I didn’t know any better, I might suspect the mastermind Artemis Fowl has been replaced with a clone. Oh right, that had been your own idea too. What do we call you now, Artemis Fowl the Second Version 2.0? Artemis Fowl Squared?” A somewhat pained and mortified expression crossed Artemis’s features, before he let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please don’t call me Artemis Fowl Squared,” he protested weakly, fingers massaging his temples. “That joke is wholly pun-based, and is neither mathematically nor biologically correct since a clone is never 100% percent an exact copy.” But his chagrin was fleeting, and he was soon laughing again with her as he conceded defeat to the same elf twice in the span of less than an hour. Then again, Holly had always been the reigning champion of their friendly verbal banters. They sat in a comfortable silence for several moments, watching the clouds drift lazily above them, listening to the thrill of birdsong in the distant woodland. “Thanks, Arty,” Holly said at length, her voice soft and grateful. “For reminding me of what Julius would do. You’ll be there at the ceremony, won’t you? You, Butler and Juliet?” “Of course. That’s the reason why you’re here today, right? To invite us to the promotion ceremony.” Holly grinned and punched his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act all innocent. You’ve probably known all about my promotion long before today and that’s how Foaly roped you into this cheering up business and what-not. Rascals, both of you.” “You have to admit, it wasn’t too bad a plan. And it worked. Besides, we hardly get to see each other—I’m almost inclined to think that either the universe has been conspiring to keep us from spending a little time together, or that you’ve secretly been avoiding me.” Artemis’s brows were arched as though scandalized by either suggestion, even as his eyes remained bright with mirth, and Holly continued to chuckle. Then his gaze softened, lips curved into a smile as he allowed himself a moment of heartfelt sincerity. “I’ve missed you, Holly. It’s good to be with you like this again.” “Me too, Artemis.” It wasn’t long before they spotted the approaching figures crossing the meadows from the direction of the manor. Butler was leading the small group, a huge wicker basket—filled with a selection of cheese and canapés, and a bottle of Jean François Ganevat Vin Jaune—in one hand, and a picnic blanket draped over the other. Juliet trailed several paces behind him, with one of the twins, Beckett Fowl, dangling from her shoulders like an energetic spider monkey. And marching stiffly with his pale fingers gripped around Juliet’s left hand was Myles Fowl, his eyes bright and piercing behind his round spectacles. “I’ll go help Butler with the picnic blanket.” Artemis stood up, brushing grass and fallen petals from his trousers. “Be right back.” Holly watched his retreating back as Artemis walked down the grassy knoll towards his family. And it struck her then just how much her friend had grown and changed (even in a cloned body) over the last two years: his frame still angular but less gangly and more lithe; his posture relaxed, almost unguarded and amiable at times. Growth and change... For the barest of moments, in the sudden gust of wind around her, Holly thought she could almost hear the ghostly whispers of Julius Root from memories past— “This promotion is not for you; it’s for the People.” “If it makes any difference, I’m proud of you, Holly.” “... Be well.” —And she smiled then, exhaling softly as she rose to her feet. “Arty, wait.” Artemis paused, glancing back at her with a puzzled look as Holly jogged up to his side and reached for his hand. “I’ll come with you.” —End—

#artemis fowl #holly short #foaly #fanfic #yuletide exchange #q

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

MJS Aftermath - SIX FEET Part 3

While humble had never been easy for Miho, she had much bowing to do when she eventually went home to face Goto’s family. Though difficult, her apologies were sincere, for she had no desire to hurt them or compound their suffering, even if they did not agree with her point of view. A compromise was struck, and though she would not concede her belief that Goto was still alive, she accepted no accord would be met and did not pursue further attempts to convince them the whole funeral thing was a sham.

She resigned herself to being the most supporting daughter and sister she could be, though Issei seemed unsurprisingly angry at her still.

Shinichi, Seiji’s father, would have liked traditional Shinto customs observed, but the circumstances being what they were, there were several steps concerning the corpse that could simply not be performed as one might with a fully intact body.

Still, Miho returned to the Goto family residence out of Tokyo to help in the preparation of food offerings; her only real contribution that all offerings be made at a reasonably cool temperature, the way Seiji would have been able to eat it. But her resolve did not waver.

As the process proceeded toward the wake, she’d had several follow-up conversations with Liana, who had pledged to use her journalistic sources to investigate what current criminal organisations within Japan would have access to highly restricted flammables, despite knowing her husband would not be impressed if he found her meddling. So far, she had come up empty, though several organised crime groups had certainly been more active of late; Liana did not keep this from Miho or Jazz, the latter who was staying in accommodations nearby to continue offering Miho her support.

On the day of the wake, everyone visibly donned the darkness of their grief, and Miho robotically greeted mourners to accept their condolences.

She wanted to shout out how pointless all their words were, their tears, when Seiji was still alive somewhere – not a pile of bones awaiting further cremation – but she kept it buried behind a stoic, if tired mask.

Priests prayed and prayed and prayed, before mourners were fed, but Miho had no appetite. Under Subaru and Jazz’s watchful eyes, she remained quiet, while those who didn’t know her very well at all whispered about how strong the wife of a police officer had to be, how brave she was.

“This is normal, right?” Subaru whispered to Jazz as the pair observed Miho’s blank expression.

Her eyes were directed at the coffin, but there was nothing to see in her gaze at all.

“Miho’s never normal,” Jazz replied just as quietly. “And you know she’s only doing this for Goto’s family; she still won’t believe he’d dead.”

“I guess, maybe I can’t blame her, after that whole thing with her ex-husband’s faked death and all,” Subaru noted, but he was scowling – after all, this was difficult for him too. “But, how long do you think this will last?”

Jazz tilted her head a little as she considered her best friend, then looked up into Subaru’s face.

“I think you know her well enough now,” she said. “If she believes something, no one will sway her.”

“So, what do we do?” he scowled, as people began to line up to say their final farewells.

“We just be here for her, if she needs us,” Jazz shrugged, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “For her, this isn’t nearly over.”

Shinichi first, Haruka then Issei, then it was Miho’s turn to stand before Goto’s coffin and bid farewell to the man she loved more than her own life.

It seemed silence fell, a thick blanket of tense expectation for those who knew how she felt; but when she spoke it was so softly only the closest ears could have overheard.

“I will never let you go,” she whispered, glaring at the coffin intensely. “And when I find you, I’m going to kick your ass for putting me and your family through this.”

That was his send off, and when all had passed and said their goodbye, the immediate family travelled to the crematorium.

