#guys it is fucking SNOWING in MARCH. we have got flurries and we have got 2 inches already on the ground

[fingertipsmp3]

I should neverrr have accepted this shift. Literally every problem I have would be irrelevant if I didn’t have to go to work today

[giveemhales]

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 20/?

For @averysterekwinter day 3 (Theme: snow/ice)

Snow Day

(Plus here’s a fluffy ficlet, the rest under the cut because it got a bit long)

The first thing Stiles noticed when he woke up was that outside was white.

It was snowing, and not the drizzle of snowflakes that would melt upon hitting ground that was more usual for the area. No, there was a thick layer of white over everything in sight.

The second thing he noticed was the thing that woke him up: a text on his phone. He didn’t want to call it hypervigilance, because that implied a whole host of other issues he didn’t want to address, but even just the vibration of his phone from a single text was enough to rouse him.

It was an inconvenient habit (it was winter break and he wanted to sleep in, dammit), but he was grateful he had been roused when he read the text.

The text was from Derek and simply said Come to pack house ASAP.

Rest of fic under the cut!

He considered calling or texting to ask what was wrong, but he had gotten enough texts like that to know he wouldn’t get a response. If he wanted any answers, he would have to go to the pack house.

Stiles and Derek had been dating for around a year now, but they rarely texted. Well, Derek rarely texted. Stiles texted and Derek sometimes reluctantly replied. He wasn’t a big fan of technology. Kind of annoying considering Stiles was usually away at his campus, but Derek’s almost weekly visits more than made up for it.

So seeing this text immediately concerned Stiles. Pair that with the unusual snow, and he assumed the worst.

His mind whirred with different possibilities. Did a witch cast a spell? Was Jack Frost making a visit? Was some new dark Druid coming to fuck with nature?

He knew he was being a bit irrational, but he had learned to assume the worst when it came to Beacon Hills, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen actual snow at home in his lifetime. His past experiences didn’t allow him the luxury of excitement about novelties.

Overall, the combination of the unusual weather and the text from Derek calling for an emergency meeting had Stiles on edge and falling out of his bed in his haste to head out.

He didn’t have a good snow jacket so he just put on as many layers as was comfortable and a coat. He grabbed some gloves, and mourned for his converse which would surely not do well in the snow.

Stiles rushed out to his car, noting his dad had already left for the station. He was grateful to note the roads had already been cleared, as he wasn’t sure if his jeep could handle snow and ice.

He parked when he reached the edge of the preserve. They had cleared a dirt road so that they would be able to drive to the pack house, but it wasn’t an official street so the city had no reason to clear it of snow. 

Stiles understood why it wasn’t cleared of snow, but he was still annoyed. Fortunately, the snow wasn’t slushy, so at least his feet weren’t soaked. Still, his converse and jeans did little to protect him from the cold, and he walked as quickly as he could, while also watching out for any possible ice patches. 

By the time the pack house was in sight, Stiles was shivering, and ready to yell at Derek for making him come all this way when phones were a thing. 

Derek was standing in front of the pack house, and Stiles had no qualms about yelling and walking at the same time.

“Hey, jerk, there better be a good reason you called me out here, like dead bodies good reason. I am just a human without all the werewolf heat mojo, and I’m on break, so there are not a whole lot of reasons I should be anywhere except in bed sleeping right now.”

Stiles couldn’t really make out Derek’s face, but he knew it wasn’t as remorseful as it should have been.

Stiles sighed loudly and continued marching toward the house, looking down again to make sure he didn’t step in anything which would make him even more uncomfortable.

It was as soon as he looked down that he felt it, the cold becoming even colder, ice running through his veins.

He was under attack!

He looked up with a gasp, eyes searching for the assailant, for what cruel monster had thrown a snowball right at him. 

He was surprised to see that all of the pack had appeared in front of the house (damn werewolf speed), all wearing smirks of varying deviousness. 

Derek had his arm still raised, and Stiles knew he was the perpetrator (he wasn’t even wearing gloves but already had another snowball in his other hand, he clearly had an unfair advantage). 

In fact, everyone had a snowball prepared, and they were all staring right at Stiles with an evil gleam.

“Whoa! Who decided everyone would team up against me? This seems totally unfair.”

“It’s not everyone against you,” Scott said.

“It’s every man for himself,” Isaac finished for him, and threw a snowball right at Derek’s face.

And then it was chaos.

Stiles made as many snowballs as he could while the werewolves were distracted amongst themselves, thanking god he had thought to put on gloves. 

When Stiles was pretty sure he had a good amount of ammo stockpiled, he called to Scott. “Scotty, it’s snow time!”

Ever since they were young, when they had any sort of battle, whether it be nerf guns or water balloons, “It’s show time,” was their codeword to create an alliance. They would join forces and blindside their opposite.

(Stiles may or may not have been waiting his whole life to get to use that snow time pun).

Stiles began constructing a kick ass fortress as Scott ran over and began throwing Stiles’ snowballs at a pace only werewolves were capable of. 

When he popped up to check how Scott was doing, he was blindsided by three rapid succession snowballs right to the face. 

All from his boyfriend.

“Rude! And totally unwarranted!” Stiles shouted.

Derek glared at him. “It was revenge for that awful pun.”

Stiles gaped. “Oh you have snow idea what you’ve just started.”

He ducked before Derek had even thrown the next snowball.

The battle lasted close to another hour (Stiles cursed werewolf endurance), hundreds of snowballs and a handful of puns thrown.

It was at the time that his gloves were soaked through and he thought his fingers might fall off if he made one more snowball that he decided to call it quits.

He turned to look at Scott who was hiding with him behind the fortress and gave one nod. They stood up in unison, shouting their surrender with their hands up.

They were immediately pelted with a flurry of balls.

Stiles’ arms fell to his side. “Really? When we were surrendering? Do you snow snow bounds?”

The rest of the pack stared at him with blank stares.

“Fine, whatever, clearly nobody appreciates me nor understands my genius. Sorry my puns are too advanced for you all.” Stiles shook his head in disappointment and began to head to the house.

And promptly fell on his ass.

The rest of the pack burst into laughter (including Scott, the traitor, who was quick to abandon him), and Stiles glared at the sky from where he lay, cursing the world for this injustice.

Derek walked over, a smirk clear on his face while he looked down at Stiles. “You good?”

Stiles grumbled. “Yes. I meant to do that.”

Derek looked even more amused. “Oh really? And why is that?” Derek asked even as he offered a hand to help Stiles up.

“So I could do this!” Stiles shouted as he pulled down Derek with all his might with the offered hand. He knew Derek must not have been expecting it, because he actually managed to pull him down with an exclamation.

His victory was short lived, as he realized the consequences of his actions. He groaned. “God, you’re so heavy.”

“And you’re so dumb.” Derek got up on his elbows so he was slightly above Stiles. 

Stiles stared dreamily up at his boyfriend, deciding to ignore the insult. “Hey, did it hurt?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you pulled me down? Not really, I had a squishy human to cushion my fall.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, when you fell from heaven,” Stiles smiled widely, “Because you’re a snow angel.” He rolled them so he was above Derek.

Derek sighed heavily but remained limp as Stiles grabbed his arms, sliding them up and down through the snow in the classic snow angel motion.

Stiles rolled away from Derek when he got as close to an angel as he could and made his own, laughing the whole time. 

Derek sat up from where he had been manhandled. “Why do I put up with you?”

“It’s because you glove me!” Stiles shouted, removing one of his gloves (which at this point had become so soaked from snow that it was just making him more cold) and tossing it at Derek.

“Don’t take off your gloves, you dumbass!” Derek said, looking scandalized. Stiles couldn’t really blame him for his concern. Stiles was a human, and therefore susceptible to pesky things like hypothermia, but Derek should have thought of that before he started a snowball battle. 

Derek stood up and lifted Stiles up, hauling him over his shoulder.

Stiles didn’t really mind, since it got him out of the snow and gave him a great view of Derek’s ass.

“Just admit you’re s-mitten!” He took off his other glove and slapped Derek’s ass with it.

~~~

An hour later, Stiles was wearing multiple layers of Derek’s (dry) clothes, wrapped in a blanket, cuddling against his furnace boyfriend, surrounded by the pack.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but even if some people were needlessly cruel to me today, I had an ice time.”

The pack groaned, except Scott, who added, “Icy what you did there!”

Stiles leaned over to high five Scott.

“I will kick out the next person to make a pun,” Derek interjected.

Stiles rolled his eyes, even as he cuddled back into Derek’s side. “Ugh, whatever you say, Frosty.”

Derek glared down at Stiles, looking prepared to retaliate.

Stiles put his hands up in mock surrender. “That wasn’t a pun, that was a reference.”

“Well it wasn’t a very good one, since Frosty was a holly jolly soul.”

Stiles beamed. “Oh my god, my boyfriend knows his Christmas classics. I think I’m in love.”

“We know,” the rest of the pack responded in unison, but Stiles was too busy staring up at his boyfriend in adoration to care.

~~~ 

Later that night, when they laid together in bed, Stiles looked up at Derek, and his fondness shined bright. “I love you.”

Derek looked back at him, equally fond, and smirked and said, “I know.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit him for ruining the moment, or kiss him senseless for quoting Star Wars. He did neither, because he couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“You mean, you snow?”

The ensuing slap on the back of his head was well worth it.

[miraculous-mare]

Brooklyn Brawl

Hi guys, long time no see! This fic is based on a request I got in January that I’ve been chipping away at for past month or so, which said: how about a dickinette salt fic? the class gets attacked while in Gotham and Marinette who is already dating dick helps fight back in civilian clothes and they end up flirting in front of the entire class and maybe Lila gets exposed because she told people she was dating Robin? Alya and Adrien salt

I changed up some key details, and it’s not so much a salt fic as it is a slightly salty fic. I also based Dick off of Young Justice!Robin from season one since I was rewatching that show when I started writing. I imagine this taking place in an AU where Guardian!Marinette and Bee!Chloe are part of the Team, but use different Miraculi when they fight with them in order to maintain the whole ‘covert ops team’ thing. Marinette uses the cat and Chloe combines the ladybug with the dragon. If you’re asking where Adrien is, I truly have no clue, but I quite like this AU so I might expand on that later. Happy Maribat March, and enjoy! Tagging @mochegato because your comments always push me to write, and I want to say thank you. 

Word Count: 3.7k slightly underedited words

Ever since Marinette walked out of the first year assembly that marked the start of her time in Lycée, she’d been dreaming about her class senior trip. After términale was officially over and she’d sat all her exams, Marinette, along with Mme. Bustier’s class, would be flying to New York City for an entire week. At the time, Marinette couldn’t wait to go shopping with Alya and the girls, to watch Kim and Alix race across the Brooklyn Bridge and maybe even to hold hands with Adrien as they explored Times Square. When Lila joined their class and Marinette’s friendships all shattered around her, she began dreaming of a different week, one she would mainly spend on a bench in Central Park, lost in her sketchbook. Then things changed again, and Marinette became much more acquainted with the US than she ever expected to be at seventeen, mainly due to her… extracurricular activities. As she got off the plane, she hoped she could spend her days keeping her head down, giggling quietly with Chloe as they wandered behind the rest of their class (who were all too preoccupied with Lila’s tall tales to pay any attention to them). If she were lucky (which, regardless of her powers, she new she rarely was), maybe Bast and Lightning Bug would even be able to sneak away for a rooftop run one night, perhaps along with some of their American… acquaintances. 

But, as usual, things didn’t go in Marinette’s favor at all. Rather, Chloe came down with a terrible stomach flu the first night of the trip, and couldn’t join the class on their trip to Brooklyn Bridge. Instead of joking around with her best friend, Marinette was forced to dawdle behind her classmates as they posed for pictures together and clamored to hear of Lila’s latest adventures. Today, she appeared to be recounting the forbidden friendship-turned-love affair between her and Robin, one of the world’s most well-known heroes.

“We met when I was fourteen, before we moved to Paris. My mom was stationed in Gotham.” Yeah, it’s not like all US embassies are in Washington DC, Marinette thought. “He landed on my balcony and it was love at first sight.” You mean back when he was dating Zatanna? Right… “Of course he told me his identity straight away, and taught me how to fight”  Marinette actually let out a scoff at that one— Like Bruce would ever let that slide. “But I’m supposed to keep it a secret. I only told you guys all this because I trust you so much!”

