#why would you tell me what my highest skill is without giving any sort number for it until several pages later!!

[varjopeura]

.

[yuzukult]

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan​ , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

[tigerkirby215]

5e Sona, the Maven of the Strings build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Shilin Huang. Made for Riot Games.)

(Shit meme by yours truly.)

Revealing my Champion Mastery just to say that I play a lot of Sona. Don’t flame me for playing Seraphine and Yuumi I swear to god, and I have no idea why Teemo is in my top 10 highest mastery champs ngl.

Anyways you have no idea how happy I am as a Sona main that my girl is now top tier. I came to League of Legends from Overwatch (yes really) and I used to main Lucio in OW along with some of the more “techy” characters like Symmetra and Torbjorn. (Came to OW from TF2 where I mained Engineer and Medic.) Sona was a natural fit for me as a champion who was both easy to play and very similar to Lucio. It also helps that I joined the Rift during the single most engaging meta to ever grace this game. I was kinda too shit to play Janna but the Ardent Censer meta is also why I have such a high mastery on Lulu tbh.

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But enough about my history with League: Sona! Honestly when I think of an archetypical support Sona pops into my head a lot sooner than Soraka: a champion based on empowering their teammates in as many ways as possible with heals, shields, movement speed, and CC to hold the enemy team down. I’ve always loved playing her because she feels like much more of a macro oriented character than other supports, with team-wide support as opposed to keeping one person alive like Soraka or Yuumi or focusing on CC like Morgana and Nami.

I’m going to build most if not all the champions eventually but man I am happy to tackle Sona now. She’s always been on my mind as my main but it was pretty difficult to think of how to make her. I think this build is good enough though!

Wow that was much longer of an intro than I’m used to. You can really tell which champions I’m excited for lol.

GOALS

Everything in harmony - Sona boosts everyone on her team with her songs as they fill the air.

Triple time! - Sona’s ability to boost her whole team into a good position is always beneficial.

Crescendo! - Fun fact: Sona’s ultimate is canonically extremely painful as she forces you to contort your limbs against your will. Why is Sona needlessly macabre? Well remember that Riot also wrote Volibear as an Eldritch old god.

RACE

Sona is Human but if you want to be cool you can make her a Kalashtar for resistance to Psychic damage and advantage on Wisdom saves. Regardless we’re going to be making what’s known as a dollar store Kalashtar with Variant Human. Increase your Charisma by 1 as well as your Constitution because we kinda don’t need much else. You also get proficiency in one skill of your choice which will of course be Performance, and a language which you can pick as you fancy: you won’t be speaking it anyways lmfao.

That’s because “Only you can hear me summoner; what masterpiece shall we play today?” Grab the Telepathic feat to complete this dollar store Kalashtar package. Increase your Charisma score by 1 and get a 60 foot telepathy to speak while being mute. You also learn the Detect Thoughts spell and can cast it once without using a spell slot. "Did he want... four autographs? I don't understand."

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - Charisma is tied to performance and all the other stuff a Demacian noblewoman is expected to be good at.

14; DEXTERITY - Something something medium armor; even if you wear a dress there’s no reason you can’t have some padding beneath it!

13; STRENGTH - Hey this isn’t something something medium armor!

12; CONSTITUTION - Sona may be squishy in League but I value not dying more than good skill checks honestly.

10; WISDOM - Speaking of not dying: Wisdom saves are more common, and Insight is more useful than most Intelligence skills.

8; INTELLIGENCE - We had to dump something so unfortunately Intelligence gets the short end of the stick. You may have studied under the illustrious Buvelle family but most of those lessons were music classes.

If you want a better stat array going 13 / 14 / 12 / 10 / 10 / 14 with Point Buy is perfectly viable, and if your DM is cool enough to let you multiclass without Strength then you’re more than welcome to dump it.

BACKGROUND

There’s two obvious backgrounds that fit Sona: the first is Entertainer for proficiency with Acrobatics and a skill of your choice (since we already took Performance lol.) You also get proficiency with Disguise Kits and your Etwahl! (That’s what Sona’s instrument is called btw.) Your background feature By Popular Demand allows you to play any stage once. "Some, just the once.” You can perform in exchange for a place to stay, and when you do so the local people will remember your wonderful performance!

But making an Entertainer Bard is kinda cliché, no? If you want to lean into Sona’s Demacian heritage go for the Noble background. This gives you proficiency with Persuasion and History as well as a gaming set of your choice: unfortunately Tellstones isn’t an option (unless your DM decides otherwise!) so a Dragonchess Set will do well enough. Oh and you get another language that you won’t speak: fun! Your Position of Privilege makes it easy for you to arrange meetings with other important people, and the commonfolk will be kind and cordial with you.

(Screenshot from the Tellstones: King’s Gambit trailer by Riot Games.)

I personally opted to go for Noble when making this build, but if you want to choose Entertainer go right ahead! Backgrounds don’t affect too much overall and it’s up to you (and your DM) to make your own Sona!

(Artwork from League of Legends Wild Rift. Made for Riot Games. RIOT PLEASE UPDATE MUSE SONA ON PC I’M BEGGING YOU!)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - BARD 1

I mean what else did you expect? Bards get proficiency in three musical instruments of their choice: a Lyre is the closest you’ll get to Sona’s Etwahl, though a Dulcimer is also pretty close. I’d also recommend grabbing a Lute since most magical instruments come in Lute variety.

You also get proficiency in 3 skills of your choice like Perception to watch wards, Insight to watch people, and Athletics for a bit of Tenacity to break out of grapples. (As well as potentially grab some people yourself! Although Acrobatics is also perfectly fine for escaping grapples.)

As a Bard you can boost your ADC with Bardic Inspiration, letting them add a d6 to attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws. You have a number of these equal to your Charisma modifier and they come back after a Long Rest.