It was ironic – Miho even wanted to laugh at the idea a man reduced to bone would be cooked all over again in the name of tradition – but she managed to hold it in.

Instead, she took some time alone before they all returned to the house, staring across the rows of headstones, of mausoleums.

“Not today,” she grated under her breath, jaw clenched as she was struck with an overwhelming pang of loneliness.

“Mrs. Goto,” Kaga said, clearing his throat. “I was going to congratulate you on whatever you said to unsettle Captain Ishigami,” he continued, his voice low. “But there will be more appropriate times for that.”

Miho hadn’t had as much to do with Kaga as she had Goto’s direct superior, but she knew the man was callous, or clumsy, or a mixture of the two – enough to not be offended by his awkward, misplaced dig at Ishigami.

“Tell me, Captain,” Miho said, her voice thick, her watery eyes fixed on the distance. “Do you believe it? What you’ve seen on your surveillance tapes? What you’ve heard, read in reports? Would Seiji be so incompetent as to fall prey to a death and make his wife a widow?”

For a man rarely at a loss for words, Kaga’s lips parted but no sound emerged. Unusually, he seemed to be thinking carefully before speaking.

“Would Lieutenant Goto intentionally put himself at undue risk?” he rephrased, but Miho intercepted his dodge.

“Not what I asked,” she snapped, inching a little closer to him.

“I am sure of what I observed, and am satisfied with the rigor of our forensic investigators,” he answered slowly, and Miho jumped on his hesitation.

“Damnit, Hyogo, you know what I’m asking!” she barked, giving his chest a bit of a shove, and Kaga snatched her wrist.

This caught the attention of Liana, who was standing nearby with a phone pressed to her ear.

“These are questions for Captain Ishigami,” Kaga told her, lowering his head and his tone.

“He was as slippery as you, and it’s suspicious,” Miho hissed.

“You’re grieving,” he asserted, trying to sound accommodating, maybe even sympathetic. “You’re raw and hurting and wanting all this to be a horrible nightmare, but…”

“I DISBELIEVE!” she snarled, shaking herself free, and several others looked over, including Issei.

“Captain Kaga,” Liana began amiably, as she approached to defuse a true blow-up of the situation.

She had since ended her phone call, and gave the pair her entire focus.

“Please, allow me,” she smiled warmly, slipping her hand into Miho’s.

Not quite with his tail between his legs, but certainly without reluctance, Kaga nodded and shifted away from the two women.

“You just saved him a black eye,” Miho hissed, scuffing her toes in the gravel irritably.

“Just a black eye?” Liana smirked cheekily, and this got Miho to smile wickedly.

“Yeah okay, he might have lost a little more; I’m fed up with getting chided for not being morose enough,” she muttered, allowing Liana to turn her away from the gathering at the shrine.

“Well, I just got off the phone with reliable source,” Liana explained quietly, “who said a known terrorist group on Public Safety’s watchlist called Kurai, had recently been planning a serious attack, but now the group is in chaos - something about an internal power struggle.”

“When?” Miho prompted, giving Liana her full attention.

“That’s what caught my attention,” Liana nodded. “According to my source, an attack targeting shinkansen lines was supposed to happen two days after Goto’s supposed death.”

Miho’s brows drew slowly down, but she wasn’t drawing any major conclusions yet, but the wheels were definitely turning. Liana’s acceptance of Miho’s belief in Goto’s survival was warming, a relief.

“No terrorists though,” Miho noted.

Any disruption to the train network would be big news – a case of terrorism, if it had occurred, would have been all over the news

“So their plans were disturbed,” Miho added, thinking aloud.

“I wasn’t able to get much in terms of specifics,” Liana admitted, “but,” she continued quickly, “Kurai is having a bit of a management crisis, which might explain why their plans fell through.”

“Seiji,” Miho exhaled. “This is totally his doing.”

“Entirely possible,” Liana smiled, but quickly her expression fell. “And if that’s the case, his death, could all be a part of the investigation.”

About that idea, Liana did not look at all impressed.

“I’m going to need to speak to your husband again,” Miho growled, and while Liana would defend Ishigami when he was in the right, she had no issue taking him to task when he was wrong.

“We’re staying here overnight,” Liana revealed. “I’ll give you the hotel address.”

 “Spill it,” Miho charged, the moment Liana opened the door of her hotel room.

Stunned, Ishigami blinked at the instant onslaught, but Miho did not even allow him to draw breath.

“He’s not dead, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on or…”

“Stop right there, Mrs. Goto,” Ishigami said, emerging from his stupor.

“I will not stop!” she snapped – in his face, teeth bared and savage. “Whatever this is? Terrorists? All of Japan, the world in peril? Because if it’s not, the bullshit you’re putting me, and Seiji’s family through it outrageous and I…”

“You need to calm down,” he tried to reason, but Liana could see the cracks forming in his demeanour.

“Would you? If I told you Liana was dead, tell me you wouldn’t be in my face demanding answers,” Miho pressed, finally stabbing a finger against his chest, and there Ishigami lost his cool.

“That is enough,” he snapped, and even Liana flinched.

Miho’s lips continued to move, but no sound emerged.

After a few tense seconds, Ishigami adjusted his glasses and exhaled a slow sigh.

“Kurai,” Miho prompted, more tempered in tone. “Seiji infiltrated them, didn’t he?”

Walking to the window, Ishigami sighed again.

“Yes,” Ishigami admitted, softly. “And… his death… is essential to not only the success of the operation, but to his survival because…”

Hanging off his every word, Miho leaned forward; Ishigami turned back to the room and pair of expectant gazes, his own serious.

“There is a mole in Public Safety.”

“Who?” Miho blurted.

“If I knew that, all this would not be necessary,” Ishigami grumbled, fiddling with his glasses again. “The only way to protect him and his contact within Kurai, is to convince everyone in Public Safety he is no longer in play.”

“So… who does know he’s alive?” Liana asked.

“Myself, Chief Namba, and now the two of you, against my better judgement,” he answered wearily. “Though I must say, I am immensely relieved to have brought your suffering to an end.”

“I’d still be livid if I didn’t know you genuinely did this to protect Seiji,” Miho nodded slowly. “But am still pissed off you didn’t think me capable of feigning grief.”

“This is a case of substantial import,” Ishigami insisted. “Telling anyone what you have learned could not only destroy our chances of bringing down Kurai, but lead to catastrophic infrastructure damage and death.”

“I got it,” Miho huffed, running her fingers through her hair in a frustrated manner, before reaffixing her gaze on him.

Softer.

Beseeching.