As if on cue, her cronies began to fawn over her the minute she stopped talking, Alya taking it upon herself to scream particularly loudly. Marinette regretted leaving Tikki at home to tend to Chloe, because she really needed a moral compass right now. Instead, all she had was Trixx snarling in her backpack, almost begging Mari to call Lila out. But Marinette Dupain Cheng would not succumb to the whims of a tiny mischievous goddess today, thank you very much. Not when her day had already gone so horribly and pushing Lila would do nothing but worsen it. Not when she had a rooftop date planned for the evening that she would not, under any circumstances, risk compromising. “Staying out of things won’t make anything better,” she muttered to Trixx, “But it might stop them from getting wo—“

Marinette hadn’t finished her sentence when she felt a familiar shiver run the length of her spine. “oh mon dieu…”

Looking up, she watched Killer Frost land on the archway on the far side of the bridge. The woman was staring off into the distance, too preoccupied with what she saw to pay mind to the tourists. Usually, Ladybug would take that as a sign of greater trouble, but Marinette saw it as an opportunity to get civilians to safety. She immediately turned to the nearest person, pulling them aside to explain the issue before instructing him to get as many people off the bridge and to safety as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. As he walked off, she moved to the next person, speaking quietly and moving slowly. The last thing anyone needed was for Frosty to be alerted to her actio— “AHHH! IT’S KILLER FROST!”

Of fucking course Alya had to notice. You’d think after a lifetime of being chased by Akuma, the girl would know not to draw the big bad’s attention. But common sense was not her strong suit, and now Bustier’s class was standing on an otherwise deserted, easily collapsible, bridge, Killer Frost smirking down at them.

“What are you all waiting for?” Mari yelled at her classmates. A couple of them swung around to look at her, but most of them continued to stare. Summoning the authoritative tone she usually preserved for her masked outings, she tried again. “Run!”

That seemed to do the trick. One by one, her classmates came out of their stupor and began following her across the bridge, Mme Bustier close behind. Marinette heard the crackling of ice forming and a soft swish of something sliding across it, but continued to lead her classmates in the other direction. The group was almost halfway back to land, approaching the second archway, when Marinette stopped in her tracks, feeling the ground shake beneath her. Looking up, she saw Mr. Freeze at the end of the bridge, boots clanking with every step towards them. She doesn’t have to look back to know Killer Frost has them trapped from behind.

Marinette looks around, her limited options racing through her mind. Jumping overboard would take too long and was too dangerous. Transforming, even with Trixx, would doubtless reveal her identity. She could alert the team, but Freeze was now staring her down as he levied his freeze ray at her, so she’d have to act fast.

Swinging her arm, Marinette let her bag fall to her side as she ducked. She ripped the zipper open and shoved her hand inside, smashing her thumb against the button as quickly as she could. As she did, she braced herself, certain that Freeze had already fired at her and waiting to be engulfed in ice. But the overwhelming rush of cold never came. Instead, Marinette felt a body land in front of her and heard the hushed gasps and cheers of her classmates. When she opened her eyes, they met Aqualad’s, suddenly stood in front of her and using his water bearers to block Freeze’s attacks.

The minute their eyes met, she felt a soft touch in her mind and memories flooded her senses. She saw Kaldur announce a lead on Killer Frost the ex-sidekicks would have to handle (lest the remainder of the Team get exposed in such a public fight), heard M’gann volunteer to come along as backup in the Bioship. She watched Wally split off to investigate a disturbance while Kaldur took to the river and Dick to the rooftops, hoping to corner the escapee before she started anything they couldn’t stop.

Mari! She heard Miss Martian cry the minute her telepathic bond was fully established, and knew that if she looked up she’d be able to make out the faint outline of the concealed Bioship fluttering above them. You okay?

Now that Kaldur was pushing Mr. Freeze back, she could take a second to regain her bearings. She found her class cowering in the middle of the bridge behind her, heads swiveling around in an attempt the keep track of the fight. Overhead, she found Robin had forced Killer Frost onto the archway again. He kept trying to knock her over with his Birdarangs, swinging from the bridge cables as he went, but she’d dodge them by jumping onto makeshift ice platforms. Whenever he stopped, she’d send flurries of snow at his head. So far, he’d been able to flip and jump out of her way, but Marinette wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last.

Hey! I heard that. Came his voice in her head.

Sorry baby bird. There’s only so many cables, you know?

Marinette could feel his glare on the mind link. Kaldur, she thought, what can I do to help?

Clear the civilians, he grunted, don’t do anything to expose yourself. She watched him block another attack before jumping into action.

“Hey, everyone,” she yelled, waving her hands above her head to gain the class’s attention. “The bridge archway collapse any minute. We need to take cover.” At her words, a majority of the students dispersed, crawling toward the sides of the bridge where they could easily jump into the river if need be. At least Akuma attacks made them sensible. Only Alya remained standing, her phone out as she frantically recorded the fight around her. Mari registered Kaldur mentally cursing at the reporter, then saw Freeze’s attention shift to her through his eyes. Reflexes kicking in, Marinette lunged at Alya, managing to throw them both behind a pillar. Half a second later, a ray of cryogenic liquid shot through the air where Alya had been standing, and Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief. Alya wasn’t as thrilled.

“Bitch! I was filming!” She screeched, frantically checking her phone. She was clutching Marinette’s wrist, nails digging into the other girl’s flesh. “You could have ruined my footage!” Marinette was about to bite back, but Dick’s sparking anger in the back of her head drew her back to the reality. 

“Just film from here,” she muttered. “So you’re not in danger. Besides,” she continued when she noticed Lila crouching a few feet away, “you need to be able to protect your bestie.” That seemed to placate Alya, and she released her grip on Marinette to scoot closer to her friend. Now free to get back on the field, the superhero turned her attention back to Robin, who was still evading Frost’s hits. That is, until Marinette noticed the villain’s aim shift, and she realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. She mentally called out to him, but it was too late: Robin was halfway across the bridge, aiming for a cable, when Killer Frost fired at the edge of the archway on which she stood, where the bridge cables connected. They froze through entirely, and Marinette could hear them reverberate for half a second before they all snapped. Robin, who’d been swinging across the bridge ready to snatch a cable, now came barreling towards the ground. 

As Marinette watched him fall, time seemed to slow down around her. Stretching her leg out, she slid across the half-frozen concrete, arms extended to catch him as he neared the ground. When he landed in her grip, she pulled him back under the archway, out of Frost’s range.

“Wow, I didn’t know such pretty birds fell from the sky!” Her voice, laced with humor, was enough to snap him out of his reverie. She knew Dick didn’t mind heights, but no one liked falling, and she didn’t want him getting to caught up in it. 

“what are you, my guardian angel?” He said wryly, but she didn’t miss the appreciative tone in his voice. 

Marinette scoffed. “Aren’t angels the ones that fall from heaven?” She flashed him a smile, and her toothy grin reminded him more of Bast’s snarl than of Marinette’s quick humor. He almost forgot they were in the middle of battle until Kaldur’s voice rang in their heads.

 I didn’t think I’d have to say this, but you can’t flirt with him in front of everyone! Marinette  rolled her eyes, but her attention flitted back to the fighting around her. Aqualad was pushing Freeze back, but was struggling now that Killer Frost, thinking Robin was down, had begun firing at him from above.

I just wish I could help.

Hold on, Dick thought back, eyes zeroing in on Alya’s camera. The reporter had trained it on the two, and he knew this interaction would be online. Maybe we can give the people a show…

She catches his train of thought easily, though she wont deny the mind link played a role. It’s no sooner she’s agreed than he’s swinging away, angling himself so the camera has a good view of their exchange.

“Thanks for the assist,” he grumbled at her, tone suddenly serious. “But you know I always land on my feet.”

“I thought only cats could do that,” she challenged, “and they eat little birds like you, remember?”

“you talk a big game. Can you fight to match?” He made sure to keep a playful lilt in his voice, if only for the onlookers, and saw Marinette tense convincingly at his words. 

“Of course I can. I just need the right weapon.” She held her hand out expectantly, and Robin, feigning shock, made a show of pulling his cape away, giving her access to his utility belt. Smirking at him, she grabbed the extendable bo staff, turning around to face the fight. “see if you can keep up, baby bird.” And just like that, she dashed away. Not bothering to hide the smile on his face, Robin followed.

As it happened, they’d made it just in time to join the fight. Aqualad, distracted by Killer Frost, had lost track of Freeze, who was now aiming his cold gun at the hero’s back. Robin’s Birdarang managed to knock the weapon out of his hand just in time. From there, the fight ended quickly.

“Hey birdie!” Marinette called, running towards him, “Make me fly.” In his head, she whispered maneuver seven, And he immediately got ready to lift her into the air.

As she launched herself towards Mr. Freeze, she pointed her staff straight down. As she landed, she rammed it straight through his helmet, pushing down until the glass cracked beneath her weight. Marinette pulled away, watching the villain pant for a moment before she realized he couldn’t simply freeze himself like he usually would in these situations. Robin was already on it, grabbing the freeze ray from where it landed and shooting it at the man’s head, saving his life and effectively putting him out of the fight.

Meanwhile, Aqualad had managed to take down Killer Frost, wrapping her in jets of water and sending a surge of electricity through them. The shock was enough to knock her unconscious, and he was in the process of dragging her towards the others. He made a show of looking Marinette over, appearing shocked at the bo staff in her hands.

“I see Robin made a friend,” he commented wryly. Marinette knew she would get a stern talking-to for pulling this stunt, but she figured her classmates were too dumb to make anything of it, and any incriminating evidence posted on the LadyBlog could easily be corrupted by WayneTech. 

“I like to help when I can,” she shot back, just as much sarcasm in her voice. “Though, I have to wonder, don’t these two usually have an accomplice?”

Before anyone could answer, a yellow blur shot past them, and Kid Flash appeared, holding a tied up Captain Cold for them to see. “Indeed they do. Caught this one trying to break into the Star Labs Facility in the City. The others were probably just a distraction.” 

Marinette’s classmates had started to trickle out of hiding once the fight ended. With the arrival of the new hero, they began to cheer, circling the group. Alya pushed past them all, shoving her camera in front of her. Lila, looking more nervous than usual, followed closely behind her. 

“oh mon dieu!” Alya screeched. “You’re all amazing fighters. You did such a good job, even with Marinette in the way.” As she finished speaking, she gave her old friend a disgusted look, and Marinette had to wonder if she truly believed what she was saying or if she was just playing it up for attention. “I’m sorry about her, she doesn’t know how to step out of the limelight.”

“It’s alright,” Robin said, tone harsh.

Calm down, Marinette thought, It’s not worth it. 

He made sure the camera caught his next words. “Marinette actually helped us a lot.” He swung an arm over her shoulder, smirk flashing across his face for all to see. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to fight alongside a gorgeous girl.”

Said ‘gorgeous girl’ blushed a deep shade of red in spite of herself, biting back the urge to kiss him then and there. 

Alya, on the other hand, did not seem to know when to stop. “What? How can you say that about her? Especially in front of your girlfriend!” With that declaration, the class began muttering amongst themselves. Lila tried ducking behind Alya, but the attention was already on her. 

“What are you doing?” Lila hissed. “I told you that was a secret!”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, and she fixed Robin with a determined stare. “Just because he—“ she spat out the word “— doesn’t want people to know about your relationship doesn’t mean he can flirt with other girls in front of you. Or at all, actually. Come on girl, don’t let him treat you like that!”

Robin’s face looked more and more shocked the more she spoke, but before he could respond a peel of laughter broke the air. Kid Flash was doubled over beside him, looking at Alya like she was a comedian. 

“H-her?” He pointed at Lila, still shaking from his laughing fit. “His girlfriend? No way!” Lila stood quietly, eyes downcast, though she had the gall to look insulted at that remark. “No offence, kid, but I’ve seen Robin’s girlfriends, and you’re not really his type. He prefers black-haired, blue-eyed girls, you know? Preferably those who can kick his ass and have some magic powers.” He turned to Marinette, a devious smile on his face.

If you say anything I don’t appreciate, she whispered across the mind link, I will kill you. And I won’t even bother to make it look like an accident.