But of course the main reason to play a Bard is to do Demacian-banned Spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Bard list like Vicious Mockery for some diminuendo, making it harder for the enemy to hurt your allies while also cutting them down to size. (I don’t know if your DM will let you slap your Etwahl angrily and then point at them judgingly, but you may have to break your vow of silence every now and then.) You can also learn Prestidigitation for all sorts of general magic stuff that you really shouldn’t do in front of anyone important.

You of course also learn 4 Bard spells like Cure Wounds and Healing Word for the atypical healing spells, Dissonant Whispers for some Hymn of Valor damage, and Detect Magic which you’ll likely be expected to cast as the designated support. *Sigh* Always gotta buy wards.

LEVEL 2 - BARD 2

Second level Bards could be called a Jack of All Trades, as you get to add half your proficiency bonus to any skill you aren’t proficient in. This means even if your ability scores are bad the skills you don’t have proficiency in are still good enough! You also get Song of Rest, letting your allies recover an extra d6 of health during Short Rests. And if you have Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything  Magical Inspiration will let your allies add their Bardic Inspiration to the damage or healing of a spell they cast!

And finally you can learn another spell: against as the designated support you’re expected to take Identify.

LEVEL 3 - BARD 3

Third level Bards get Expertise in two skills: Performance is an obvious must and Persuasion would probably be good as well.

But more importantly you get to choose your Bardic College and if you want to both shield your allies and speed them up look no further than the College of Glamour! That’s because Mantle of Inspiration grants 5 temporary hitpoints to a number of creatures within 60 feet of you equal to your Charisma modifier (which can include yourself by the way!) Additionally those creatures can move up to their movement speed as a reaction without provoking opportunity attacks, making this a great tool to reposition an ally who’s caught in a dangerous position!

You’re also capable of creating an Enthralling Performance: if you perform for at least 1 minute, you can attempt to inspire wonder in your audience. At the end of the performance you can choose a number of humanoids within 60 feet of you who watched and listened to all of it, up to a maximum equal to your Charisma modifier. Each target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be charmed by you.

While charmed in this way, the target idolizes you, and speaks glowingly of you to anyone who talks to them. They also hinder anyone who opposes you, although they avoid violence unless it was already inclined to fight for you. This effect ends on a target after 1 hour unless they take any damage, you attack it, or it witnesses you attacking or damaging any of its allies. If a target succeeds on its saving throw the target has no hint that you tried to charm it, and you can use this ability once per Short or Long Rest.

Finally you can learn second level spells like Hold Person, for a one-man version of your ultimate.

LEVEL 4 - BARD 4

Ah the first of many Ability Score Improvements. You may have noticed our deliberately uneven Charisma modifier: that’s because I’m going to be taking the Fey Touched feat for +1 to your Charisma, the Misty Step spell (for Flash, of course), and the Gift of Alacrity spell from Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount for a Song of Celerity! Accelerated movement? I concur.

You can also learn another spell as well as another cantrip! For your cantrip take Mage Hand for help warding those hard-to-reach areas, and for your spell take Lesser Restoration, because yeah it’s also your job to buy Mikael’s. *Sigh.*

LEVEL 5 - BARD 5

5th level Bards get a Font of Inspiration that lets their Bardic Inspiration come back after a Short Rest as well as a Long Rest. That’s good because your Bardic Inspiration increases to a d8, which also boosts your Mantle of Inspiration to grant 8 temporary hitpoints!

You can also learn another spell like Hypnotic Pattern: while it won’t do any damage and your allies can’t hit the dancing enemies it’ll still be the best recreation of your ultimate for now.

(Artwork by Katie “TeaTime” De Sousa. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 1

I hope you weren’t expecting this to be a pure Bard build, because then I’d just be building Seraphine again! Grab your something something Medium Armor as well as a shield (well technically you need both hands free to play a musical instrument) it’s Paladin time, master of auras! 

Paladins get a Lay on Hands pool equal to 5 times their Paladin level for some more healing. You can touch a creature to give them any amount of health from your Lay on Hands, or use 5 hitpoints from your Lay on Hands pool to neutralize a poison or disease affecting them. You also get Divine Sense to locate any Celestial, Fiend, or Undead as long as they’re within 60 feet of you and not behind total cover. Don’t worry it gets a lot more exciting later.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 2

Second level Paladins can choose their Fighting Style and you’re still more of a mage than a warrior, so Blessed Warrior will give you two cantrips from the Cleric list that use your Charisma! Guidance is an obvious must for a support and Toll the Dead is a great option if you want to go full AP.

Should you have options for attacks to target enemies who have high Wisdom? Yeah probably: Sacred Flame might be a good choice.

Of course cantrips also imply more Spellcasting! You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level (rounded down) which is currently a freaking lot of spells. Let’s just go down the list, shall we?

Bless is great to buff your team and make them harder, better, faster, and stronger.

Command is a mostly harmless Enchantment spell that will force your foes to do as you, well, command. I’d argue “dance” is a reasonable Command.

Protection from Evil and Good is never bad to have in your back pocket in case you’re fighting either Kayle or Fiddlesticks.

And Shield of Faith will let you boost your ADC’s survivability with Ardent Censer!

I know you can prepare more spells but there isn’t much I want from first level of Paladin. I am contractually obligated to mention that you can also turn your spell slots into a Divine Smite if you hit an enemy with a melee weapon, but you aren’t really going to be using weapons in this build. That’s right boys hop aboard the caster Paladin train!

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 3

Third level Paladins get to choose their Sacred Oath and Oath of the Watchers may seem weird but it’s really good at defending your allies. That’s because you get two different Channel Divinity options: Abjure the Extraplanar works similarly to the Cleric’s Turn Undead feature except it affects Aberrations, Celestials, Elementals, Fey, and Fiends.