“Have you had contact with him?” she asked, voice so much smaller. “Is he injured?”

“Not… recently, no,” he admitted, motioning for her to sit.

She complied.

“But his last communication was directly to my private number informing me of his status – unharmed – a brief situational report, and his strong suspicion he and his contact had been compromised by a mole in Public Safety.”

It wasn’t until a cup of tea appeared before her, that Miho realised Liana had snuck away. With a small smile, Miho accepted the offering.

“So, what do you do now?” she frowned, before blowing softly against the rim of her mug.

“Well,” Ishigami began again, moving to also sit. “I will have to inform Chief Namba that you’re now aware of the situation. He will probably wish to speak to you himself.”

  Though he was the Chief of Public Safety, when Miho followed Ishigami into Namba’s office, the broad-shouldered looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“So, where do you want it, Jin?” she dropped, flat and cold and staring daggers.

“Excuse me?” Namba blinked, looking from Miho to his subordinate.

“I believe she means to hit you,” Ishigami translated, and Namba’s brows twitched.

“Hit is the polite translation,” Miho snorted, pointing at him sharply. “I get your need for secrecy, but all this is bullshit – I should have been told.”

“Ah,” he nodded, shifting a little before his fingers knitted together before him.

“No doubt Captain Ishigami has now explained the seriousness of the situation?”

At this, it was Ishigami’s turn to squirm a little.

“I think we both know, Mrs. Goto is not one to let something go once she has sunk her teeth into it,” he said, then wished he’d used different phrasing when Miho bared her teeth.

“You knew marrying a skilled undercover agent could result in time apart,” Namba explained. “And that strict rules of confidentiality would prevent you from knowing the details of his missions.”

This was true, but in Miho’s mind, what they had done to her and the rest of Goto’s family was way beyond that.

“You killed me,” she asserted, tone low and dangerous as she leaned forward across his desk. “You carved out my heart, and you set it beside the heart of his mother, and father and brother…”

“For Lieutenant Goto’s safety,” Namba insisted.

“And that’s the only reason I haven’t crawled over this desk and ripped out your throat,” she growled, at which point, Ishigami did the brave thing and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“That is quite enough,” he told her firmly. “We are all sorry for the pain you have experienced, but as I said earlier, the greater good was, is served by the continuing secrecy of Goto’s mission.”

Surprisingly, Miho didn’t throw his hand off. In fact, she straightened and let out a long breath to balance herself before resettling her gaze on Namba.

“So, I suppose you want to get him home,” he then said, a sparkle lighting up his eyes. “And since you no doubt know most of what’s going on - if I’m right about your interrogation abilities – I have an idea of just how you can help do that.”

“Sir?” Ishigami frowned, but Namba held his hand up.

“If it was to become known in Public Safety circles, that you had received a missive from Lieutenant Goto prior to his death, and that you felt it necessary to take action upon that information…”

“That could draw the mole out to ensure what I fictionally know doesn’t reveal their identity,” Miho finished thoughtfully, already nodded.

Ishigami, meanwhile, was not.

“I am very much against this,” he declared. “Involving Mrs. Goto in this investigation is…”

“A brilliant idea,” Miho interrupted.

“Irresponsible,” Ishigami corrected. “A traitor in our midst willing to put the safety of the public and his or her colleagues at risk, in the firing line of the Kurai, is not someone against whom a civilian should be pitted. I should also think Lieutenant Goto would not want his wife put in undue danger.”

“Lieutenant Goto knows better than to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Miho sniffed, then flashed a nasty grin toward Namba. “Flush that son of a bitch in my direction, Chief.”

“Chief Namba,” Ishigami said, as serious as he may have ever been. “I will go on record with my disagreement; Mrs. Goto should not be any further involved in this!”

For a few seconds following the rise of his voice, the two others looked at him a little surprised.

“You don’t want me in danger, I get it,” Miho told him finally, her expression softening a little. “But Seiji can’t come home until the mole is revealed, and this will work. I doubt Chief Namba has a mind to strip me naked, tie a bow around my neck and shout-out to all potential traitors to come have a poke.”

Both men immediately blushed.

Like, fires of hell heat in their cheeks you could see in pitch black.

“For crying out loud, you’re both grown men,” she huffed. “The point is, I’m not signing up to die, but to be very well guarded bait. Do you have people who are above reproach? Kurosawa, surely,” Miho answered, before they could. “He idolises Seiji. There’s no way he would do anything to put him in danger.”

“Soma and Kaga,” Namba put in, though at the last name, Ishigami’s nose wrinkled.

“I’m not so sure about the last,” he declared.

“Leave him out then… Subaru… call Subaru in. He would never let anything happen to me.”

“He may well have a few things to say in opposition,” Ishigami added.

“Then he can stow it too,” Miho huffed. “Chief Namba, will you set this up?”

With only a few seconds hesitation, Namba nodded his assent, and Miho exhaled.

“I’ll wait for your instructions,” she sighed. “Whatever it is you need me to do, I will, don’t question that for a second.”

“I don’t think anyone would dare,” he noted, and there concluded the meeting.

Dun dun duuuun... the final part!

#voltage #voltage fanfiction #hlitf #her love in the force #her love in the force fanfiction #her love in the force angst #seiji goto #miho #kaga #namba #soma #kurosawa #shinonome #angst #drama

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

Gotham 4x10 (*screams* SPOILERS!)

-who the frick is in charge of Arkham because PROFESSOR PYG IS DEFINITELY NOT IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT LIKE HE SHOULD BE GOSH HE ISN'T EVEN RESTRAINED LIKE CAN YOU BELIEVE HE FLIPPED OUT AND MURDERED SOMEONE?

*sighs* this is why Gotham can't have nice things

-Sofia in a red dress, looking gorgeous, spinning her webs. I can't decide if she does care for Jim at all or not. I mean, either way, she is hell-bent on manipulating him to her purposes

-Lee trying to bring order to Crime Alley...and it's actually kinda working for the moment

-Ed: You're cool and all healing people's kiddos but you know who you are forgetting?

Lee: yeah yeah i'm working on you

Ed: "you say that and yET I remain a MORON!!!"

I love Ed Nygma always

-Oswald confronts Sofia and she just seems to fall apart? NAH PENGUIN I BET SHE STILL HAS A WEB YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED YET

-Victor Z (sass)z "Coincidence? I think not"

-"Bravo, Oswald." OMG SOFIA JUST FLIPPED THE SWITCH. JUST ABSOLUTELY DESTROYS OSWALD

-OMG Oswald is trying not to break down in grief or rage just goes on about what he is gonna do to Sofia and she just...looks bored as HECK meanwhile Victor is back there just like geez

-is it just me or does Victor seem sad he won't be the one to torture Sofia?