His eyes widened at her thoughts, but in true Wally West fashion he disregarded all warning and pushed forward. “Kind of like you. You really helped take down Freeze over there?” She nodded harshly, and his grin only widened. “Figures he’s all over you. Robin’s like that with powerful women. If you ever want his number, let me know.” Hearing Wally’s laughter echoing across the mind link did not, surprisingly enough, weaken her resolve to commit murder. 

Perhaps sensing her bubbling anger, Kaldur took the opportunity to step in. “Now that we’ve established that Robin is indeed single, it’s time for us to leave.” His voice, commanding as it always was in battle, captured everyone’s attention. Even the class, though utterly confused at the heroes’ declarations, remained quiet. “The police will arrive soon to take your statements. If anyone is hurt, they’ll be able to direct you to medical help. We apologize for this disturbance, and hope the rest of your trip is less eventful. With that, the superheroes all hefted an ice villain across their shoulders and made to leave. Marinette, realizing she still clutched the bo staff, held it out to Robin. 

“nah, keep it,” he told her, “consider it a thank you.” With a final wink, he disappeared after his teammates. 

Uh, bye Mari, M’gann’s voice echoed in her head. And, good luck with this mess. I can sense a lot of anger here. Call me if you need anything okay?

Thanks, Mari thought back, just before the alien’s touch slipped away and she heard the faint woosh of the bioship flying out of range. When she focused back on the class she found them dead silent, staring at Lila. Marinette noted duly that Alya was still filming

“What?” Lila yelled, trying to keep the panic from her voice. “He had to do that. What would we do if my identity got out, huh?”

Marinette could, and likely should, let these lies slide like she usually would. She should try not to let it get to her, and focus on the evening ahead with her American (and extraterrestrial) friends. But the rush of battle was still flowing through her, and Trixx was very strongly urging her to react, and, really, Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not have half the self control she claimed to possess. So of course, she just had to respond: “Hide your identity from who? The class full of people who obviously already knew about it, given that one of them brought it up first, or his superhero friends who he would have definitely told already, especially if you’ve been dating him in and out of the mask for four years now? Sounds a little odd to me, and I’m still confused about why he would need to flirt with another girl just to hide your relationship. Though I’m sure you have an incredibly logical explanation for all of this, right Lila? Hey, maybe Alya can post it on her blog and people can debate on just how much bullshit you’re spewing” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and as she finished speaking she quickly turned on her heel, swinging her newly-acquired bo staff over her shoulder and walking off the bridge toward the approaching convoy of NYPD cars. 

Behind her, she could hear her classmates’ angry voices beginning to rise, drowning out Lila’s sputtering excuses. Marinette was no fool, of course— she knew most of them would be back in the liar’s web by tonight. But that didn’t make calling her out any less fun, and now that her days with this class were extremely limited, she figured these small pleasures were worth the backlash. Besides, maybe the encounter would teach Lila to keep her mouth shut for the next few days—and if Marinette was going to think of a way to catch one of the fastest men alive by tonight, she needed the quiet.

Please let me know what you think! this is my first full piece I’m publishing for this fandom and I would love some feedback. I’m trying to write and post Maribat March prompts every weekend, so look out for that as well. PS. If you have a link to the discord or the list of prompts, I would greatly appreciate either. Thanks for reading!

[cad-av-er]

Snowbaz- Slight AU Chapter One

Inspired by a post by @numptypitch

This story takes place at Watford, they still have magic and the Humdrum does not exist. Please remember that this is my first ever Snowbaz fic, as well as my first time writing any type of story on tumblr so please tell me how you like it! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Simon PoV

Weeks. It’s hard to remember it’s only been weeks since the beginning of the school year. With Baz missing, it feels like it’s been forever and a half. I get anxious thinking about how weeks turn into months, and months could turn into Baz never coming back to Watford. Sometimes I wonder if he’s purposely not at school just to mess with me, but then I remember how much education mattered to his mother, and how much she mattered to him. I don’t think he’d willingly miss school unless the Old Families made him.

I bet they’re planning on overthrowing the Mage. They’ve been trying to ever since he took office. Allegedly because he can’t take care of the school and students. That’s what they say, at least.

Penny says I should stop focusing on Baz and politics and start focusing on magic and my classes. I don’t know why I listen to her, I hate magic. I’m supposed to be the best, the Chosen One, but I can’t do anything. I can’t control my power. Anyone else here would be better off as the Chosen One. Penny would be amazing. Even Baz would be bloody perfect.

Magic is the least of my problems right now; because I live in a world where my roommate is my rival.

And he’s still missing.

-

Baz PoV

After spending who-knows-how-long trapped by fucking numpties, pondering different (and completely improbable) ways to become Simon Snow’s boyfriend, Fiona finally rescues me. I don’t even know what to say, so I gratefully chow down in the back seat (because the front seat is for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties).

The whole ride to Watford is silent, save for the soft sounds of whatever ‘edgy’ CD Fiona decided to play. Fiona dropped me off. I tried to thank her as I got out of the car, but she shooed me away and popped the trunk so I could grab my bags. We didn’t say goodbye to each other; we never do.

I stalled going back to our room. I was in no shape to see Snow again. I had dealt with having to think of him whilst being held captive by the scum of magical creatures. Instead of heading to the Mummers house or checking in with the staff for missed schoolwork, I head to the kitchen and grab a snack before going to the catacombs and draining a few rats. Once I’m full, I stay in ‘le tomb de enfants’ and try to think of a good excuse to tell Snow when he (inevitably) asks where I’ve been. Once I think of something half-believable, I emerge, letting myself adjust to the light again before going to unpack my bags.

A few minutes after I start unpacking, Snow and Bunce burst through the door, laughing. The moment they see me, they freeze. It takes all of my willpower to not turn to Snow, just to see his perfectly imperfect face. I’d missed him, more than I’d ever like to admit. I finished unpacking the small duffel on my bed before I finally looked up, standing straight and trying not to cry of happiness at the sight of him. Even seeing Bunce was a relief. I shouldn’t be like this, I can’t cry in front of my peers; I’m a Pitch. Pitches aren’t weak.

My shoulders fell after noticing how tired Snow looked. By this point in the year, he’s usually put on a few pounds and caught back up to where he was supposed to be, but he looked like he had just come in the door on the first day back. It broke my heart; I hope desperately this wasn’t because of me.

We all just stood there, staring. Snow looked just about to cry. I thought he’d have better self control in front of Bunce, but I was tempted to shout ‘Anathema’ when he ran across the room and tackled me. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was hugging me, and I ‘reluctantly’ returned it. Bunce looked horrified, but turned on her heels and marched out of the room, giving us privacy. I honestly thought Snow might crush me. So, to keep up appearances, I put an end to one of the best moments of my life (like an idiot).

“Are you just about done being sentimental or are we going to braid each other’s hair and talk about boys as well?” I sneered. Snow jumped off of me like I told him I have the plague, and immediately put his walls back up.

“If you ever disappear like that again, your welcome back will be a hell of a lot different, you hear?” Snow scolded me like he was my father, so I rolled my eyes the way any other moody teenage boy would. I couldn’t help but find his words endearing, no matter the threat behind them.

I know that my chances with Snow are practically nonexistent. I understand that he’s in a ‘happy’, straight relationship with a beautiful, perfect dream-girl. I get that he hates me more than I do. We could never be on friendly terms, let alone anything... more. So, I figured that it’s time for me to move on. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be completely over Snow, but I want to be happy with someone.

That’s why I’ve decided to come out to Watford. My family already knows (even though my father isn’t thrilled, he’s still supportive of me), so I think it’s time to take the next step. Fiona gave me a small pride pin on my birthday. I’m going to stick it on my bag and wait for people to notice. It seemed simple enough, while still being effective and clear. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but I knew that no one would dare make fun of me if they wished to keep all of their fingers. Nevertheless, little cartoon bats flurried around in my gut, blowing the intensity of such a small gesture way out of proportion. Before I could chicken out, I pricked the soft leather of my bag and pushed the pride pin through.

...

Coming out went much better than I thought possible: I burst into the dining hall, proudly sporting the colorful pin. It was small, but still big enough to be noticed. Everybody stared, a few people came up to me and told me how proud they were. I’d give them a small, tight lipped smile and thank them in return.

In my seventh class of the day, a boy with wildly curly black hair and dazzlingly blue eyes sat next to me. He was short for our age, and his ghostly pale skin was dotted with a few light freckles (not nearly as many as Snow has).

“Hey.” He murmured. His accent had a slight German influence, but his voice was smooth and steady, despite the waves of anxiety I could sense from him. “I’m Amery. Amery Hartkee.” He added, sticking his hand out for me to shake. I took it cautiously, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m Baz.” I offered, when he said nothing.

“Is Baz short for something?”

“Yeah...” I debated telling him my full name, knowing he would most likely laugh. I decided it didn’t matter, so I looked him straight right in the eye and silently challenged him. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” I said in the most stable monotone I could manage. He looked toward the front of the classroom.

“Tasteful.” He smirked, before Miss Possibelf made her way to the front of the room and started our lesson. I’d already been taught what we were learning today, so I spaced out and thought about Amery. He seemed great, and a little part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to love someone beside Snow; to give my affection to someone like Amery, someone who could possibly return them. It was a tempting thought; but I think I’m getting ahead of myself.

I would be lying if I said I’d never noticed him before. It’s impossible not to, the windows shine directly to his seat, framing his dark curls and light skin. He rarely wore his uniform in class, and the pastel green jumper he wore instead hung loosely on his thin frame. There was no denying how attractive he was.

My thoughts are interrupted by a snippet of paper that was dropped on my open book. I opened the folded note to see the neat, condensed, all-caps writing of the boy next to me.

DO YOU GET ANY OF THIS CRAP?

I carefully and smoothly wrote a reply, before folding it back and handing it carefully to Amery.

My father made me take a few classes over summer to make sure I was ‘ahead of the game’... so, yes

He nibbles on the end of his pen before scribbling out a response.

MIND MEETING IN THE LIBRARY AFTER CLASS? I THINK I NEED THE HELP OF AN EXPERT ^ ~^

I smiled softly at the note, before turning and nodding to Amery. I folded the paper into a small square and stored it in my bag. It only then occurred to me that Amery might only have started talking to me because I was out.

The bell rang shrilly, dismissing us all for the day. Amery and I walked toward the hallway, idly chatting. I held in a chuckle at his wild hand gestures as he ranted excitedly about some Normal song artist that he was practically in love with.

Maybe this is the year I move on.

-

What did you guys think! Please feel free to reblog if you liked it, I know it took a really long time but I wanted to make sure it was what I wanted- especially since this is the first story I’m posting on here! If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please say so! I’m doing this for you guys, so please if you have questions/comments/concerns/theories or anything else feel free to contact me!

Tagged:

@findingshiro13

[gotgifsandmusings]

GoT 7x06 Musings

My initial reaction to “Beyond the Wall”

Apparently this is the episode that is pulling the wool off of everyone’s eyes. Not the one where Sansa married Ramsay for revenge and got raped. Not the one where Shireen was burned alive because of flurries preventing Stannis from marching 20 feet. Not the one where Marg was arrested for perjury and threatened to be paraded naked except that was a fake-out and the king (unbeknownst to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard) had formed an alliance with the Faith that didn’t already totally exist and therefore the largest army in the land was rendered useless or unwilling to free the heir of Highgarden…

You know I can keep going. I’ll take it, and yes, the teleportation was its most egregious because we KNOW how much time passed in-verse while the raven and dragons were traveling. But still, this isn’t a new level of bad, no more than Barbaro and Jessica Henwick teleporting onto a ship to murder their cousin—for justice!

Though on the other hand, there was almost nothing I could see as even being objectively enjoyable about this episode, other than one moment of some decent CGI. The battle itself was surprisingly short, and so obviously contrived that we couldn’t pretend it was a “stunning war theater” like we could last year, even if last year the context also made no goddamn sense.

Alright, time to stop delaying and actually talk about this, though of course I’ll point you to Jess’s fabulous review first if you haven’t already read it.

Winterhell

Jess breaks down the horror of Arya’s stupid Ned-slow-clapping-at-her-landing-a-bullseye story better than I can. Arya didn’t do what was required of girls growing up, and that was a source of frustration

But no, here she’s some third-wave feminist who realizes how bad the system is.