Watcher’s Will meanwhile lets you choose a number of creatures you can see within 30 feet of you, up to your Charisma modifier. For 1 minute, you and the chosen creatures have advantage on Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma saving throws. This means that in a party of 6 this ability can give your whole party advantage on all mental saves, which is huge for keeping everyone alive against nasty casters! See? Demacia can use your magic!

Speaking of magic you get Alarm and Detect Magic as Oath spells. (Might want to swap Detect Magic from your Bard list with Mass Healing Word ty Tasha’s.) You can also use Harness Divine Power to regain a spell slot equal to half your proficiency bonus a number of times per Long Rest. And you get Divine Health, because you don’t take a sick day to stop complaining about Seraphine.

LEVEL 9 - PALADIN 4

4th level Paladins get another Ability Score Improvement: cap off that Charisma for maximum AP scaling!

(Artwork by Kelly Aleshire & Esben Lash Rasmussen. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 10 - PALADIN 5

5th level Paladins can finally prepare second level spells! As a Watchers Paladin you get access to Moonbeam as well as See Invisibility, both of which are very good for dealing with incoming gankers.

You can also prepare spells like Aid to boost your allies’ HP, Prayer of Healing (ty Tasha’s) for some out-of-combat healing, and Warding Bond for a Knight’s Vow.

Oh and you get an Extra Attack, which sure would matter if you were actually using weapons.

LEVEL 11 - PALADIN 6

6th level reasons get the main reason Sona’s a Paladin: Aura of Protection! All your saving throws are increased by an amount equal to your Charisma modifier, which is a full +5 currently! But what’s special about this ability is that it also applies to your allies within 10 feet of you, letting you give out auras a plenty to keep your allies safe!

You can also prepare another spell but again: not much I really want. So we’re going to be waiting a little while longer once again.

LEVEL 12 - PALADIN 7

7th level Watchers Paladins get Aura of the Sentinel, or as I like to call it: Song of Celerity. When you or any creature of your choice within 10 feet of you roll for initiative, they gain a bonus to initiative equal to your proficiency bonus. While this may make positioning a little difficult (everyone’s going to have to huddle around you) this ability guarantees that you can speed up all your important allies to make sure they get their powerful abilities off!

LEVEL 13 - PALADIN 8

8th level Paladins get another Ability Score Improvement or a Feat. You may have noticed your uneven Constitution score: grab good ol’ Resilient Constitution for a boost to your health and even more insurance on your Concentration checks. With your Paladin aura and proficiency you’d have a +12 total to your Constitution checks currently, meaning that if you take 24 damage or less you won’t even have to roll for Concentration!

LEVEL 14 - PALADIN 9

You are probably the only Paladin who cares about spells, so it’s nice that you get 3rd level spells now! Watchers Paladins get two very strong third level spells: Nondetection will help you deward and keep your allies safe from enemies that may try to sneak a peak at you, but Counterspell is the true best choice to stop danger from befalling your allies. What’s very good about Counterspell is that as a Bard you get to add Jack of All Trades to the skill check, meaning it’s far easier for you to deny an incomming spell than any other spellcaster! “Mages have enough problems without you.”

Of course you can prepare some more spells like Aura of Vitality for Aria of Perseverance, and Revivify for an ADC’s Guardian Angel. But having access to spells like Remove Curse, Dispel Magic, Crusader’s Mantle, and even Daylight on the Paladin spell list are all extremely useful to be able to prepare. Remember that you are doing yourself a disservice by not taking time to think about what the best spells to prepare would be for your current quest. "Every note is important."

(Artwork by Kelly Aleshire & Esben Lash Rasmussen. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 15 - BARD 6

Now that we’ve got all our auras it’s time to go back to Bard for Mantle of Majesty! As a bonus action, you cast Command without expending a spell slot as you take on an appearance of unearthly beauty for 1 minute. During that minute you can cast Command as a bonus action on each of your turns without expending a spell slot. Additionally any creature charmed by you automatically fails its saving throw against the command you cast with this feature. You do have to concentrate on this feature (like a spell), and once you use it you can’t do so again until you finish a long rest.

You can also learn another spell but there isn’t much I want from the third level of Bard, really. Oh and you get Countercharm which is awful and I hate it, but since you didn’t take a 10th level in Paladin I suppose you have to use it. Spend an action to give allies advantage on their saving throws against charms and fears, I guess.

LEVEL 16 - BARD 7

7th level Bard; 4th level spells. Freedom of Movement will let you help either yourself or an ally with Mikael’s Crucible, and Dimension Door is great to get into lane fast, or back to base fast!

LEVEL 17 - BARD 8

8th level Bards get another Ability Score Improvement, and if you don’t like the look of something something Medium Armor then the Eldritch Adept feat might be able to help. Take the Mask of Many Faces invocation to be able to cast Disguise Self at will to change your skins as you please.

Could you have taken this earlier? Absolutely. Are there better invocations? Yeah probably, but by level 17 you can make some of your own choices. Build your own Sona: this is merely a guide and you can make your own choices.

Speaking of own choices: take whichever spell you want at this level. There’s plenty of great ones for a 4th level Bard and I can’t recommend anything in particular to you. Every musician has their own style, and it’s up to you to find your own!

(Artwork by Yan Li. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 18 - BARD 9

9th level Bards get to pretend that increasing Song of Rest from a d6 to a d8 by total level 18 is helpful.

You do get access to 5th level spells like Mass Cure Wounds, which is like Mass Healing Word but better! "Harmoniously."

LEVEL 19 - BARD 10

10th level Bards get Expertise in two more skills: Perception is an obvious must to watch over your wards but beyond that? Honestly pick your poison with whatever skill you want since by level 19 you can make your own choices. (Though my personal choice would be Athletics to hopefully give some more safety against grapples.)