-SO not here for Pyg and his gleeful creepy little self...who has like a metal jaw or something idk

-EWWWWW I HATE PYG

-"this is Gotham. You're a second class psychopath compared to what we've got. Jerome Velaska. Fish Mooney. Penguin." BURN HIM, JIM. BURN HIM TO THE GROUND

-uh what the heck kinda accent was THAT

-Lee and Ed walk into the lair of some gangster guy, and the lair looks like 1930's Brooklyn or something

-Ed does NOT take kindly to being called a has-been

-well Sofia is in the hot seat after all. Or not she's got this YIKES THIS WOMAN HAS GUTS

-out of the frying pan and into the fire

-bahahahahaha Sofia is like uh y'all know penguin hates my guts?

-Oswald taking Martin (Martine? How is this kid's name spelled?) Under his wing is really cute in an evil kind of way. He is just so excited to have a friend and to have someone who he can mold in his image...very human, if twisted

-WHAT

-WHAT MARTIN LIED

-OMG SOFIA WANTED OSWALD TO KNOW THEY KISSED SHE WAS PLAYING OSWALD THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME

-Oswald: where's Sofia?!?!?!?

Victor Z (sass)z: tbh idk but she is with your ex-employee right now so

Oswald: wHAT?!?!?!?!?!?! HOW DO YOU KNOW

Victor Z: *scrunches his mouth up and talks out of the side* she's oN the phONE

-aw man I had kinda hoped Lee was getting through to gangster man, winning with diplomacy. I am a fool. This is Gotham

-LOL Victor thrilled to use his rocket launcher :D

-Sofia is THE chessmaster

-Jim, speaking in the police station that has been shot up, blown up, over-run by criminals and psycho vigilantes and clowns alike: don't worry, Sofia, Penguin can't get to you in here.

Me: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

-OH MAN JIM FINALLY FIGURES SOFIA OUT BUT WHAT CAN HE DO

-awww I feel bad for lil Martin...

-OH MY GOSH Jim wants to ally with OSWALD?! I love you my guy but you just keep digging yourself into the deepest holes. Better the devil you know though, huh?

-Gordon and Cobblepot team up again??

-Ed: I think she was pretty clear *looks at Lee and they nod to each other*

Me: I AM LOVING THIS TEAM-UP I AM

-HEY HEY HEY NOBODY BETTER TOUCH A HAIR ON MARTIN'S HEAD YA HEAR!!

-it's ridiculous but I really really love Victor Zsasz like any time he is on the screen I am just like ah there goes my favorite sassy psycho assassin, do your thing sir

-ooohh Oswald figured out how to get under Sofia's skin!!!

-WOW Oswald really cares about Martin and humbles himself for the kiddo's life O.O

-Martin is too cute!

-W!T!F!!!!!!

HE DIDN'T OH MY GOSH HE SAID GOODBYE AND MADE HIM FEEL LOVED AND THEN BOOM AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOO I HATE THIS SHOW

-I love mopey Ed and I love Lee she "likes who he has become" "who's that" "Ed Nygma my friend" AAAHHHH MY HEART

-ok Barbara is so done with Sofia and it's great

-AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OH MY YESSSSSSS *SPOILERS* MARTIN IS ALIVE YESSSSSSSS

-OSWALD AND MARTIN THE CUTEST RELATIONSHIP I NEVER SAW COMING I WANT TO CRY FOR BOTH OF THEM. OSWALD DOING WHATEVER NECESSARY TO KEEP THE BOY SAFE EVEN IF IT MEANS GIVING HIM UP. OSWALD NOT BEING SELFISH AWWW

(Meanwhile Victor is rolling his eyes at the emotional farewell like dude we have bigger problems right now lol)

-I really really hate Professor Pyg

-oops the Riddler is back

-WHERE IS BRUCE WHERE IS MY POOR ANGSTY SON WHO NEEDS A GIBBS SLAP AND A HUG?? WHERE US HIS POOR BELEAGUERED BUTLER?? ?

#gotham season four #gotham spoilers #jim gordon sofia falcone oswald cobblepot ed nygma martin lee thompkins #where is bruce #i am so glad martin is ok #i love victor zsasz as always #where is harvey is he ok? probably not

[mailorderfictionalcharacter]

a list of semi coherent thoughts I’ve had about mcu wanda maximoff

0.5 this post is open to discourse. if u are unwilling to see viewpoints that are pro wanda or anti wanda this is not the post 4 u.

1. wanda runs off of very powerful emotions and that’s an a + character trait. her rage fueled grief and power is just fascinating to watch.

2. ew whitewashing why do you do this to me mcu. stop. enough.

3. yeah it’s kind of ridiculous to kill the ex-ceo of a weapons company that killed your parents as compared to whoever fired the missiles or whoever ordered said military action but it’s not that ridiculous if you apply the barest modicum of generous interpretation to it.

Tony Stark was emblematic of the very destructive American ideal of we’re great and right and coming with guns. Going off of IM2, even as he was doing great things (”I’ve successfully privatized world peace”) his performance was still very um American (”no one’s man enough to go [against me]”). Like as audience members we get it but I could see how that sort of look-at-me attitude would not ring like redemption to someone in that much emotional pain. Like, you could easily read their actions as being about attacking every American/foreign influence figure head, which is sort of supported by the fact that the twins wanted the avengers down not just Tony Stark.

If the weapons were illegally sold there’s no guarantee the twins knew that Tony wasn’t responsible. It’s possible Tony leaked the truth about Obadiah after the “I Am Iron Man” press conference, but the original plan was a SHIELD coverup.

I’m not inclined to conflate profiting of our wrongs or moral ambiguities on the same moral level as instigating wrongs, but it’s also up in the air whether or not Stark Industries cared about collateral damage in the design of their weapons and that’s something the twins could legitimately blame them for. IM1 canon is a mixed bag - we have intellicrops (concern for philanthropy) but we also have, y’know the Jericho (the weapon that levels mountains)

(read more under the cut)

tl;dr: wanda is a fascinating flawed character who suffers from writing problems but she’s also wearing the name of a jewish/romani woman even though marvel studios is too much of a coward to translate that to film & i’m perpetually bitter and indecisive about everything.

4. the twins had enormous social factors encouraging them to hate the avengers/america. even american media was questioning the avengers; shield had fell; people were putting up anti avengers graffiti

5. considering the twins spent their formative years in a country at war and lost their parents I’m assuming they went through quite a few economic hardships.