Speaking of that bad system, way to sew you dumb asshole, Sansa. What, do you think people need CLOTHES or something?

No seriously, I can’t take the toxically masculine assumptions about empowerment anymore. This entire thing is such a sexist premise, Arya shaming Sansa for navigating in a socially acceptable way

WHICH IS THE WHOLE POINT OF SANSA’S ARC. SHE FIGURES OUT HOW TO WEAPONIZE THE SYSTEM TO HER BENEFIT AND DOES IT WITHOUT AROUSING THE SLIGHTEST SUSPICION

The letter thing is ridiculous too. Not even mentioning how Winterhell burned down so that’d probably be destroyed, this should not be that much of a conflict, nor should it have the potential to undo Sansa.

As Jess pointed out, Ned played along with the Lannisters too, because THAT’S WHAT YOU DO. Is he a traitor?

Then Sansa runs to Littlefinger even though we know she doesn’t trust him.

This is where the “they’re playing LF” honeypot stems from I think, but there’s no indication that Arya and Sansa aren’t reacting to each other alone, earnestly. Do they think Littlefinger planted some kind of audio bug on Sansa or something?

LF then brings up Brienne, which is followed by the scene of Sansa ordering Brienne to Cheryl’s Landing on her behalf for the already-scheduled meeting (even though Operation Bag-A-Wight is still going on), and being an asshole about it

The only sense I can make of this is that LF wants Brienne dead, or Arya dead, and is trying to urge a fight between them since we know they enjoy that? Which I guess would just help narrow down the field of non-LF allies to Sansa

Then *maybe* Sansa is sending Brienne away for her own protection, a la through rocks in Nymeria’s face??

Except there’s NO INDICATION OF THIS. Sansa’s rationale for why she’s sending a proxy to Cheryl’s Landing checks out, especially given Jon being MIA for the North (lol)

To cap off the game of “let’s hate each other to fuck with LF in private” Sansa then finds Arya’s messenger bag of Halloween masks

and no, sorry, Sansa’s terror is played as genuine, and thank the gods she gets yet another abuser, this time a member of her family! Yay!!

SPOILER (if anyone cares) I’m starting to wonder if Sansa orders Arya to execute LF next week just to buy herself a little trust from her horrible sister, and not because they actually figure anything out

Just all around bad bad bad. Fuck sisterly affection. They were different and hated each other growing up, so therefore they’ll be antagonistic towards each other after reuniting, trauma and shared grief be damned

That said, I feel like Sansa listens to UBS. Yes! She is the reason they have the North! She shouldn’t march her face into Cheryl’s Landing! She should have her interests represented! Correct!

Bo had the above take. This killed me. I want the Bunny Hood next week.

Dragonstone

They’re playing a weird game of having to deal with all of Tyrion’s plans turning to shit, and yet also having to keep him the golden boy. It’s not really working

Is Deadpan supposed to be getting paranoid like Aerys now? But then she’s later portrayed as a straight-up Good Guy Hero later, so I have confusion

This conversation goes literally nowhere, and frankly…yeah, why bother dealing with the line of succession now? She holds Dragonstone and no one even wanted it. And Daario’s probably doing fine in Meereen

This could have been a good exploration into her sorrow over being the last Targ…sorta? Like, her just not wanting to deal with it. But the show has never dealt with it before, so it doesn’t really come across as anything rooted in characterization

Me too, Deadpan.

Beyond the Wall

My brain was unable to focus on half these conversations, so I’m going to go back and rewatch before podcasting. Like. It was all walking and talking.

Not even in the good way. In the fic-ask-prompt kind of way. “Jon and Beric in a coffee shop, go!”

To highlight I guess

Jon & Jorah: Jon offers Jorah Longclaw because being an exiled slaver was hard on him. Glad this never came up with Lyanna, the actual heir of the house

Tormond makes a bawdy joke about raping Gendry because sex is a good way to keep warm. Male victimization is a hoot

Gendry gets mad at the Brotherhood without Banners for literally selling him and almost killing him, but Sandor tells him to stop “winging” because his complaints about being sexually assaulted by Mel “could be worse”

The Hound & Tormond chat about nicknames for penises before Tormond #nohomos and talks about how hot Brienne is

Jon & Beric have both been dead, what’s up with that? Also Jon quotes his Night’s Watch vows that he broke to gain inspiration from then, and Beric says he doesn’t look like Ned. Uh…

Jorah thinks Thoros was AWESOME for the Pyke battle

Then a bear attacks and I’m put out of my misery. A wight bear. Whatever

Who the fuck are these red shirts?

Thoros almost dies, but doesn’t die, but then he dies overnight, so…okay.

The wights walk in an orderly single file.

We learn a new contrivance: wights all fall if the white walker that personally res’d them is killed. There’s so many ways this doesn’t work with what we’ve seen, not the least of which that there was ONE WIGHT who was still squirming around

A whole lot of effort for convincing Cheryl, btw, who has essentially no army at this point

Then the other wights hear this wight’s struggle? And Jon tells Gendry who has never seen snow before that he’s the fastest runner (how does he know this) and has to go send a bird to Deadpan to help them out

this is baldly ridiculous. Their only shot is if they all try to book it

Then they run across cracking ice to a little rock, and then are shielded from wights because of…cracked ice

DEAD THINGS IN THE WATER

Also, dead things go through the water later in the episode

In-verse time: Gendry runs towards Eastwatch as the sun is setting and gets there around dusk. Jon & Co. wait out one night and the attack begins when the sun is still shining. I’m putting this at about 22 hours passing. A low-ball could be 14.

Raven gets to Dragonstone, Dany flies beyond the Wall and bails them out

The battle itself was underwhelming, I thought. Just smashing random skeletons who now die with any weapon (what about FIRE like we learned in Season 1?)

Viserion’s death looked cool, and the sinking into the puddle reminded me of King Dodongo. Dunno if that’s a good thing or not, but there you have it.

However, why did Shogun aim for the far away flying dragon and not Drogon who was RIGHT THERE and full of the people trying to get away?

He literally had his buddy ready his javelin for him

Jon falling into a puddle was…what? Why did this happen? Was this for closure for Uncle Benjen? Was this so we could have a dramatic moment of Deadpan thinking he died? Was this just to have a reason for a shirtless Jon on the boat so she could see his stab wounds? What did this add??

Then the res’d Viserion was kind of cooler in concept than seeing it happen. Oh wow, let’s focus on his eye I WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN

Lol at the metal working wights with their big ass chains. Can they make mini-Needle necklaces for everyone too?

Also very not reading into any of this being from the books. I could see this happening in a way, I guess? But this context, especially with a javelin-throwing Night’s King can’t be the case.

I don’t even… At least the critical reviews are pouring in. This deserved it. So did the past three years’ worth of episodes, but still.

Top 3 Nitpicks (not glaring, gaping errors)

The invitation to a meeting in KL that couldn’t have been arranged yet

The clothing! No one was wearing a hood? Deadpan was traveling faster than a jet without ear warmers?

Jon not being dead of hypothermia (or his managing to climb out at all with his sodden furs and heavy boots)

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera and whoever else asks me.

Thanks always to the cool-as-fuck @lenfaz, for her tireless efforts in keeping me motivated.

Emma

One thing you could say about Emma, she knew how to hold a grudge. She knew how to hold them close, how to nurture and how feed them until they grew up big and strong, and there were no shortage of people on her shit list. For instance, to this day if a certain person with the initials N.C. ever came waltzing back into her life, even a decade after the fact, she was pretty sure she still had enough latent rage bottled up to cause serious bodily harm.

Forgiveness had never really been her thing.

And yet…

She could play the strong and silent type all she liked, but the truth was, life was better with friends. Even when they had been an ocean away, her life had still been a flurry of group texts and Skype dates, of close confidences and harmless gossip. And national laughing stock or no national laughing stock, she missed it. She missed them.

She was almost surprised by the intensity of it, as it rose up inside her. That unfamiliar longing, the one she’d thought she’d long buried along with the rest of it. But as she sat in that unheated sedan, watching the landscape disappear beneath a blanket of fresh snow with a virtual stranger, she couldn’t see the point in pretending anymore.

Emma Swan was not an island.

So yes, she’d forgiven them. Conditionally. There would be atonement, of course. Apologies, and care packages and promises to never, ever, ever, fucking do something like that again. And it felt like a good thing, like a salve to her wounded pride. Like the grown up thing to do.

That is, until Ruby started stalking Killian Jones on Facebook.

“You didn’t mention he was hot.”

“Who?” Emma asked absently, still trying to get herself situated in front of her laptop screen without spilling her cocoa or her bowl of popcorn.

“Your writer guy. Killian?”

Emma almost spat out her mouthful of cocoa, mental alarm bells ringing. “Rubes…”

“Chill,” the brunette advised. “Take a yoga breath. Yes, okay, I looked the guy up. Of course I did. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t an axe murderer. But, wow, you have been really holding out on us.”

“He’s not… It’s a professional relationship, Ruby. Don’t make it weird.”

Or professional enough. Not that any other of Emma’s professional relationships involved watching Pixar movies with nephews, or frank admissions of orphanhood, but hell, what did she know about journalism? Maybe that was standard.

“So you mean you haven’t noticed he’s sex on legs?” Ruby pressed, her tongue peeking mischievously out of the corner of her mouth.

Okay, so Emma had noticed. It was kinda hard not to notice, especially when he insisted on wearing such tight jeans all the time, and button downs with the sleeves rolled up to expose criminally toned forearms. She didn’t even want to get into the scruff situation. Or that smirk. Whatever else the man might be, he was not modest about his looks.

“Please don’t objectify him. Trust me, he doesn’t need the ego boost. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he already has like a harem of casual conquests for that.”

“Wow,” Ruby said, folding her hand under her chin thoughtfully. “That sounded almost catty. Are we perhaps a little jealous of Killian Jones’s harem?”

“I’m not jealous. I have…” Okay, so Emma’s love life comprised entirely of streaming Sex in the City episodes ad nauseum whilst snuggled inside her hideously unfashionable, but unquestionably warm Portland Pirates pyjamas. But that was fine, she was still fresh from the whole Walsh debacle. It wasn’t like she couldn’t go out and find a guy, if she wanted one. “…Other concerns,” she finished lamely.

“Right,” Ruby said, sounding wholly less than convinced. “So you mean you don’t want to see the guy’s embarrassing high school pictures then? Because I have hit the motherlode. We’re talking ponytail. Grunge phase.”

Emma groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t Friend Request him.”

A sheepish grin crossed her friend’s features. “I plead the fifth?”

“God dammit, Ruby.” The last thing she needed was Killian Jones getting yet more dirt on her. He already knew way too much as it was. And Ruby was second only to Mary Margaret in the blabbermouth stakes. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

There was a pause. “There’s a fang earring.”

“You’re kidding.” The gods couldn’t be that kind.

“I’m really not.”

Ruby looked like the cat that got the canary, and rightfully so. Maybe Emma had this whole thing backwards. Maybe it wasn’t about how many of her secrets Killian could extort from her and her friends. Maybe it was about how many she could extract from him.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Your friend Ruby added me on Facebook. Friendly lass. Very chatty. KJ

I know. Nice ponytail, by the way. ES

…

I knew I should have deleted those. KJ

I’m so glad you didn’t. ES

I bet you are. Well, laugh it up, lass. Ruby’s albums aren’t entirely devoid of compromising pictures either. The one titled Spring Break ‘10 has been especially… revealing. KJ

Oh god. I forgot about that. Brb. Changing my privacy settings. ES

A little late for that, lass. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me. KJ

Truce? ES

Truce. KJ

On her best days, Emma could pack out a lecture hall with nearly 200 warm bodies, but come Friday afternoon the numbers tended to dwindle as most of her students made an early start on their weekends. A good thing too or else she might not have noticed him there, seated in the back row, whilst she was mid-way into comparing the war of 1812 to its more modern counterparts.

She stuttered to a stop, put off by the sight of him, hand on his chin and apparently listening intently.

“One.. uh…” She shot him a glare as she fought to remember what she was saying.