But of course the main boon of reaching level 10 in Bard is the Magical Secrets! ...I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you again: there honestly aren’t any spells in particular I want as Magical Secrets. Sure I could recommend spells like Haste or whatever but are they really going to be that great by total level 20? To be honest even the spells on the Bard list like Animate Objects, Greater Restoration, Hold Monster, Rary's Telepathic Bond, Scrying, and Synaptic Static are very good (although I’d sooner replace some of your old spells with them.)

Again I know this is supposed to be a “guide” but most people won’t hit level 19 anyways, so I don’t think it’s that bad for me to recommend you take your own steps to make your own Sona. Hell, build some AP if you want! I know I would!

LEVEL 20 - BARD 11

Our final level is the 11th level of Bard and I’ll be honest: it’s just to add Otto's Irresistible Dance to your spell list. It can only affect one person but it’s still your ultimate by total level 20.

Oh and you were supposed to get a cantrip last level. Uhhhhh I dunno take Mending lol.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

The rhythm connects us all - You have dozens of spells to keep your team alive and active during a fight, not to mention that all your Paladin auras and abilities really help them give 110%. It’s worth mentioning that Gift of Alacrity combined with Aura of the Sentinel is a d8 + 6 to an Initiative roll, which will almost always guarantee that whoever you want to go first will be going first!

A true masterpiece should celebrate living - Despite your somewhat weird level split you maxed out the only stat which matters for you: Charisma. And woah holy shit turns out Paladins are really good with maxed out Charisma! +5 to all saves means even your lowest save is a +4, and the saves your proficient in vary between +13 for Dexterity and Constitution (both very common!) and a whopping +16 save on Charisma!

Curtains up; I'm ready - Jack of All Trades also does quite nicely to help your middling skills. Even though I dumped most of your mental skills you’re still proficient enough that you won’t be completely helpless when caught off guard. And when you’re in the zone with Persuasion or Performance you are easily the best girl around!

CONS

Don't make me get off stage - It was my intention to recreate Sona’s positional gameplay with this build but it does present some gameplay issues when trying to maximize your effectiveness. Where do you position yourself as a character who’s still primarily a squishy caster despite your good saving throws and AC? Can you give everyone in your party support, or are they too spread out to get value out of your 10 foot range auras?

Quiet, please! - You have a damn good concentration check, but what do you concentrate on? Not only do you have a ton of spells but they all scale very good with levels and you have spell slots that go far higher than your maximum level spell. It can be hard to choose what to do with those 7th and 8th level slots.

The world is cruel... Until that changes, I'll never stop playing - One of many “meta” problems with this build was my choice to focus almost entirely on support. Sure Toll the Dead is a great damaging cantrip but your only two damaging spells are Moonbeam and Dissonant Whispers. Again: you don’t have to follow my build point-for-point and while you’ll be flamed in League for building Sona full AP I don’t think your friends will mind if you take some damaging spells.

But if you can’t tell it was really hard for me to come up with those downsides. With the exception of the positional requirements a Bardadin is a very strong build and Sona is a very strong support. Boost your teammates with your own amazing power and make sure everyone’s alive and jamming! Your power may have been forgotten over the years but no one’s ever upset to have a great support at their side. And remember: Seraphine may be in K/DA but you’re in Pentakill, and you have your own label! No one can replace DJ Sona!

undefined

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Grand Gestures

Request: A request for my love, George Weasley! Post-war (Fred is alive obvs) and all is good and well, and they've been ignoring their feelings for one another for so long and now, because George almost lost Fred and he's tired of ignoring how he feels so he shows up where she works, and just says he's in love with her and is fed up with waiting for them to pull their heads out of their asses! Extra fluff please?? You're the best Millie 💛💛💛 - @dreamer821

A/N: JJ! Thank you so much for requesting, and for trusting me with your idea! I truly hope I’ve done it justice! This is a load of fluff - just some good old fluff, because why shouldn't George get that? I’m also 12 followers away from 1000 followers!!!!! which is insane!!! I have a big celebration planned so let's get there! As always, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of war and some swearing BUT THE FLUFF IS SO CUTE.

Word count: 2.2k

The Daily Prophet had a reputation within the wizarding world; it was known globally for its hard-hitting expos on the highest wizards in power across the globe. It had been particularly damning towards Albus Dumbledore upon his fall from grace with the rise of the Dark Lord yet backtracked on their view of the Headmaster upon his death.

You had started work at the publication six months after completing your eighth year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Second Wizarding War had disturbed your final year of education. But the defeat of the Dark Lord allowed you to go back to Hogwarts to receive your NEWTs.

The war had taken so much from you; you had lost friends and family members through the Battle of Hogwarts. Memories of the events were burned into your brain; they couldn’t be avoided in the late hours of the night when your tears would fall silently down your face.

However, whilst the war had taken so much from you, it had brought you closer to your oldest friend George Weasley.

Growing up in the next village from Ottery St. Catchpole, the Weasley family were the closest wizarding family to yours other than the Diggory’s. You spent most weekends at The Burrow being spoiled rotten by Molly Weasley. Your parents worked so often; they felt awful for leaving you so much but as you grew older, you reassured them that you really didn’t mind spending time with the Weasley family.

The more time you spent at The Burrow; the more attached you grew to the twins. Being the same age as them, you fell into an easy friendship with them – playing pranks on their elder brothers, practicing Quidditch in the meadow behind their home. The friendship with the twins was something you treasured, and it followed you to Hogwarts where you were sorted into the same house.

Fred and George shouted the loudest when the Sorting Hat cried out Gryffindor after being placed on your head. Your grin matched theirs when you sat down across from them at the table. Charlie patting your shoulder in celebration as you sat next to him.