6. what sort of access did the twins have to media or education?

7. I’m not inclined to blame the twins for their desire to get revenge but it is worth noting that they seemed to have very little concern for collateral damage even though the only thing we as an audience knows for certain is that the whole reason they’re seeking revenge is because of collateral damage.

8. there’s a gap of 8-12 years between the death of their parents and their attack on the avengers. no matter what mitigating circumstances there were (and I think there were a lot) that’s a premeditated crime

9. there’s a lot of parallels between wanda maximoff and kira nerys except the writers on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine actually cared about Kira Nerys.

10. both of Wanda’s major fuck ups (willingly unleashing the Hulk on Johannesburg and failing to protect everyone in Lagos) happened in African countries. I believe in some suspension of belief for superhero movies but I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate to be like hey! look at Wanda! the whitewashed character who fucks things up in African countries! such girl power! great anti-imperialism message!

(I mean, the same disregard applies to all the avengers though. I’m pretty sure the safest interpretation of Lagos is “the avengers could have done better by not fighting in proximity with a bunch of civilians” which is on Steve. And unless I fever dreamed this Steve tosses his cowl at the feet of anti-avengers graffiti in the beginning of aou and there is nothing appropriate about that).

11. Wanda was introduced in AOU, a movie with sub par dialogue and tbh I have a feeling Whedon et.al never thought through the implications of Johannesburg bc he just wanted a convenient way to introduce a hulkbuster fight.

12. tbh I really want a scarlet witch movie to fix all of this but I also really want a recast and I know I won’t get either (fanon wanda is the best because we can fix all of this with a hammer).

13. CA:CW seemed to draw on a lot of Wanda’s comic history (specifically in the oppression metaphors) but since it followed the clusterfuck that was AOU I can’t exactly give them a standing ovation for that.

14. ca:cw did a very bad job following through wanda’s plot threads from aou. tbh I’m not even team we need to stretch Wanda’s redemption arc further but idk, it might be nice if she mentioned her dead brother or tied the Lagos incident/Sokovia accords to, idk, her past living in a war zone.

15. ca:cw could’ve given me wanda wryly commenting on how luxurious the compound was compared to sokovia but instead it gave the should-be-jewish character a cross in her bedroom and fuck that marvel why don’t you just stake me through the heart so I don’t have to deal with your bullshit

16. I wish wanda in the airport scene was more about her desire to do good (go stop the supersoldiers) than the awkward oppression metaphor

17. although push come to shove I would’ve focused on poverty/american foreign intervention over calling the powers she volunteered for the source of her oppression the whole raft scene does demonstrate that people whose powers (or even training) cannot be separated like say Sam and the Falcon or Tony and the suits face a special criminal justice risk.

but this isn’t really relevant to the accords, which are not the SHRA and honestly the same ethical problem of how to incarcerate enhanced people exists whether or not someone is acting as a superhero (is it ethical to put a psychic murderer in solitary confinement if that’s the only way to prevent them from using their powers to escape or assault guards?)

18. according to beta canon/film subtext wanda & pietro did not willingly sign up to work with hydra. Just good to remember.

19. I will forever be attached to the idea of wanda liking Vision’s company because he is both practically invulnerable (not going to get shot 7 times on a floating city) and emotionally dependent on her support (just like Pietro). (this is not implying twincest btw)

20. I think wanda’s house arrest in ca:cw is not completely unreasonable (she’s probably awaiting investigation & is at risk of being hurt/hurting others from mob violence) but definitely steve (and probably natasha & sam) should be under house arrest as well. but they aren’t, and I think it’s fair to say that in universe that’s xenophobia/anti-immigrant sentiment. why be afraid of the american icon when you can be afraid of the poor sokovian woman?

21. antis make way too much of the whole “she’s just a kid line”. like steve was responding to tony calling her, a human being, a weapon of mass destruction. like, he was just trying to humanize her and calling the youngest person in a group a kid even when they’re an adult isn’t that strange.

22. in lagos wanda was trying so damn hard to stop that bomb and yes she didn’t manage it but blaming her instead of steve? uh gross.

23. how much experience does she have? yes tony stark throwing himself into superheroics worked out surprisingly well but superheroes need training

24. I insist marvel release a 22 page dissertation on wanda’s mind powers but also if I don’t like it I’ll call it not canon. (my initial theory was that she produces ptsd symptoms - even if the person normally doesn’t suffer from ptsd - but something in the confidence that she can manipulate tony before entering his mind makes me think she has slight suggestive abilities beyond fear and also thor’s vision arguably followed a different vein)

25. antis like to argue that the maximoffs only turned on ultron because it benefited them but let’s be clear the maximoffs fought ultron because they thought he was wrong and wanted to personally help. they could’ve just tipped off the avengers and left or left ultron to do whatever ultron was going to do and only fought him if he directly came after them okay the twins had options and they chose the most altruistic option.

26. ppl who say wanda isn’t really whitewashed because marvel’s decades of retcons have whitewashed her at past points are pretty much using a two-wrongs argumentative fallacy.

#wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff critical #pro wanda maximoff #anti wanda maximoff #ptsd mention #ptsd cw #anxiety cw #mcu #this is what I do when I'm nervous whoops

[keldae]

Recruitment

In the last year and a half, the Fleet cantina onboard Carrick Station had experienced a steadily-decreasing population. In times past, the place would have been filled with smugglers, mercenaries, off-duty soldiers, and Jedi passing through on Order (or personal) business; now most of those normal regulars had been killed or, in the case of the Jedi, driven into exile. Even the smugglers were fewer, with most of them having fallen to Zakuul’s harsh justice system or laying low to avoid said justice.

Theron knew the man he was looking to meet was still alive and kicking, having slipped through Zakuul’s fingers more than once already. Hopefully he wasn’t as afraid to show his face as the spy was currently dreading.

The dark-haired agent took a swallow from the bottle in front of him, the low burn of what claimed to be Corellian ale (but given how expensive such a luxury was nowadays, probably just a knock-off) lingering in the back of his throat. It was a self-medication that he’d turned to ever since the news of Darth Marr’s flagship being destroyed had reached his ears, with the confirmation of her death aboard it. Or had she been captured and taken to Zakuul for execution there? Reports conflicted. Either way, she was gone from the galaxy, her like to never be seen again, and the void in his heart that she’d left behind one that would never be filled.