“One might be tempted to draw parallels here, of course. The kind of hubris that led Thomas Jefferson to state that conquering Canada would be 'a mere matter of marching’ is hardly unique to American foreign policy. Think about it: Vietnam. Afghanistan. Iraq. All intended to be swift, decisive victories that were anything but. I know this is history, kids, but don’t be afraid to make connections. It’s true what they say: 'What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new in the whole world.’ If I want you to take anything away from this course, it’s this: People don’t really change. Politics have always held an attraction for the arrogant and the short-sighted. Especially in the United States.”

As she waited for the laughter to die down, she glanced up at the clock above the whiteboard to see her hour fast drawing to a close. “And now that I’ve disparaged my country for your amusement, a reminder that next Thursday your argumentative essays are due. Was the War of 1812 just a footnote in the greater Napoleonic Wars, or was it a defining moment of a young and fragile nation? You decide. Either way, I want to be convinced!”

Killian waited for the last of the students to shuffle out before he approached Emma at her podium, still gathering up the last of her leftover handouts. His hands, the real and the plastic, were in his pockets, a grin stretching over his lips.

“You quoted Ecclesiastes,” he said by way of greeting, unable to completely keep the surprise from his voice.

Emma shrugged, trying to keep her attention on packing away her supplies and not Killian Jones’s opinion of her teaching methods. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest? Mixing scripture and history? In my experience, the two don’t tend to mesh well.”

Emma paused in her motions to raise an eyebrow. “Awfully philosophical today, aren’t we?”

He spread his arms, indicating the lecture hall they stood in. It was one of the university’s oldest, each row back even steeper than the one before it, which sometimes culminated in Emma feeling like she was performing live at Red Rocks. But she liked it, musty as it was, the wooden desks engraved with literally centuries worth of graffiti from bored college students. It had character. “Seems like an appropriate venue for philosophizing, don’t you think?”

“C'mon, Aristotle,” she said, pulling him towards the door by his sleeve. “You can buy me a drink.”

They didn’t go far, settling in the back of the closest Mexican restaurant to Emma’s office, two bottles of Corona sat on the table between them, a wedge of lime sticking out of each.

“So…” Emma started, absently picking at the label of her bottle. “Was there a reason for your visit, or was this just a standard evaluation of my teaching methods?”

“Eh, no. Not exactly, lass,” Killian admitted, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “Actually I was hoping to run something by you.”

He was nervous. Emma could tell. And that made Emma nervous. In her experience, if someone was afraid to ask something of her, it was usually because she wasn’t going to like it. Not. One. Bit.

“Oh, really?”

“I wanted to change the format of our little…” He made a vague gesture in the air, “…agreement.”

Emma was wary. “Change it… how?”

“Well,” he began, pulling himself up straighter in his chair. “For one thing, if I have to read another one of those responses from your website, I will actually gauge out my own eyeballs. They’re creeps, Swan. Sociopaths. Perverts. People who still live with their parents. You can do better.”

She wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered, or horrified. “O…kay. So, what’s the game plan?”

“Just, hear me out alright? I’ve given this rather a lot of thought. What if, instead of just shooting fish in a particularly grimy barrel, we try a more… old fashioned approach?”

“Old-fashioned?”

He winced prematurely, as if already anticipating her negative reaction. “Well, not old-fashioned exactly. But certainly adopting more tied and true methods. I thought the column could double as a how-to guide, of sorts. How to make friends in a new city.”

“What kind of methods?”

“I thought we might ease into it. Mutual friends. Actually, it was your friend, Ruby, that gave me the idea.”

Considering recent events, Emma did not like the way this was going. Her displeasure must have shown on her face, because he was quick to correct himself.

“Well, not Ruby herself. But in befriending me, I couldn’t help but notice that she has a Facebook friend in my extended circle of contacts. Edinburgh based.”

“Really?” Before she knew what she was doing, she already had her phone out, her Facebook app booting up.

“Aye,” Killian said, leaning in to peer at the device upside down. “And she has rather more than 39 Facebook Friends.”

Emma snatched her phone back to her chest, eyes narrowing. “What? I’m not sentimental.”

If anything, he looked amused. “Clearly. So this friend of hers, her name is Belle French. Ever met her?”

“Belle?” Emma asked, scrolling through Ruby’s friends list until she hit paydirt. Belle French. The brunette in the picture wasn’t immediately familiar, but when she opened up the profile and saw the woman’s birthplace, something twigged.

“I haven’t met her, but I know who she is. She’s the Australian girl Ruby dated freshman year.”

She waited for some leery comment, some perceptible widening of his eyes, but there was nothing. Emma had clearly been spending too much time around college boys.

“But that was before Ruby and I were friends,” Emma continued. “I think she transferred to another college or something.”

“And would you have any moral objections to befriending an ex of your friend?”

Emma considered that. “I mean, I’m pretty sure the break up was fairly amicable. Ruby isn’t exactly the type to get emotional over something like that. Or she wasn’t. Maybe now. But, you said she lives here?”

“Aye, she works in a library in Morningside. Children’s librarian. She does all the little voices when she reads to them.”

Emma frowned. It was way too much information to be accidentally gleaned from the internet. “Stalker, much?”

“Journalist, Swan,” he corrected. “Journalist.”

So has your friend blessed our endeavours? KJ

You mean did she give me Belle French’s email address? Yes. ES

And she didn’t mention any glaring personality defects or mutations? KJ

Jfc, mutations? ES

Let’s just say trawling through your inbox these past weeks has been quite an education and leave it at that. KJ

Yeah, you can’t just say something like that and not back it up with pictorial evidence. ES

I’m only thinking of you, Swan. KJ

Jones. ES

Prepare yourself. KJ

-KJ has sent you an image file-

Oh my god. Why would they send me that? Why would, what even? ES

I DID try to warn you. KJ

That’s a tail, right? ES

I certainly hope so. KJ

Killian

“Texting your new bird?”

Killian looked up from his phone, only to see Will giving him a conspiratorial look over his pint of ale.

Truthfully, Killian sometimes rued the day he ever became entangled with the likes of Will Scarlett. There was something squirrelly about the man, and it wasn’t just his Midlands accent.

No, Will was more the the type of friend who liked to document each and every night out with a series of steadily more incriminating posts to social media, under the guise of 'havin’ a laugh’. Not to mention the fondness for off-colour jokes and mysterious disappearances whenever it came time to stand his round.

Your man in a crisis, he was not.

“No new bird,” Killian replied coolly, slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking a long sip of IPA.

Robin was taking far too long to arrive.

“Then an old one?” Will enquired, undeterred by Killian’s reticence. “Are you and that Kiwi chick still a thing? Because if you’re not, I was thinking of-”

Killian held up a hand, forcing the man into silence. “You’re not her type, trust me.”

“What?” Will demanded, affronted. “Two-handed? Worried she might prefer a bloke who can multi-task?”

If Killian wasn’t still nursing his first pint he might have punched him. Instead he settled for letting his prosthetic land on the table in front of him with a heavy thud. His false hand had fallen to the mercy of Lachie and a permanent marker the previous evening, so he’d foregone it today in favour of the more utilitarian hook. It had made him feel self-conscious on leaving the house, but now he appreciated the way the metal glinted menacingly by the low light of the overhead lights.

“Erudite,” Killian corrected, rather enjoying the look on Will’s face as he grappled with whether to be offended or not, the word ironically failing to appear in his own personal lexicon.

Mercifully, before Will could decide either way, Killian spied the third member of their party finally approaching, and turned to him in greeting.

“Sorry I’m late, lads,” Robin said, as he took a seat opposite Killian, shedding his jacket. “The in-laws were late to pick up Roland. Some tosser tried to drive his lorry over the Forth in this wind and it fairly well cartwheeled over. Both lanes closed. Bloody nightmare.”

Though they’d grown up together, Robin was in many ways the complete antithesis of Will. Where Will was flighty and irresponsible, Robin was dependable and steadfast. Though of course, Robin had a young son at home, and a wife not long in the ground. Fucking cancer. You could argue he’d come by his virtues naturally, but it was hard to say for certain. Many a man had managed to forge themselves into something altogether stronger under the flame of adversity.

He reminded Killian almost uncomfortably of Liam at times, if Liam had only managed to hold onto his sense of humour post-having kids.

“So who’s round is it?” Robin prompted, though he was already digging around for his own wallet. Killian didn’t need to look up to tell that Will’s chair was empty, and he breathed out a small sigh of relief.

“Cheap bastard,” Robin chuckled, almost fondly. Like Will was a chronically misbehaving puppy that he couldn’t quite stay mad at, no matter how many pairs of shoes it chewed through. Not an entirely erroneous description, now Killian thought about it. “Has he been giving you a hard time?”

“No more than usual,” he shrugged, but he knew the way he was currently grinding his jaw probably spoke volumes.

Robin considered him closely. “I think it might be time to switch to something stronger.”

“You just got here,” Killian pointed out.

“Well, I’ve got some catching up to do, haven’t I?” Robin said with a wink, clapping Killian on the shoulder as he made his way to the bar.

Lagavulin was his answer, coming back with three tumblers of amber liquid clutched precariously in his hands. Killian wasn’t a habitual whisky drinker, but he wasn’t one to turn down a dram of the good stuff. Let alone a double.

“You’re keen,” Killian noted, taking his tumbler with a grateful tip of his head.

“First night without the lad since, well… since just after the funeral, I suppose,” Robin said soberly. “Might as well get properly scuttered.”

The last time Killian had been properly scuttered he’d vomited in the back of a taxi and slept with his ex-girlfriend. Not the most promising of prospects.

“Do me a favour, will you?” he said suddenly, digging into his trousers pocket. “If I somehow get it into my head to call Tink tonight, do you think you can just throw my phone off a bridge instead?” he asked, tossing Robin the offending device.

“Whatever you say,” Robin agreed with a mock salute. But before he could tuck it away, the phone buzzed in his hands, causing a sly smile to appear on his face.

“You’ve a text. A few of them, actually. From an Emma?” He raised a significant eyebrow.

Killian snatched the phone out of his hands, and tucked it back into his pocket, sight unseen.

“American Emma?” Robin asked.

“Aye,” Killian grumbled out, taking the first sip of his whisky and letting it warm his insides.

“So it’s going well, then?” Robin ventured. “The column? I’ve been following along, for the most part.”

“S'fine. Well, alright, it’s been a disaster, actually,” Killian corrected. “The lass hasn’t taken to it, and most everyone who responded to the ad in the first instance was just a mouth-breathing creep looking to get laid. I’m going to have to tweak the entire format.”

“But you’re still setting her up with strangers, yes?”

Killian shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. Already got the next one nearly lined up. A children’s librarian from Australia. Quiet lass. A friend of Tink’s, actually. She mentioned that her divorce just came through. Might be in need of some friendly distraction.”

“Emotionally unavailable librarian type, you say?”

Killian hadn’t even noticed Will slip back into his seat, but he already wanted to punch him again. He turned to him with a cold stare. “Don’t even try it.”

“She have a thing for the educated blokes, too?”

Good to know someone had googled 'erudite’ on his phone outside.

“Oh, c'mon,” Robin coaxed, in a rare show of treachery. “This entire thing is about Emma making friends, yes? So why keep her all to yourself? Why not make a group outing of it? I would love to meet her, and I’m sure this librarian can handle anything our Mr Scarlett dishes out.”

Killian wasn’t sure why, but something inside him twisted uncomfortably at the idea of Emma mixing with his friends. Not that he thought she might embarrass him, or vice versa. Though introducing her to Will might belay all of the efforts he was making to save her from Edinburgh’s creep contingent. It just felt… like it would go poorly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, really? And what were you planning on having them do?” Robin said, in a way that was far too reminiscent of Liam sat at his desk, dismissing Killian’ story pitches out of hand.

And god damn him, Killian caved. “They have a karaoke night in the pub up the stair. This librarian, Belle, apparently she’s quite into that.”

“Belle,” Will whispered dreamily, and Killian kicked him under the table.

It was stupid, now he thought about it. Supposing that Emma and this virtual stranger might bond over mutual humiliation as they warbled their way through a Best of the 80s karaoke mix. He was an idiot.

But Robin, on the other hand, merely grinned. “That’s brilliant. We could get a few more people together. Make a night of it.”