Your time at Hogwarts was defined by three things; your academic skills, the rising tension about the rebirth of the Dark Lord, and your love for George Weasley.

You consistently came at the top of your class in every subject; spending hours in the library, working on essays and revising topics you could recite like the back of your hand. George lost count how many times he had dragged you out of the library after curfew; after you had promised him just one more hour of studying.

Falling in love with George Weasley was the next natural step in your relationship. Your heart started to race every time he smiled in your direction; feeling your face heat slightly at any attention he gave you. Your skin felt overheated each time he would grab your hand out of the blue; knocking the breath out of you when he did.

Every day you told yourself you’d tell him; you’d confess what you had felt for so long.

Then the war came.

----------

Upon seeing him alive, standing in the Great Hall, covered in dust but his eyes still the brown you had come to love, you had thrown yourself into his arms.

He met you halfway; his arms wrapping tightly around you as he kept you pressed against.

“I thought…” You trail off, tears falling down your face.

George hushes you, “Not in a million years, love.”

You sniffle, your hands patting him down, checking for injuries. “Love, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

You nod rapidly, “I’m okay, not hurt, I just have some cuts and bruises.”

Something in George’s chest relaxes at that; relief flows through his body when your confirm that you’re okay. Through the entire battle, his mind was occupied with you – panicking over where you were and what was happening. Dread pooled in his stomach at the thought of you hurt.

He didn’t want the day to end without him having the chance to tell you how he feels about you.

But when he saw you running through the Great Hall to get to him; he wanted to tell you – wanted to tell you everything, but his mouth couldn’t find the words. So he settles for burying his face in your hair, inhaling the scent he had come to associate with love.

--------

It had been a year since the war ended, since Voldemort’s defeat and yet you hadn’t taken the chance that had been offered so many times.

When you joined him on his walks; the sun shining, his eyes brighter than the week before. There was a chance then to tell him.

When you found him in the kitchen in the Burrow at midnight, making enough hot chocolate for two because he knew you’d join him. In the silence, there was a chance then.

The war had brought you closer together; you started staying at the Burrow more. Molly only too happy to let you stay if it meant that George was starting to sleep through the night without waking from the nightmares of Fred’s near death experience. It had truly scarred George; the moment when he found him unconscious had been the darkest minutes of his life – he felt he had no direction; as if the very reason for his being on earth had been taken away. It had taken time for George to feel like he could let Fred out of his sight.

Chance after chance had presented itself to you, but you wanted to be in a place where you worried about your own mental health as well as his.

The war had been devastating, and whilst it had brought the two of you closer together, it had destroyed part of you that needed time to heal.

You were happy to be his shoulder to cry on when his thoughts got to be too much. For now, you were content with the walks and the midnight hot chocolates.

----------

George had had enough. He couldn’t keep his feelings from you any longer; he was close to combusting from what he felt for you.

Groaning, he lets his head fall onto the kitchen table. Fred laughs at the sight, “Still pining are we, Georgie?”

“I just don’t know how to say it, Freddie.”

“How about something grand?”

“What do you mean?”

“Put on a show, George! We’re the Weasley twins, we’ve never done anything that wasn’t a spectacle.”

George lifts his head from the table, “You’re right but what should I do?”

A smirk breaks out across his twin’s face. Fred has had this planned since he realised the romantic feelings between the two of you and the absolute obliviousness of the both of you.

--------

George fixes his patterned tie in a shop window across the road from the offices. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead but it soon flops back over. He let it grow out after the war and hadn’t had the time to get it cut since. He takes a deep breath, smiling at himself in the window. He can do this, he tells himself.

The doors to the Daily Prophet are never closed; instead, running on revolving doors that journalists and photographers constantly run in and out of. George wonders mindlessly whether any of them get dizzy from running in and out all day, chasing leads and capturing photos.

He shrugs to himself, stepping into the road. His heart is in his mouth with every step he takes towards the doors. His hands shake slightly as he enters the seemingly plain office building, but his breath is always taken away by the ornateness of it once entered. It’s disguised as a simple red brick building for muggles, to keep them off the scent of witches and wizards, but entering the foyer to the building, George wonders if he’ll ever enter a place as grandly decorated.

As he stands in the lift, giving the number of your floor to the lift operator, his voice breaks. He blushes at the sound of it before repeating himself, clearing his throat first.

The lift goes too fast for his liking; the butterflies in his stomach turning into a full blown riot when the doors open to the familiar floor. He had brought you lunch here a thousand times, if not more. Eating at your desk as you worked on another story and George occupied himself by watching you work.

Thinking back on it, George wonders if you’ve realised that he’s in love with you and you haven’t said anything as to not let him down.

He shakes his head clear of that thought, getting off the elevator. He won’t talk himself out of this; not now, not when he has come this close and listened to Fred’s every word.

Your desk is situated to the back of the room; next to the large window that covers the expanse of the wall. It provides a beautiful view of muggle London, but George would argue that the most beautiful view in all of London is you. You’ve pushed your hair back from your face as you shuffle papers on your desk; you huff as a piece of hair falls into your eyes. You’ve rolled the sleeves of your blouse up, exposing the tattoo on your right forearm that you got in memoriam for the family you had lost in the war. It was one of George’s favourite things about you; you were happy to move on, to start living your life again, but you would not forget.

A large smile breaks over your face at the sight of George in your office. He visited so often but you were never bothered by the man you had fallen in love with as a teenager.

“George,” You call, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He waves his hand in a nonchalant manner, “Oh… nothing, I was just in the neighbourhood.”

You glare playfully at the red-headed man, “I don’t believe you for one second, Weasley.”

George gasps, placing a hand on his heart, “You hurt me, (Y/N).”