The only thing that kept him from succumbing to the pain that threatened to consume him was the thought of revenge, or justice, or whatever the kriff one wanted to call it. But Theron knew not even he, in all of his grief-filled rage, could make Zakuul burn by himself for what they’d done. He needed help.

That help dropped into the booth across from him, once all cocky smiles and charismatic bravado, now hunched shoulders and dark lines under his eyes and grey showing up in his dark blond hair. Theron was willing to bet that the normally-laughing, prank-masterminding smuggler hadn’t so much as smiled since the news of his sister’s death. “You look like hell,” the newcomer quietly said by way of greeting, his voice low and rougher than Theron had grown accustomed to.

“So do you, Captain,” Theron answered the spacer, watching Korin Taerich flinch minutely. “Are you…”

“Okay?” Korin snorted bitterly. “My sister was killed by those sons of bitches from Wild Space. My little brother’s been killed by the Wrath- you know they found his mask in the wreck of what used to be his apartment? He never took that off in public, didn’t want to be identifiable without it...”

Theron nodded, remembering the surprisingly-young Darth Imperius, who looked and acted more like his older Jedi sister than any Sith would have expected. “He hated that thing, didn’t he?”

“Figures it’d be the only thing of his to…” Korin trailed off and gave the innocent table between himself and Theron a dark glare. “... And my father’s gone completely off the radar, no idea where the hell he is or if he’s even still alive an’ unless he contacts me, no way to know anythin’ about him. How the hell do you think I am?”

Theron had lost his lover. Korin had lost his sister, his brother, and possibly his father. The spy pushed over the still-unopened bottle of ale beside him. “Look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” Korin mumbled as he accepted the bottle, cracked it open with a practiced twist of his wrist, and took a long drink from it. “You still look like shit.”

“Feel like it.” The words escaped Theron’s mouth before he could reign them in. Maybe his own drink had hit him harder than he’d thought, especially considering he wasn’t eating or sleeping more than the bare minimum to survive, now that he thought about it. “Nothing’s been right since she…”

Korin’s hazel eyes widened slightly. “You an’ her were-”

“We never talked about it,” Theron said quickly, and perhaps a bit too harshly. “We- I thought there’d be time to…” The pause was painful and made Theron’s throat ache with a cry of grief he couldn’t give voice to, not here, not now. 

“The son of a bitch on that gorram shiny throne’s gonna answer for this,” Korin finally growled, eyes flashing. “Dunno how, but I’m gonna kill him myself.”

“If I don’t first,” Theron muttered, hand tightening around his ale.

“... I take left side, you take right?”

“Works for me.”

“Good.” Korin took another swig of his drink. “Now we just gotta find a way to burn Zakuul to its own damn core. Any plans?”

“Not directly, but I do have a suggestion.” Theron hadn’t contacted Korin for a social call, after all. He reached under his jacket and pulled out a datapad. “You’re damn good at your job, you know.”

“I’m still here, ain’t I?” Korin scowled at his drink. “Besides, bein’ good at what they did didn’t save Xaja or Sorand from-” His sentence ended abruptly as pain flashed through his eyes, a pain Theron felt too well, something that couldn’t be helped with meds or kolto. “... Sorry.”

Theron’s shoulders slumped under his jacket as he focused very, very intently on his datapad. In a fair fight, Xaja should have won any fight that came her way, even against Emperor Arcann. Hell, she’d fought Vitiate and won before, hadn’t she? He took a moment to regain his composure (it wouldn’t do for him to break down here, of all places, with regret and mourning for Xaja Taerich consuming him so completely), then looked back at Korin when he felt marginally more stable. “Like I was saying- you’re good. Hell, you’re almost as good as me as a slicer, and I know you can smooth-talk your way onto Dromund Kaas of all places, maybe even Zakuul. And you’re Force-sensitive enough to be dangerous in all the right ways to the right people.”

“You didn’t yank me out here to stroke my ego, Shan. What is it?”

This was borderline treason against the Republic, depending who one talked to. Theron didn’t care. He pushed the datapad over the table at Korin. “I’m offering you a job.”

“What, with the SIS?”

“No. I need an asset who’s as good as me, on the same plan as me, and not tied to the Republic.” Theron took a deep breath, knowing the hell he would catch from the Director or his father if news of this got out. He’d just been reinstated not that long ago, too… but he didn’t care. “And somebody with a healthy regard for discretion… and who wants the same thing I do.”

“Arcann’s metallic head on a platter.” Korin lifted the datapad, reading Theron’s proposed offer. “You train me into bein’ your mini-me, send me out into the dark an’ nasty areas of space you can’t get to, an’ have me report directly back to you without your bosses gettin’ wind of this?”

“Essentially, yeah. I don’t think I need to say what’ll happen to me if this gets out.”

“Half surprised that schutta in the Senate didn’t try to have you excommunicated entirely after Ziost already.”

“Who says she didn’t?”

Korin snorted mirthlessly. “Hated that woman from the minute I first landed on Taris, way the hell back when.” He set the datapad down and met Theron’s eyes head-on. “When do I start?”

Theron blinked in surprise. “What, no bickering on the salary?” It wasn’t like Theron was exactly swimming in credits despite his workaholic tendencies, but he had enough to compensate Korin modestly for this… not that he’d ever known any career criminal like Korin to be satisfied with merely ‘modest’.

“For this? Revenge on Zakuul and a middle finger to Saresh?” Korin’s eyes glittered maliciously. “I’d do this for free. All I want out of this extra is a chance to kill Maglion for what he did to my brother. Bonus points if we can figure out where the kriff my father is.”

“Done. You see that opportunity, you take it. I’ll even help kill the bastard- not your father, obviously.”

“Think we got ourselves a deal then.” Korin reached across the table and shook Theron’s hand.

“Good. My place at 0800 tomorrow- coordinates are on the datapad.” For the first time since before Xaja was murdered and Zakuul invaded, Theron felt something approaching a smile on his face- that is, if the tightening of his mouth in a grim vengeance-promising expression could be called a smile. “This sounds like the start of a wonderful partnership, Captain.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good workin’ with ya again… for you? Whatever.”

“Technicalities we can bicker about later.” Theron raised a hand in farewell as Korin collected the datapad and strode out of the cantina, then turned his attention toward the bar again. Seeing his dead lover’s brother made his heart hurt again in a way that no Jedi training could banish. Besides, it wasn’t like Korin had never seen him hungover before…

Eight months later....

“Hey, so, deal’s changed a bit. I picked up a new crewmember- but he’s gold, and knows his shit. And snoopy as hell, too.”

Theron sighed and gave Korin a dark glare that was almost obscured by the Promenade’s shadows. “Remind me why I hired you again and called you out here?”