“You remember when I said it would be a bad idea?” Killian reminded him.

“Trust me,” Robin said. “I have it sorted.”

With a growing sense of foreboding, Killian finished off the last of his whisky, and pulled out his wallet to pay for the next round.

You really can’t spare ten minutes? KJ

Hey, if you want to sit here and grade forty nearly identical papers about Alexander Hamilton that use a factually inaccurate, albeit brilliant, Broadway musical as an academic reference, you’re welcome to switch places with me. ES

And you make it sound so inviting. KJ

Just spit it out, Jones. ES

Alright. But first, some caveats: 1) It was not my idea, 2) My hand was forced, 3) I am paying you. KJ

… ES

A few of my friends have taken it upon themselves to intercede in our Grand Experiment. Or to put it more plainly, in the interests of ruining my life they have decided to turn your friend-date with Belle into a “group-outing”, with both them and I riding shotgun. KJ

Scottish friends? ES

Mostly English. Or John might be Welsh, actually. He doesn’t say much, so it’s hard to know. KJ

Do you actually have any Scottish friends? ES

Fewer than you’d think. KJ

And how many people are we talking here, on this “group-outing”? ES

You’re being remarkably calm about this. KJ

How many? ES

Max 10. I promise. KJ

And you can vouch for them? ES

Most of them. Will is a tosser, but you can sort him out. Might be good for him, even. KJ

Just… ES

Just don’t leave me on my own with them, okay? You know I’m not good at small talk. ES

Roger that. KJ

Thank you. KJ

You owe me one, Jones. ES

Killian was already halfway up the stairs from the station when he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID. It wasn’t a number he recognised, though the area code was local. He was tempted to hit ignore, but in his line of work tips and sources came in all kinds. He answered.

“Mr Jones?” The voice on the other end of the phone was young, and to his ears, tearful.

“Aye?” No one ever called him Mr Jones. Not if he could help it.

“It’s Ashley. Ashley Boyd? The babysitter?”

Ah, yes. The lass that picked the boys up from school, and watched them until their parents came home from work. Barely out of school herself, from what he could remember. A blonde slip of a girl that even Lachie couldn’t bear to misbehave for. But why would she be calling him?

“Aye, I remember. What’s the matter, lass? Are the boys okay?”

“They’re fine. It’s only, Mr Jones… that is, the other Mr Jones, he was supposed to come home and relieve me an hour ago, and he’s not answering his phone. I called and left a message but…”

Killian’s heart leapt into his throat.

“…I mean, I don’t mind the extra hours usually, but I have an assignment due this week and…”

He tuned her out, his mind launching into a million terrible scenarios, each more horrific than the last. An hour late. Not answering phone. Not like Liam. Not at all.

“I’ll be right there,” he barked into the phone, taking the steps down two at a time, an arm already raised to hail a taxi.

He was halfway to calling Elsa when he remembered she was in London this week, meeting with potential investors for her next show. No need to worry her unnecessarily. Not immediately.

Instead he settled for dialling his brother’s phone on a loop, leaving a series of increasingly frantic messages.

“Where the fucking hell are you? Pick up. Pick up.”

“You’d better be in a bloody ditch, you bastard.”

“Please don’t be in a bloody ditch. Call me right back.”

By the time the taxi pulled up at the house he practically threw a handful of notes at the driver, and raced up the drive, gravel crunching ominously underfoot.

His stomach lurched to see Ashley was still there, pacing the kitchen with a stricken look on her face.

“Mr Jones?” She said, her relief evident. “Oh, thank god. The boys have been asking questions and-

"Aye, thank you,” he said, cutting her off before she started to spiral. He emptied out the rest of his wallet and pressed the cash into her sweaty palm. “Appreciate you staying, love.”

She looked uncertain for a moment, but after a coaxing nod from Killian she gathered up her coat and bag, and headed for the front door, visibly relieved to be absolved of responsibility.

He went into the living room to check on the boys, still bickering gently over a pair of action figures.

“Uncle Killian?” Callum asked, when he emerged from the hallway. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Just running a bit behind today, is all. You monsters hungry, yet? I was thinking pizza for dinner. Just while your Mum is away.”

In Killian’s experience, very little served to distract quite as well as the prospect of pizza. The boys seemed happy at least, moving on to arguing over toppings. Whilst they hotly debated the merits of pineapple vs no pineapple, he snuck back into the kitchen, phone already at his ear.

That was when he heard it. The crunch of gravel outside. Throwing his phone down on the counter, he sprinted towards the front door, pulling it open just in time to surprise the hell out of the person on the other side.

Liam. Liam. He was looking a little weary, and visibly sweating despite the chill, but otherwise no worse for wear.

“You fucking wanker,” Killian said by way of greeting, pulling his brother into a forceful hug against his will.

“Ger'off me,” Liam complained, and Killian released his hold on him, still shaking with leftover adrenaline.

“What time do you call this?”

“I’m so sorry. Are the boys-?”

“They’re fine. Oblivious. Expecting pizza, because I had to give them something. Might have overpaid your babysitter to the point of bribery though. She was freaking out. Hell, I was freaking out. Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone died. I was already running late…”

At that Liam gestured towards the clock above the stove, and Killian had a momentary panic all his own.

Emma.

He’d forgotten to text Emma and tell her he would be late.

Shit. Fuck.

I am so sorry. Family crisis. Now resolved. I’ll be there as soon as I can. KJ

Swan? KJ

By the time he made it back to the Jinglin’ Geordie it was already half nine, and karaoke night was in full swing. Or it was for one lass, anyway. Belle. He recognised her from when he’d scoped out the library, now currently sobbing her way through the first verse of Wild Horses.

He’d thought she was almost pretty the first time he’d seen her, in a fussy librarian kind of way. Now it was hard to tell either way, with her face blotchy and the mascara streaming down her cheeks.

Bloody hell.

He looked around for Emma, for any of his compatriots, but the place was nearly empty, save for a handful of barflies at their usual posts. If he had to guess, he’d say the crying woman might have had something to do with that.

There was only one other customer, sat at the furthest table from the stage. She sat nursing a gin and tonic, reading from a stack of paper s in her lap by the light of her phone.

Killian slid into the seat across from her, his hands already steepled in front of him. He startled her as he did so, the red pen sliding from her grasp and disappearing somewhere on the grimy carpet.

“So it’s going well, I see.”

Sarcasm hadn’t been in his original plan, the one he’d been slowly forming in his mind on the taxi back into town. He’d had every intention of returning in a shower of profuse apologies. Free drinks. A bit of grovelling if necessary.

But upon seeing the fucking joke of an evening it had turned out to be, Killian could feel the apologies turn sour on his tongue. Why should he feel badly, when Emma clearly wasn’t even going to try? She was marking essays, for chrissakes. On an evening out. And who the bloody hell knew where his friends had got to?

As if sensing his mood, or simply projecting one of her own, Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“You think this is my fault?” she hissed, her stack of papers scattering as she leaned forward. “You think I wanted tonight to turn into Moaning Myrtle’s Greatest Hits? And who are you to talk? At least I showed up!”

He couldn’t say that their harsh whispering was attracting an audience, but the bartender certainly shot an annoyed glance their way.

Swallowing back an angry retort, Killian motioned for Emma to follow him, and lead the way to the side door. It opened out into a small designated smoking area, empty save for a derelict set of garden furniture and empty kegs. He motioned for her to take a seat, and she did, hugging herself against the cold.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said evenly. “But I really did have an emergency. I thought Liam- Bloody hell, it doesn’t matter what I thought. The point is, my nephews needed me.”

“I’m not mad about that!” Emma said, her voice gradually softening as she spoke. “I get it. Family stuff. It’s important. What I’m mad about is you sending me in blind! I know you know she got divorced this week. You’re you. Stalking people is your forte. So why not warn me? Why let me sit through two hours of this poor girl just unravelling before my eyes?”

She was right. He had known. Tink had warned him, in fact. And he’d simply dismissed it, figuring it wasn’t relevant. Clearly he’d underestimated the potent cocktail of alcohol and song, and all the ways it could dredge up the worst possible feelings.

He should have known. He’d paired them often enough, once a time.

He decided on a new strategy: contrition.

“How long has she been crying?”

“Since about half way through Tiny Dancer. No one could get the microphone off her after that. Not that a lot tried…”

“And my friends?” Killian asked gingerly.

“Ditched about half an hour in. I think they said something about the pub downstairs. Not that I blame them.”

“Bloody traitors,” Killian snarled.

“To be fair, they did ask me to go with them. But I thought I should… stay.” She shot a regretful glance towards the door they’d just exited, as if even now she felt guilty for leaving the girl inside.

“And Will behaved himself?” Killian asked, surprised.

“Oh, no, Will is definitely a jerk. Major jerk. But Robin’s okay. And your girlfriend is nice.”

Killian nearly choked on his own saliva. “My girlfriend?”

“It’s Tink, right? The one from New Zealand? Is that really her name?”

“Not my girlfriend,” Killian wheezed out, still fighting to regain his composure.

“Really?” She looked almost amused. “Will said…”

Next time he thought about punching Will Scarlett he was actually going to follow through.

“Will is a wanker. As discussed. And Tink is a lovely lass, but she and I have always managed to make a right mess of things. So to say she’s my girlfriend is viciously overstating what we have.”

“So you do have something?”

Killian groaned, wondering how he came to be explaining his not-even relationship to Emma Swan, of all people. Was this payback for interrogating her about that Walsh fellow? Was this karma come back to bite him?

“We used to date,” he admitted. “Now she mainly just yells at me. Which she used to do before, only now there’s very little make up sex involved. Barely any, unless there’s been far too much alcohol consumed.”

“Sounds healthy,” Emma said, patting him on the shoulder in a way that could only be condescending.

“Says the Queen of Healthy Relationships. How close were you to marrying a guy you didn’t even love, again?”

She gave him a shove, and he elbowed her back, but neither of them put any feeling into it.

“So, Swan. How about we go put Ms French in a taxi and fetch our compatriots. I feel a song coming on.”

“You’re going to sing?” she asked doubtfully.

“Aye, if you will.”

“I’m not really a singer…”

“I somehow doubt that. I can tell about people, Emma Swan, and you are a singer at heart.” He wasn’t sure how he was so certain. But he knew he was right.

“Yeah, in the shower, maybe…”

“A duet, then?” he suggested. “How do you feel about Sonny and Cher?”

“Please, god no.”

“A Whole New World?” he offered.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Elton John?”

“Better.”

“Elton John it is.”

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

Snowball fights

(A/N):okay so this is like my first ever dc request and I'm kinda excited about it?

Request: Can you do an imagine where the reader and the suicide squad are on a mission and it starts snowing, so they have a spontaneous snowball fight? Thank you :)

Warnings: some swearing

Tags: @mcuimxgine (I didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged in the dc stuff so if you don’t want to you can totally tell me) 

   You hated these missions, these long, 24 hour stake outs all for Amanda's amusement. Half the time you doubted the missions you were on were worth anything, you were just pawns in her little game of life and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

    It was always a rather unpleasant experience, you'd rather work alone rather than a team of criminals and no-do-gooders but you worked for Amanda and this is what you were assigned to do. The only plus side to it all was the fresh air and the promise that if anyone stepped out of like you were permitted to punish them. But...you couldn't really call this stepping out of line. 

   It'd been snowing for a few hours, just light little flakes, or so you had thought. After landing at the designated location you realized that it was much more than just light flakes, it was nearly a snowstorm out there. You sigh, raking a hand down your face as you stare out into the misty flurries, the white snowflakes completely obscuring anything within a five foot radius of you. There was no way in hell you were letting these guys go out there in that but you sure as hell weren't going back either so you had to improvise. 

    "It's storming out," you called to everyone, efficiently gathering their attention. "And since I don't trust any of you we're going to wait in here until it dies down, capiche?" Digger opens his mouth to argue but you simply raise a hand, silencing him and all the other rather quickly. "Step out of line I will jot hesitate to shoot you, do you understand?" Everyone stares at you before nodding, some grumbling stuff under their breath (primarily Digger and Harley). "You mess with each other I shoot you, do you understand?" Everyone nods again. "You act like the impatient little shits you are and I will not hesitate to shoot you, do you understand?" Everyone nods once again, glaring at you menacingly. "Good, now sit tight, this might be awhile," and awhile it was, for 2 hours the storm raged on, never letting up and to be honest you were getting rather restless. Sitting in a helicopter for hours on end was not an easy or fun task, especially when you were surrounded by lunatics. Thankfully the storm looked like it was letting up and so far everyone had been behaving. 