“Oh hush,” You grin, “How can I help you today, George?”

George takes a deep breath, preparing himself, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“I’m all ears. Anything for you, Georgie.”

He smiles at you softly; overcome with what he feels for you. He’s never loved anyone like this; he’s had crushes in the past but that’s all they were – simple, childish crushes. But this; this is it for him. You’re it for him; if he could propose marriage to you here and now, he would because he knows with every single fibre of his being that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

George swings himself up onto the desk in front of yours; he pauses for a second to see if the desk will take his weight. He smiles satisfied when the desk doesn’t collapse under him – that would definitely ruin his plans for what he has to say.

“What are you doing?” You shout, your hands reaching to pull him down.

George bends at the knee, lowering himself to be closer to your level, “I’m making a grand gesture, love.”

You frown up at him, taking a step closer in case he falls, “You’re what?”

“I’m making a grand gesture, are you ready?”

You look at him with a puzzled expression on your face, but curiosity burns through you. “As I’ll ever be. Show me your grand gesture, George.”

George stands to his full height, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a deep breath.

Now or never.

“I love you!” George shouts, arms spread as wide as his smiles as he balances precariously on your neighbour’s desk.

You hold a piece of paper to your face to hide the large grin growing across your face at the sight of the man you had loved since you were a teenager declare his feelings for you in such a grand gesture.

Your shoulders shake from the effort of keeping your laughter repressed. This had Fred written all over it, but you knew that George would happily go along with it. It had the Weasley twins written all over it even if it wasn’t one of them declaring their love for you.

“What do you say, love? Do you love me back?” He asks, eyebrows raised, waiting for your answer.

You stay silent for a minute; making him wait. Eileen at the desk to the left of yours throws a ball of paper at your head, “Honey, if you don’t tell him you love him, I will.”

You start to laugh, “Yes, Georgie. I love you too.”

Relief washes over him; making his legs feel like jelly as he jumps down from the desk. The smile doesn’t leave his face once – not as he pulls you in, not as he tilts your face, and not as he finally, after so so long, presses his lips to yours.

“I’ve waited so long to tell you and so long to kiss you,” George whispers when he pulls away.

“I think I’ve waited just as long as you have,” You quip.

“Grand gestures, aye?”

You laugh, kissing him again. It’s a while before you reply, but when you do you’re whispering, “Thank Merlin for grand gestures.”

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

[swiss-cheeze]

Fire Breather || Spencer Reid

Gender: none, they/them.

Warnings: uh, none? Fire/use of fire.

A/N: I based ‘you’ (the reader) after Dustfinger from Inkheart. He is a skilled performer who uses fire, also known as fire-eating, and I just really liked this idea.

He can manipulate Fire in his hands which is something you can do which as well is why in some instances it is mentioned that you do not have a lighter. You are obviously the only one of your kind except you do not really come out of a book unless people want a part two for an extra in-depth thing that you talk with Reid etc.

Description: the team goes to the circus (or fair) for some well-deserved time off. One team member in particular finds themselves rather attached to a certain fire-breather.

-------

The travelling circus was in town, coming in at no better time than now; the BAU’s free weekend.

“Garcia you know I don’t wear that stuff!” Spencer exclaimed as Garcia tried to put glitter onto his cheeks.

“Oh, come one Reid! Just this once! I’ll never ask again!” Garcia exclaimed. Everyone had gathered at Garcia’s house a few hours before leaving for the circus with the technical analyst pretty much forcing everyone into glittery makeup or costumes. Garcia held out her pinkie finger to Reid who reluctantly linked his with hers; sometimes Spencer hated the fact that he took pinkie promises so seriously.

“At least make it purple and silver,” Spencer mumbled as Garcia squealed before gathering some of the sticky makeup and applying it to Spencers cheek.

“wooowww, didn’t know Reid had it in him!” J.J. announced as she stood behind Garcia as Spencer gave J.J. a glare as she called in the rest of the team to witness Spencer’s first-time glitter makeover.

“Pretty Boy looking pretty today!” Derek exclaimed with a grin as Garcia lent back and finished her artwork. A nice splotch of purple and grey glitter sat happily on the apple of Spencers cheek and twirled up his temple. Garcia handed Spencer a hand-held mirror for him to look at her masterpiece.

“I like it,” Spencer said happily with a grin, the rest of the team hollered and clapped the man on the back. Each member of the team looked similar; Emily had purple and orange around her face and collarbones, J.J and Rossi both had green splotches around their cheeks, Hotch had blue and yellow (specifically requested by Jack who also wanted photographic evidence), Morgan had blue and purple around his face and collarbones as Garcia was decked out in all colours and a large tutu. Finally, the team was ready and walking out the door.

Now, most, if not all, circuses included a rather large red and white tent that all the mystery was coined inside. But not this one, oh no, most of the activities, stalls and more stood outside in the nice sunshine. As the team entered the circus (which Spencer dubbed more as a ‘fair’ rather than a circus) they all got roped into their own worlds; J.J. and Emily went straight for the milk bottle throw, Derek and Rossi having a contest on who could get the dumbbell weight the highest (surprisingly Rossi won), Hotch tried his best to get Jack some sort of teddy (he got a stuffed dog) as Garcia and Spencer got propositioned by tall people on stilts and clowns with large smiles.

“Hello hello!” a clown called happily bouncing up to the team, “our lovely fire breather is about to start their show!” the clown grabbed Spencer and Rossi by the wrist before dragging the two towards a crowded area; the team following closely behind, laughing at the disgruntled face Spencer pulled when being touched.