“Because I’m damn good, that’s why. Besides, you’ll like this guy. Best part is that nobody knows he exists.” Korin turned and waved to a tall, lanky-looking stranger in an alcove a few paces off, wearing lighter-styled Mandalorian armour and with a dark scarf wrapped around his head and face.

Something about the stride of the stranger hinted at familiarity to Theron, but he still scowled at Korin. “If you risked security for this guy, he’d better be better than me at my job, and more devoted to the cause.”

“Better than you? Hardly- well, not yet anyway.” The stranger lowered his scarf from his face, making Theron blink in shock. The accent was changed, now more Mandalorian than Imperial, and the eyes were dark brown and lined with dark bags underneath, and the hair was longer- hell, there was even a hint of scruffy facial hair. “But how does an ex-Sith with a vengeance pact for his sister sound?”

Theron stared numbly at the stranger for a long minute. “... You’re dead though,” he finally said. “The Wrath-”

“-Is known for brutality and fanatical devotion to Vitiate- not necessarily toward great strategic decisions. And I had enough advance warning of his intentions from my father to be able to fake my own death and escape.” Sorand Taerich shrugged and shot a quick glance around the Promenade. “Nobody knew my real name before my ascension, and nobody would recognize Darth Imperius without the mask, especially not in Mandalorian space.”

“Your wife’s Mandalorian…” Theron breathed out as the pieces came together.

“And scary as hell when she wants to be. She got me adopted into her clan, and I don’t even think her alor was going to argue with her on that.”

“I can believe it. I’ve met Shara.” Theron frowned. “But the body they found in your apartment…”

“A particularly disrespectful Acolyte who was unlucky enough to look like me. You probably don’t want to know what Revel and I did to him before leaving him as a stand-in.”

“... No, you’re right, I really don’t.” Theron shook his head and clapped Sorand’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you alive and intact.”

“It’s good to be alive and intact to watch my children grow up.” Sorand’s eyes turned fond at the thought of his offspring. “Cuyan was born just after I escaped, and Rav’s three years old now.”

“Never would have thought a Sith could be such a doting parent, right?” Korin asked Theron with a grin. Such expressions were still rare from the spacer, but they were coming more often now. The restoration of his brother had done a great deal to heal his heart after the loss of his entire family, apparently.

Sorand rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to the uncle who’s on a set mission to spoil both my kids rotten.” He paused and looked at the durasteel plating under the three men, sorrow tangible even to Theron. “Xaja would have loved them…”

It was a perfect segway into Theron’s news. “I spoke with Lana a few days ago,” he started, watching both of Xaja’s brothers perk up attentively. “She’s been in contact with some Zakuulans whose sympathies do not lie with Arcann.” He hesitated for only a second. “Your sister might still be alive, frozen in carbonite in the Spire.”

Two sets of eyes, one hazel and one brown, widened in shock and a mirror of the same renewed hope that had invaded Theron’s heart the second Lana had told him that. And with that, the group of people in on the plans to rescue the Jedi prisoner from carbonite captivity doubled.

#swtor #odessen #korin #theron #smuggler oc #darth imperius #sorand #in which the smuggler becomes a spy #and also in which Theron and Korin are besties #angst #pre-Operation Thaw-The-Popsicle #theron's about a step away from embarking on a long and successful career as an alcoholic #sibling affection

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Mick and Len never reunite after the Great Fire (no Flash reunion then) and somehow both get roped into the waverider where they finally see each other again and rekindle. Coldwave, obviously :)

A bit on the short side, but I wanted to post some Coldwave :D plus this verse amuses me, so keeping the door open to potentially more…

Fic: Keeping Cool (AO3 link)Fandom: Flash, DC’s Legends of TomorrowPairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Leonard Snart is most definitely losing his cool. (in which Captain Cold has no chill)

———————————-

Len prides himself on keeping his cool under any situation. It’s his thing, his theme, his raison d’etre – he’s Captain Cold now, even. It’s part of his identity. Police sirens right outside the door when he’s trying to break a lock? No problem. Dissatisfied mobster thugs trying to shoot him while he’s reloading? Big deal. Locked in prison with (supposedly) no way out? Whatever.

No matter what’s going on, he keeps his cool.

Well, except now.

Right now, he is most definitely losing his cool.

“I guess that means we have two criminals on the team,” the dorky scientist guy says, shaking his head like he’s regretting all of his life choices, like he can’t understand why in the world Time Traveler Guy would pick – well, them. “At least you guys will have someone to hang out with, I guess?”

And stay away from the rest of us, he means.

Normally, someone sets themselves up like that, Len has half a dozen witty insults up his sleeve to trip them up.

Len keeps his damn mouth shut.

It’s Mick.

Holy crap, it’s Mick.

Len thought it was enough, keeping tabs on him from far away, paying people for medical records, updates, pictures, bad cell phone videos. Confirmations that he was recovering from the fire, that he was doing well, that he hadn’t been snapped up by the cops or abused by his newest employers. Quiet chats with shady acquaintance-of-acquaintances to make sure the jobs Mick signed up for went right, and that Mick always got paid his fair share. Knowing he was alive and well, even if he wasn’t by Len’s side.

He’d thought that was enough.

He was an idiot.

It was nothing.

Mick is –

He’d forgotten how Mick fills a room, his looming presence always noticeable, at least to Len. How sharp his eyes are under the pretense of stupidity, how he can turn his bulk from intimidating to friendly in a second, how - how everything about him makes Len’s heart stop in its chest.

Mick scowls at him, and turns away.

Len stiffly turns away as well.

Right.

He’d forgotten why, exactly, he’d forgotten all of that.

We’re over.

It’s fine, though.

Len’s a professional.

Len’s Captain Cold.

He can handle this.

They - meaning the merry band of time travelers - end up going back to the 1970s, and then they - meaning the less pure-white-and-shining of the team, i.e. the thief, the arsonist, and the assassin - promptly get ditched, with a side order of babysitting duties over the only kid in America who looked at the time-travelling spaceship and said “Nah, not for me.”

Sara suggests going out for a drink; Mick agrees whole-heartedly, with the tone of someone who wants to get drunk as soon as possible.

Len agrees, because if Mick’s going to go get drunk in the 70s, Len’s going to be there watching his back - god, the 70s; he remembers how easy it was for his dad to get hold of hard drugs when he was a kid, and not always even on purpose - even if Mick doesn’t particularly care for his presence. They can sit apart at the bar, it’s fine.

It’s cool.