   You walk to the pilots seat, looking out over into the town your were ransacking or gathering Intel from as Amanda liked to call it. The snow had let up quite a bit and you could actually see some of the buildings in the distance. 

   “What do you want to do?” Rick mutters, looking to you with nearly squinted eyes. “You’re calling the shots here kid,” You sigh, contemplating your options once again. You could go out in the somewhat of a storm with a team of criminals or you could wait longer, risking everyone’s sanity and safety. 

   “Gear up, we’re going out,” Rick nods before turning on his heel, marching out to greet the team. God, you could only hope this was going to go at least somewhat okay...

   You’d been out in the storm and cold for a good half an hour, trying to locate the location Amanda had given you but the more you walked the more perilous your mission became. 

   “God fucking dammit,” You curse, kicking at a chunk of ice. “Either we’re dumb as shit or Amanda gave us the wrong coordinates,” 

    “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Harley mutters somewhere behind you, twirling a pink strand of hair around her finger. You sigh, knowing that what she was saying was true, it wouldn’t be the first time Amanda “accidentally” gave the wrong coordinates to some location. You had always wondered why in the hell she gave you the wrong direction  but she was above you and you had no right to question her. 

   “Rick, check the location for me one more time?” You give him a small smile and he in return gives you an affirmative little nod. You turn to the team, watching them closely, just to make sure they all stayed in line. 

   “You know we’re not just gon’ run off or some shit,” Floyd complains, glaring at you with the eye that wasn’t covered. “I think we learned our lesson the first mission,” You only smirk, shaking your head. 

   “It’s standard protocol,nothin’ I can do about it-” You’re cut short when a soft thud fills the air, resulting in a grunt coming from Chato, and an exclamation of ‘hey’. You whip around, only to find Harley standing a few feet away, her hands covered in flakes of snow. 

   “What?” She turns to look at you, that damn smirk upon her face. “I ain’t hurtin’ nobody, I just figured if we’re gon’ be here awhile we might as well make the most of it,” She gives you an innocent little look, an almost puppy dog expression about her face. 

   “Harley,” You begin only to be cut off as Floyd throws a snowball her direction, resulting in the latter letting out a little squeal and giggle of excitement. 

   “You two,” You sigh only to have the two part their separate ways, each one ducking for cover, already preparing other snowballs to throw at each other. 

   “You better put a stop to this,” Rick smiles as he looks up from whatever gadget he was working with at the moment. “Once they start they’re not gonna stop,” You smile back, a small chuckle leaving your lips, but as you turn to tell the two to stop you realized that Rick warned you just a tad too late. Every single one of the suicide squad members, including Tatsu herself, were in the middle of a snowball fight.  

   “Shit,” You mutter fondly, staring at the ragtag team of criminals as they all attempt to hit each other, most of the time failing completely. “Should we even try to-” You’re once again interrupted when a snowball hits your back, causing you to go completely rigid, your hands fisted at your sides as you turn to glare at the perpetrator, none other than Rick Flag himself. He gives you a little cocky smile, as he bends down to pick up more snow, already compacting it into a ball. 

   “Should we what?” You can’t help the cocky smile of your own as it overtakes your features. 

   “Oh, you are so going to get it,” You mutter, already bending down to pick up some snow of your own. 

   Somehow during the minutes of fighting you and Rick got pulled into everyone else’s little game, the Criminals against the good guys. It was a little ridiculous to have the suicide squad, the most elite team full of the most dangerous people in the world, to stop mid mission to have a snowball fight but you honestly couldn’t give a damn. 

~Extended Ending~

   “(Y/N)? (Y/N) do you copy?” Amanda attempts to connect to some team member after having lost connection over half an hour ago, little did she know that both Rick’s and (Y/N)’s com’s had fallen out at the very beginning of this snow war. 

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 28

“I’m a man in love with an amazing woman, and while that argument will not hold weight in a court of law, in a court of public opinion, I think it makes perfect sense. The purchase of Homegrown was meant to be a surprise belated wedding present for my new wife, so I acted quickly, and perhaps without thinking things through in my normal logical fashion, because I wanted to do it before my beautiful, intelligent bride realized what I was doing.” I’m pretty sure every female in the crowd is now sighing. Glancing up from the podium, I see Selena standing in the back corner, and she’s lifting a hand to her face and dabbing at the underside of her eye. I don’t try to hold the smile back. “So, there you go. That’s the explanation I have for you. Now I’ll take your questions.” The flurry starts, but a booming voice cuts through the din. “You really think that ridiculous explanation is going to matter? Not likely, Justin. I thought you were smarter than that.” With that, my uncle Damon turns on his heel and leaves the room. I spend over an hour answering investor questions before my portion of the presentation is over. Selena is waiting at the back of the auditorium, and I stride to where she stands and pull her into my arms. “You know how to give one hell of a speech, Justin,” she says, speaking in muffled words into my chest. “I meant every word of it.” “Is Homegrown really my wedding present?” I loosen my grip and step back a fraction so I can look down into her eyes. “Yes. It was always for you.” Her brow furrows, concern shading her eyes. “Does that mean you expect me to run it?” “If you want to; you can do whatever you want. The management team I’ve got in place now is starting to turn things around, but if you want to get involved with the business side of things, you’re more than welcome.” I pause to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I think that’d be sexy as fuck, if you want to know the truth . . . my wife, the CEO, running her own empire.” I groan as my dick jerks against my zipper. Not the time or the place, buddy. A small smile spreads over Selena’s face, which doesn’t help matters. “Justin.” The sound of Cannon’s voice, however, deflates my hard-on. Selena called it when she referred to him as a cock-blocker. Releasing Selena with one arm, I turn. “What do you need?” “What are you going to do about Damon?” “Besides take a hit out on him?” Cannon’s eyes widen only slightly. “I know a guy.” “Jesus. Fuck, Cannon. I’m joking.” He shrugs. “Desperate times.” “And that’s called conspiracy, and I don’t care to find out the New York prison system’s policy on conjugal visits.” At this, Selena snorts. “Can I second that?” A tall, thin black man approaches us. He’s the associate from the conference room who made the “Oh no, he didn’t” comment when Selena walked in. “Mr. Karas, Mr. Cramer wanted to run one more idea by you, given your uncle’s latest outburst. Could we have a few minutes of your time in the conference room across the hall?” I look to Selena, and she says, “Justin, do your thing. I’ll be waiting. I’m feeling an epic song about revenge coming on, à la Carrie Underwood’s ‘Two Black Cadillacs’ or maybe ‘Good-bye, Earl.’” Leaning down, I brush a kiss across her cheek. “I love you, woman. I’ll be right back.” “Give ’em hell. And I love you too.” I follow Cannon and the associate—I really need to get his name—to the conference room across the hall from the auditorium. My lawyer, Cramer is waiting, and he looks less than amused. I suppose it’s lucky that he works for me and not the other way around. “Save your breath, Cramer. You didn’t approve before, and you don’t approve now. I also know you’re not going to approve of what I’m going to do next.” “And what’s that, Mr. Karas?” he asks, the skepticism in his tone thinly veiled. One of the largest negative aspects of this suit is the element of fear that has slipped away from my persona. This will be remedied. I’m Justin fucking Karas, and the world will not question my judgment again when this is over. “My uncle may be brave enough to take me on in front of a crowd, but we’ll see how he feels about taking me on man-to-man.” The lawyer’s silver eyebrows hit his equally silver hairline. “That’s highly inadvisable.” “Consider it a family matter and none of your concern.” My words carry the unmistakable weight of authority. He swallows. “Mr. Karas, we have your best interests in mind here. I’m sure you understand.” “Of course, Mr. Cramer, but sometimes the only thing a bully understands is a bigger bully. It’s time the gloves come off. I’m done with his bullshit.” “You’re not going to listen to a logical, reasoned argument, no matter what I say, are you?” “There’s no reasoning with my uncle, so no. Save your breath.” “Fine.” Cramer nods. “We’ll leave you to it. Please call us if we can be of further assistance.” I turn and head for the door. “Cannon, walk out with me?” He’s on my heels as we hit the threshold.

“You’re not staying for the rest of Investor Day?” he asks. “You have a closing keynote.” I give him a sideways glance. “You think I don’t know that? I’ll try to be back in time. If I’m not, extend the dog-and-pony show. You’ve got promo videos and PowerPoints up the ass. Use something.” “And if that doesn’t work?” I stop, and my eyes cut to Selena. She’s curled up in a chair, scribbling in the journal resting on her knee. She’s so fucking beautiful, and I’d walk through a thousand shitstorms like the one swirling around us just to watch her like this. Not looking at Cannon, I say, “Improvise. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” I take a step toward Selena, but pause when he lays a hand on my arm. “Justin.” I glance back at him. “What?” “Damon is fucking crazy. What he’s doing—his issue with you—that’s not based in logic. It never has been. Be careful. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either.” I inhale, long and slow. “I know. This has been a long time coming.” “Good luck, man.” Cannon peels off and heads back in the direction of the auditorium, and I cross the half dozen yards between Selena and me. She’s so involved in her writing that she doesn’t notice me until I crouch in front of her. “I bet if I were naked, you’d notice me quicker.” Her head jerks up, and her smile is quick and bright. “Damn straight, I would. That dick of yours demands attention.” “Later. Definitely.” “Count on it. After all, I hear I got a hell of a wedding present, which means you’ve got a hell of a thank-you coming.” “Maybe I should book the room at the Plaza?” “Screw the Plaza. Let’s go back to Vegas. I didn’t get nearly enough time to enjoy that villa at Caesar’s.” I smile, thankful she’s not losing her mind over the Homegrown acquisition. “Deal. We sort this out, and you and I are going to high roll it in Vegas.” Selena leans forward and threads her fingers through my hair. “I’m going to head back to the penthouse to finish this song and pack. So, hurry up and sort it out.” “I’ll consider those my marching orders.” Her lips press against mine, and while I want to seize control, I’m aware of the people moving around us, their eyes on us. I pull away. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m on my way.” “You better.” Another quick kiss and then I step away. I don’t realize that the next time I see her, everything I think I know about myself will have changed irrevocably. I go first to my aunt and uncle’s penthouse in the city, but I’m informed by the doorman, who has been a fixture in the building for as long as I can remember, that my uncle’s already been and gone back to Westchester. Thanking him for the information, I slide back into the backseat of the Bentley. “Looks like we’re headed to the estate, Michael,” I tell my driver. “Very good, sir. I’m assuming we’re in a hurry?” “Aren’t we always?” I catch his grin in the rearview mirror. “Of course.” Midday traffic is thankfully lighter than normal, and I cruise through the e-mails piled up in my in-box before I read through the top stories reporting on my impassioned opening remarks at Investor Day. JUSTIN KARAS: EXECUTIVE IN LOVE. THIS TIME IT’S FOR REAL, LADIES. This morning at Karas International’s annual Investor Day, Justin Karas publicly announced that his acquisition of Homegrown Records was an impulsive move fueled by his feelings for his new bride. He claims that allegations of self-dealing and breach of fiduciary duty leveled in a shareholder derivative suit filed by the executive’s own uncle are baseless given the company’s portfolio of holdings. Further, Karas claims that a purchase of Homegrown by Karas International would have been detrimental to the health of the company and the best interest of its shareholders, given Homegrown’s precarious financial situation. Homegrown, which has been hemorrhaging money since . . . I skim the rest of the article and several others like it, but it seems that the court of public opinion is indeed turning in my favor. Now, if I can get my uncle to take my offer and sell his shares in Karas International, then this problem will be solved and I can move on to taking Selena back to Vegas, and if I have my way, on a real honeymoon. I think she’d enjoy Europe after she gets her next record cut. The beauty of my solution of having my uncle sell his shares is simple—he can’t maintain his shareholder derivative suit if he’s no longer a shareholder. Clean and elegant. Even my lawyers would be proud.