“Come one! Come all!” a voice called; the team weaselled their way through the crowd in order to get the best view, “Come and see the dime of the hour!” you twirled as you spoke, “moi” laughs echoed from the crowd as you began the show. You grabbed your ‘batons’ (handheld ropes with large spheres on the end) and blew softly on the spheres causing them to light with fire. The crowd gave an ‘oooo’ as you slowly started to move the ropes at your sides, at first going in slow circles before twisting and turning in front of you and behind you before becoming the expert and throwing the ropes in the air; each time successfully catching them and continuing your act.

“Shit,” Morgan said under his breath, the team watched on enthralled at your acts which consisted on balancing on a beam while swinging the ropes, twirling two lit hoops, putting fire out in your mouth as well as blowing out large spiels of said fire again. Spencer watched on, a dazed look in his eyes as he watched you constantly lighting things on fire as well as using your mouth to breath fire; all without using any sort of liquid or lighter.

“I need a willing volunteer!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily after engulfing flames into your mouth, steam seemed to spill from your lips as you talked giving a rather dragonesque vibe to your already leather-like outfit. You scanned the crowd as you drunk some water before they landed on Spencer, “you, cutie with the vest!” you exclaimed with a grin, Spencer pointed to himself as his team egged him on and soon pushed him into the circle, you pulled out a nearby chair and instructed Spencer to sit down, “do you give permission for fire to be near you as well as myself and my body?” you asked softly, bending down to Spencers slightly lower level than yourself. The man in question gulped but nodded.

“Yes, wholeheartedly,” Spencer said in a hushed tone, you grinned before grabbing the tools you needed. You blew softly on the two hoops you used earlier before moving around Spencer, moving the hoops around his head and down his body, doing the same to yours while also dancing around the poor doctor. The heat Spencer could feel radiated from the hoops you held in your hands as well as his own blushing, you dipped the hoops in a barrel of water to extinguish them before moving onto a more unused tool you had: fire whips. You blew on the end of both the whips before grasping the handles and…well…doing what you would with whips. The noise cracked around Spencer as he flinched ever so slightly and moved away every now and then but the smile on his face told you not to stop, the crowd awed at your work as you dragged the whips around your own body (seemingly not getting burnt which did catch Spencer attention), before dipping them in the water to extinguish the flames and grasping Spencers hands, pulling him up to stand and bowing with him. The crowd cheered and clapped (the loudest being Spencer’s team) before you sent Spencer back to his place and started cleaning your station, Spencer’s team gripped the skinny man by the waist before hoisting him on Hotch and Derek’s shoulders seamlessly as they cheered for the boy (causing on-lookers to laugh).

“Either you get that fire breathers number, or I will!” Emily said happily as Spencer was finally put on the ground again, the genius thought for a moment before turning back around to your station and walking confidently in your direction.

“Um, excuse-excuse me,” Spencer said, gaining your attention, you smile brightened upon realising who it was.

“Hiya darling!” you exclaimed happily, turning your full attention to the man, “what can I do for you handsome?”

“Um, I was just wondering if I…” Spencer paused, “no, its stupid, sorry to bother you.” And before you knew it the poor boy was walking away with his tail between his legs. You frowned at Spencers sudden loss of confidence before calling out to him.

“Oi! Handsome!” he turned around quickly, a finger pointing to himself in question, “nah the guy with the greying hair behind you-YES YOU!” Spencer blushed as the team laughed, “can I get your number or not?” you questioned. Spencer smiled widely as he nodded quickly and walked back over to you.

“Yes-yes please” Spencer said happily as he handed you a card, you grinned looking down at the card before flipping it between your fingers, having it disappear with a blink of the eye, “you know how to manipulate cards?” Spencer asked in disbelief, you grinned.

“Working in the circus does a lot for you,” you said happily, “listen…” you paused, “we travel the world for six to eight months a year and the rest of the time we spend prepping new attractions and our acts. We’re based here but after our shows we travel-“

“I work for the FBI and I travel to different states in the US almost every week,” Spencer quickly cut in from your rambling, “of course I would want to see you daily but I do believe we can make it work,” you smiled as Spencer talked. Not once has someone ever wanted to try and make time for you or work their timetable around yours, it was always yours around theirs. You couldn’t help yourself as you threw your arms around Spencers neck and hugged the boy tightly, Spencer being Spencer didn’t respond for a second but cautiously wrapped his arms around you, it was loose but still comforting.

“I’m sorry I just…” you quickly broke the hug as you talked and stepped backwards, “we go at a pace we both like,” you said happily before a clown came to your side and whispered something inaudible in your ear, “I have a fire breathing class in a few minutes but we can talk later after the circus is packing up? Walk in the park?” you questioned.

“I would really like that,” Spencer said with a nod and a laugh.

“I’ll send you a flame” you joked before packing away the final things in your bag and walking away, sending Spencer a small wave he reciprocated before walking back to his team, each giving a clap on the back.

You could not help the sigh from escaping you as your shoulders sagged, yes someone liked you, yes someone was willing to put in the time for you and only you. But you would have to tell him what you are eventually.

———

Part 2 of a date with Spencer and telling him what you are? Maybe? Not sure up to you!

[wuyifankris]

Kris Wu in Harper’s BAZAAR, July 2020 Issue

“Only when there’s improvement, will you feel alive.”

"A person with his own way of thinking" - more and more people see this in Kris Wu. From starting off with films to continuing on with variety programs, he has skilfully executed his roles with a sense of control, clear self-recognition and steadiness. We see a young man who goes along the path set with his own rules, has definite goals, is dedicated to work, and is constantly improving. In several months' time, Kris Wu will be thirty years old. BAZAAR invited him to share more about his story, and discuss about the past twenty nine years of his life.

In this world, one must be full of vigour

If this is a letter for myself, I think I'll say: For the past twenty nine years of my life, I've lived a life with no regrets. Every task I've done, every decision I've made, the experiences at at every stage of my life, the honour, the applause, the slander... are all indispensable in my journey of growth.