They leave the kid behind. No need to scar impressionable minds any more than they have to.

Sara tries to flirt with Len, though patently unseriously.

Len stares blankly at her. Normally he’d play along, but at the moment…

“Not your style? S’cool,” she says, and goes to start a bar fight.

Len finds himself shooting a glance, all raised eyebrows and amusement, at Mick, but Mick’s not looking back, almost pointedly not looking back, and instead he’s jumping forward into the fray, that maniacal grin of his firmly on his face.

Fighting alongside Mick is –

Len nearly gets clobbered because he keeps being distracted just watching.

Mick glares at him.

They go back to the ship and nearly get murdered by a team of temporal bounty hunters with high powered lasers, because Rip Hunter is an idiot.

Also, heroes seem to carry existential “kick me” signs painted in neon lights over their heads. Len had always suspected it was true, but seriously - they were gone for less than three hours!

Once they’re safely back on board, the hero crew demands an explanation.

And Rip -

Rip tells them the truth this time.

Len listens with half an ear. He mostly steals glances at Mick.

Rip offers them all a choice: go home, or go on. Up to them, now that they know the truth, that they’re going to be hunted for this mission, that they’re all on their own, that some grief-stricken asshole decided to involve them on his personal vendetta instead of actually caring about saving the future.

They all take a little time to decide whether or not they want to stay on with the mission.

Sara leads the charge for those agreeing to stay.

Len shrugs noncommittally when she asks him.

Sara frowns thoughtfully at him, then goes to ask Mick.

“Don’t see why you care,” he says. “I don’t even have a weird shtick like the rest of you.”

“To be perfectly honest,” she says, and that’s good, Mick always appreciated blunt honesty, “it’s just that I think Snart’s cold gun will be pretty damn useful in a fight, and if D&D’s taught me one thing it’s that having a thief around is always handy.”

That’s not good. What the hell? How is that relevant to whether Mick is staying or going? Did she somehow miss the fact that Mick doesn’t even look in Len’s direction?

Mick scowls. “And what does that have to do with me?”

Len agrees.

“The fact that the man’s got a crush on you that can be seen from space,” she says.

Mick blinks.

Len – eavesdropping from the next room over – contemplates bashing his head against the wall.

“He does not,” Mick objects.

“He really does,” Sara says. “Totally losing his head over you. It’s somewhere between hilarious and pathetic, how bad he’s got it. I assume that’s why he’s waiting to see what you pick before deciding.”

“He’s…leaving it up to me?” Mick says disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Sara says. “So what do you think?”

“I need a minute,” Mick says.

Shit.

Len looks for a place to dash off to, but Mick turns the corner too quick for him.

Possibly because Mick always did know where Len preferred to eavesdrop from. Also possible that Len’s been less-than-subtle with his stalking - and yes, he knows it’s blatant stalking, and following your ex around is both creepy and pathetic, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“Are you waiting for me to decide?” Mick demands, not even pausing.

“Um,” Len says.

Mick waits a few seconds, but no, really, that’s all Len’s got right now.

Damnit. He used to be cool, once upon a time.

“Why the hell would you let me pick?“ Mick exclaims. “I don’t even have a superpowered doohickey like the rest of these assholes!”

“Actually,” Len says.

“Actually what?”

“My cold gun comes with a matching heat gun and I brought it with me, it’s in my room, you can have it if you like,” Len says all at once.

Mick stares.

Len shifts a little from one foot to the next.

“You brought that for me,” Mick says, eyes still narrow.

“Yes,” Len says.

“When did you get it?”

“Same time I found the cold gun,” Len says, slightly puzzled. “I told you, they were a matching set –”

“Are you telling me you carted a heat gun around this entire time you were a supervillain on the off chance that you could give it to me?”

“It sounds rather sad when you put it that way,” Len says, because it does, actually. Apparently he was never cool. “I didn’t know if you were willing to see me, after what I did.”

“After what you did?”

“Leaving,” Len clarifies. Only his biggest mistake, and he’s counting the Alexa disaster.

“Oh,” Mick says. He blinks.

“Wait,” Sara says, having followed Mick to the door. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Mick says. “We’re partners. And we’re staying with you, at least a little longer.”

“Great!” she says, then flounces off to badger Ray about it.

Which is probably for the best, because Len’s pretty sure he looks like he’s been hit in the face with a two-by-four.

“We are?” Len asks, because that’s - that’s more than he hoped for. Hell, he’d just have been happy being on the same ship with Mick, all things considered. But partners again?

Good things like that didn’t just happen.

“For now,” Mick says, like he wasn’t making Len’s day - hell, Len’s whole year - by agreeing, though the way Mick’s lips are twitching means that maybe Len isn’t hiding his rapturous delight quite as well as he’d been hoping he was. “But starting as of now, I’m the boss.”

Len smiles. He’s cool with that. “Sure, boss.”

Ten minutes later, Hunter is talking about what they need to do next and who is staying.

“Snart and Rory are staying, too,” Sara pipes up.

“Excellent,” Hunter says. “That’s all of us, then.”

“What would you have done if one of us had decided to go home?” Len drawls, feeling cockier than he has in years.

He means ‘one of us’ as in the team, not him and Mick, but Hunter misreads him.

“It seems rather unlikely that you’d leave your husband behind, Mr. Snart, or visa versa,” Hunters says dismissively. “There’s a reason I brought both of you.”

“Hold up,” Jax says, brightening. “You two are married?!”

“You didn’t say!” Sara exclaims, beaming. “That’s great!”

Len opens his mouth, then closes it, then looks at Mick.

Mick’s face confirms his own emotions.

“Hey, Hunter,” he finally manages to say. “No, wait a sec, I got a better idea. Gideon, is it?”

“Yes, Mr. Snart?” the AI chirps. “How may I assist?”

“What year is Mick and my marriage recorded? I don’t care about the month or date, just the year.”

“That would be 2018,” Gideon chirps.

“But…we got picked up in 2016,” Ray says.

“Yeah,” Mick says. “And we’re not married.”

“Yet,” Len adds, because, what the hell. They’re not even dating. Formally dating. Does sleeping together on the regular even count? Not that they’ve been doing that recently. Because they’d been broken up. Except they can’t have been broken up, because they weren’t ever dating. What the hell, time travel. “Apparently.”

“…oops,” Hunter says.

#my fic #dccoldwave #leonard snart #mick rory #captain cold #heatwave

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 11 (Multi Liverpool players)

#Football fanfiction #Trent Alexander Arnold #Andy Robertson #Mohamed Salah #Virgil van Dijk #football imagine