By the time we pull up to the tall, ornate iron gates of the sprawling Westchester estate that was arguably my childhood home, I have my entire speech planned. The gate slides open immediately, and Michael drives through. A blanket of crisp white snow blankets what I know is a manicured lawn with perfect shrubbery. It has never been graced by a swing set. Tag has never been played here. The ornamental trees have never been climbed. Instead, Greer actually had tea parties, archery lessons, cotillion training, and etiquette instruction. Nine days out of ten, I was banished to my room when I was home, but sneaked out and stole books from the library on economics, finance, philosophy, and anything else that I thought could help me learn enough to make more money than my uncle. I studied him. Mimicked his moves in the foreign exchange markets. Cashed in and got out to invest in business with people and assets instead of numbers and paper. I took my company public and made billions. And then he came and bought chunks of my stock, and his ownership of a piece of my company was eating away at the rest of it like a cancer. It’s time for him to be excised. I won’t stand for it any longer. I built my empire with my own sweat, guts, and determination, and I defend what’s mine. My uncle has forgotten that I am just as ruthless as he is. I learned from his example, after all. His reminder will be fierce and swift. Michael slows to a stop in the circular drive of the ten-thousand-square-foot Georgian-style mansion. “I won’t be long,” I say, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open. “Yes, sir.” I make my way to the front door, and it swings open wide before I reach it. “Elisabetta, it’s good to see you again.” The housekeeper, who has served my aunt and uncle in near silence for as long as I can remember, nods. “This way, Mr. Justin.” She leads me to my uncle’s study and shuts the door behind me with a quiet click. Damon is seated in an oversized antique leather chair that looks like it held a Russian tsar. Knowing Damon, it probably did. The Louis XIV desk is the size of a pool table, and the top is spotless, but for a sleek laptop on a leather blotter and a single Mont Blanc pen. “Figured you’d show up. It’s always good to be proven right.” His eyes are narrowed on me, and his tone clearly says he’s not pleased with my presence. “Damon.” “Justin.” “I don’t expect you to offer me a seat. I always enjoy being proven right as well.” His mouth twists into a mockery of a smile. “I don’t know what you think coming here is going to accomplish, but you might as well say what you’ve got to say and get out. Know in advance that you’re wasting my time.” I imagine that my own smile is just as sardonic as his. I step closer and lower myself into one of his chairs for the sole purpose of knowing that it pisses him off. I enjoy towering over him, but I enjoy pissing him off more. His scowl gratifies every part of me. “I came to end this, because quite frankly, Damon, you’re wasting my time, and I’m fucking sick of it. I’ve got better things to do than dicking around with all this petty activist shareholder bullshit, and so do you. We both know it. You’ve hated me since I was a kid; I don’t particularly care why. But we’re both adults, and we’re both businessmen. So how about we talk in terms that we both understand and respect—money. I want your shares. What’s it going to take to get you out of my company and out of my fucking life?” Damon’s eyes, dark like my own, harden even more, but there’s something else there that I can’t identify. I’m reminded of Cannon’s comment because in this moment, my uncle looks more than his normal shrewd and cutting self. “You want my shares? You can have them.” He sits forward, pressing his palms on the desk, and stands halfway out of his chair. “All you have to do is change your fucking last name and take it off your goddamn company.” What the fuck? His request rings in my head, and my brain spins to find a motive or logic behind his words. He’s fucking crazy. “What the hell are you talking about, old man?” My words come out low and harsh. Damon pushes away from the desk and stands tall. He’s six foot one, which means I still top him by two inches. Feeling the need to establish dominance once again, I rise as well. His face has morphed into the most twisted expression of perverted pleasure I’ve ever beheld as he tilts his head and studies me. “You don’t deserve that name. You never fucking did. Your whore of a mother got it for you by seducing my little brother. She ruined his fucking life. Killed him.” I suck in a breath but my lungs are burning, as if all the oxygen in this room couldn’t satisfy them. What is he saying? “Explain yourself before I fucking beat it out of you.” The evil light of perverse pleasure burns in his eyes. “You’ve never wondered why Greer actually looks Greek and you don’t? Oh, you’ve got Mediterranean heritage, but it didn’t come from this family.” Everything inside me goes cold. I become intrinsically aware of every unconscious function of my body. Every tha-thunk of my heart. The whoosh of blood through my ears. Each blink of my eyes. Every shallow, indrawn breath and shaky exhalation. The sensation of my stomach on the floor at my feet.

“What the fuck are you saying?” I roar. Visions of my father—my swarthy, very Greek father—filter through my brain. My mother was a brunette as well. I always assumed I took after her more than him, but my looks never raised suspicion. “Don’t you get it, Justin? The only reason you weren’t born a fucking bastard is because your mother seduced my brother into marrying her before you were born. She got knocked up by a married man, and her family threw her out. My brother was a sucker. A good kid. A fucking junior in college. He was going to do great things—join me in the business. But he met her, and he wouldn’t listen. They got married six weeks later without telling anyone. When we found out and tried to talk him into annulling it, he dug in his heels. Joined that damn church and moved out of the city. Five years later, they ended up in Papua fucking New Guinea, and we all know how that ended. She as good as killed him herself. He never would’ve been there if not for her.” His words twist in a riot in my head, and I’m trying to make sense of them, but it sounds like complete fiction. It can’t be true. “You’re telling me that David Karas was not my biological father.” Damon is stone-faced. “No. He wasn’t.” My father was not my father. The realization pounds into my brain over and over. I turn and pace toward the door. Several beats later, I gather myself and face him again. “But he’s Greer’s father, because she was born in Papua New Guinea.” “Unless your whore mother—” I bolt across the room and my hand is at his throat, slamming him against the wall. “Shut your fucking mouth.” “Get your hands off me,” he forces out through the chokehold. “Tell me who my father is.” “Let me go.” “I said—” I wrap my fingers tighter around his throat. “Tell me who my fucking father is. You have to know.” Damon’s face is turning purple, but he snarls out, “A capo in La Casa Nostra.” I release him, and he stumbles back into the wall. What the fuck? The Mafia? “You’re lying.” “No reason to lie.” I lift my hand to my face as I try to let it sink in. “You have proof?” He nods. “DNA test. Pulled strings when you were a kid.” The man either has bigger balls than I could have ever suspected—or he’s stupid. “How did you not end up dead?” Damon tries to chuckle, but it comes out as a grunt. He rubs his throat. “I know people.” “Well, you can go fuck yourself. This stays between us. I’m not changing my name. You take that request and shove it up your ass.” “Then get ready to lose your entire company. I will drag you through court and destroy your reputation by dissecting every move you’ve ever made. I’ll be so far up your ass, you’ll taste me with every breath.” I have no doubt that he will attempt everything he’s saying. The crazy light in his eyes has settled over the expression on his face, and it’s clear that logic has fled his mind completely. “You’re going to cost yourself everything. You won’t walk away clean from this.” “I don’t care,” he roars. “I’m going to be a thorn in your side for the rest of your fucking life, like you’ve been a thorn in mine!” My hands curl into fists, and I ask the question burning within me. “Why? And if all you want from me is to change my name, why wait until now? Why not earlier?” Damon’s face twists into a sneer. “Every time I miss my brother—his birthday, our annual fishing trip, the World fucking Series, every time I see your goddamn picture in the paper, it makes me sick. If you didn’t exist, I’d still have him. It would be a fair trade, in my mind. And since I can’t have him back, it gives me some small measure of satisfaction to know that I can make you even a fraction as miserable as I am for losing him.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat as a wave of grief hits me. Because the man that my uncle still mourns is one I miss just as much, and had even fewer years with. “There’s something so fucked up about that, I don’t even know where to begin. You need help.” He chuckles humorlessly. “No one can bring him back. And now you’ve proven that blood will always tell. Your mother was trash, and now you’ve married trash. You’ve tarnished the family name with your stunt, and I’m done sharing it with you. I won’t stop until I win.” His last statement is a vow, and I know that all the words in the world won’t change his mind. The man has been buried in the grief of his loss for so many years, it seems to have twisted his mind. So I don’t respond to his dig as I cross the room and rip the door open. My time will be better spent developing a new strategy now that I know what I’m facing. My eyes have reduced to tunnel vision, and I barely notice Elisabetta wringing her hands as I stride for the entrance.

Sliding in the backseat of the Bentley, I tell Michael, “Let’s go home. And hurry.” Because I sure as fuck didn’t get the answers I came for. No, I got my world rocked, and a completely new identity. Justin enters the penthouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to know immediately that something is very, very wrong. “Justin?” His hair is wild. His eyes are wild. His entire demeanor is wild. I’ve never seen him like this, and it sets my stomach on a high-speed churn. “What happened? Is it bad? He didn’t take your deal?” He walks past me to the window and presses a hand to the glass. His forehead follows next. “My father wasn’t my father.” His words are so quiet, I can barely make them out. “What?” I whisper. “My mother was pregnant when they met.” A lifetime of not knowing who my father is has had a massive impact on me, but just learning it? I can’t imagine how much it would throw a person’s world off its axis. “Oh my God. Do you know who . . . ?” “Not exactly.” I press both hands to my face before rubbing upward and dragging them through my hair. Holy. Crap. I cross to his side, wanting nothing more than to offer what little comfort I may be able to. His slumped shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world. “But Damon did tell me he was married, and he was in the Mafia.” “What!” I don’t mean to yell, but if ever there was a time to yell, I think this qualifies. Justin pushes off the glass and turns to me. “Yeah. Apparently I’m half Sicilian and not half Greek.” I study him. “I guess I can see it. But holy shit, Justin. Holy shit. You can’t make this shit up. I mean, holy shit.” The edges of his lips curl up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and incredibly, he bursts into a laugh. “Fuck me, I know. Damon said he was a capo, and that was before I was born. He’s probably dead or in prison now. But Jesus fucking Christ. I went to buy back stock in my own company, not a place in the Five Families.” My eyes feel like they may bug out of my head. I’m sure it’s not an attractive look on me, but I can’t help it. This is so freaking unbelievable. “This is like real Godfather-type shit, isn’t it?” Justin shakes his head. “It changes nothing. I’m still exactly the same man. I’m a product of my experiences. The source of my DNA doesn’t change me. And I’m sure as shit not changing my last name.” “Why would you change your last name?” I’m totally confused now. “That was Damon’s price to leave me—to leave us—alone.” “What an arrogant asshole!” “Calm down, baby,” Justin says, reaching for my hand. I shake him off. “Fuck calming down. I’m about to go backwoods on his ass. I like my new last name. I may not be using it onstage, but I’m sure as hell not giving it up now.” Now Justin’s smile threatens to split his face wide. “You are an amazing woman. If anyone had told me that I’d be smiling this soon after having the foundation of my entire existence rocked, I would’ve told them they were insane. Because I remember, with startling clarity, you telling me that I was under no circumstances to call you Mrs. Justin Karas again, or I’d be at risk of being immortalized in a song about a nutless wonder.” “You do listen.” I’m grinning now. “And that was purely a matter of your this is my woman, and I own her like property tone at the time that I took exception to. It had nothing to do with your name.” Justin grabs me and hauls me against his chest. I swear I can feel the tension leave his body as soon as it connects with mine. “This is what I needed. You. In my arms. God, now I’m really tempted to consider Cannon’s suggestion about taking a hit out on Damon.” I crane my neck back and look up at him. “That’s the Mafioso blood in you talking now, baby. I like it.” “Well, right now I just want to forget this entire morning.” His lips descend on mine, and our mouths meet and devour each other. My tongue finds his and tangles, tastes, and teases. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself off my feet before twining my legs about his waist. Justin cradles my ass in both hands and heads for the bedroom. We’re two steps from the door before a knock interrupts us. I pull back, but Justin says, “Ignore it.” “We can’t ignore it. You know it’s Cannon, and if he left the Investor Day festivities, it’s got to be important.” “You’re more important.” I wiggle out of his hold and shimmy down his body, stopping to look down at the tent he’s sporting in his suit pants. “How about I get the door?” Justin shoves a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says, scowling. “But tell him he’s an asshole for interrupting.” “I will.” He’s shaking his head as I turn away and head to the door. I’m still laughing when I pull it open. I stop laughing, because it’s not Cannon. I have to stop and smooth my hair because I think I’m about to meet my new sister-in-law.