Regretting is painful, and it's hard not to regret. I am well aware that I'm lucky in this aspect. But whether or not I regret, in the end, it all depends on myself.

I have a very straightforward attitude when it comes to my life. I will only do the things that I'm sure I want to do, anything else or other less than ideal alternatives simply do not exist in my field of consideration. Only little kids will have endless choices and dilemmas, as an adult one should set their goals at the highest standard and focus on accomplishing it well.

Therefore, there was never a "Plan B" in my life. I would never prepare a second plan for myself. I feel that this trait of mine is typical of Scorpios, as long as I am set on doing something, I will make sure it's done to the best that I can.

You'd ask, what kind of preparations will I make? Everything. I'll do every kind of preparation that comes to mind. I will be deep in thought about it every moment, every minute, every second, and even in my dreams. This is the kind of focus and effort I give towards my goals.

Before turning thirty, I have already found a very good balance. I'm getting closer towards it, and my goals in life are clearer.

But the "most important things in life" are not set in stone, and change at every phase. I will set long term goals and short term goals. For example music - music is very important to me, it's something which I have invested a lot of time in that I love and am passionate about. At the same time it's my career, my job. So of course, I will continue pursuing it. However, at the same time, this doesn't mean that there aren't any other parts in my life with new directions and new goals. Like racing, it's something that I really enjoy now. I will also continue to set new goals for  myself for small things such as this.

I have always strongly believed in setting and following goals, and it is because of them that I am motivated to constantly improve. But thinking about my life as a whole, I'll refrain from prematurely setting an ultimate aim for certain things. Instead, I will maintain an open mind and allow myself to constantly aim for new goals. Also, at any point in time I will not allow myself to become someone without any goals.

Persistently setting goals for yourself and ceaselessly moving forth is the way one can continue to live youthfully and enthusiastically. I think that this is also a good way to maintain a positive mindset. Only when there's improvement, will you feel alive. Otherwise, there may not be much motivation in your life, and it could become very dim.

Since we are in this world, let's live this life with vigour! This has always been my attitude towards life.

Amidst all the recognition from others, your inner voice is what matters the most.

You have to take control of your life

As one gets older, they will gradually realise that although judgements from others may affect a person externally or mentally, this is merely the icing on the cake.

When you work hard, you will receive honour and recognition. But amidst all the recognition from others, your inner voice is what matters the most. Whether you believe the things you do are meaningful or not, whether through doing them you can obtain value, it's your opinion that far outweighs other matters.

So I feel that for many situations, regardless of the outcome, regardless of how much honour and success it brings to you, what's even more important is whether you have enjoyed the process or not.

To me, music is a very good way of expressing myself and allows me to make a mark in history. It allows me to express certain things that cannot be put into words, which can invoke an emotional response from the listener. Listeners who resonate to the song will be drawn towards it, and as a result of our shared similar experiences, bring about "us".

Perhaps one day I'll get old, or not be in this world anymore, but throughout my whole life, all the music I've made will remain, and will still continue to reach people, whether they're still young or already aging. This is really meaningful and important to me. This is a joy that I have found in music, it's a motivation that will spur me on to continue to improve in this area.

Furthermore, you guys will be able to see a very clear storyline and path of growth in my works, which includes my passion towards hip hop now, as well as my love for traditional Chinese style. As I move forth in life, I continue to incorporate my observations and thoughts [into my music] progressively. When you guys look back on my works, you'll be able to find the answers in them.

My love for music has led me to be deeply immersed in related industries as well. Why do I like fashion? It's because fashion is closely linked to music. When I like one industry, I'll pick up all the skills that I can that are possibly linked to it. From singing to dancing, acting, fashion, producing music, writing lyrics, and even taking up directing roles at times. I hope that I can pick up all sorts of skills that are associated with the things I like. After all, it's always good to have more skills.

The more you know, the more you will want to treat the things you're most interested in with the greatest detail of effort and professionalism, as well as open explore new possibilities. Even if one day I am no longer a "popular celebrity", I will still find a place for myself in this world. I can also take a step back behind the scenes and lead the life that I want to live. I feel that this defines a person's values and worth. With such skills and confidence I feel that I can continue to navigate on this path towards the unknown. This is probably why I don't get anxious too easily too.

So you see, it's your interests that will carry you along to further places. These interests are a part of life. Your life is still in your hands, you have to take full control of it. Do the things that you want to do, let the things you truly believe in lead your way. This is what matters the most.

So if you ask what I'm chasing, I'll tell you that I'm chasing the lifelong mindset of non-stop improvement.

I constantly feel as if I'm in the middle of the ocean, not knowing when deadly waves will arrive.

30 is just a number

Actually I don't think that just because I'm turning 30, I've matured a great deal. There are many stages in life from birth till now that have made me grow. Perhaps every two years I'll encounter a somewhat major life problem or unforeseen circumstance.

I constantly feel as if I'm in the middle of the ocean, not knowing when deadly waves will arrive, nor knowing when it will turn calm and tranquil. Perhaps in the blink of an eye the waves become rough and choppy at night, and the next moment at dawn the skies are clear. This is already the norm in my life.

As a result, this cultivated my mindset from very early on in life. My moods wouldn't fluctuate that much, perhaps starting around 20 years old I was already pretty calm and stable. It also wasn't because I was at this age that I began to treasure time even more and work extremely hard, as I had always put in so much effort all this while.

30 years of age is just a number. I'll tell myself, I'm already 30 years old, I have to be more stable. But in fact, I did not define what I wanted to do in certain stages of my life merely because I reached a specific age. I feel that I shouldn't be affected by a "midlife crisis". At age 30, it's still early, after living for another 10 years it probably won't be considered middle aged. Even at that age, one should not use terms such as middle aged, youth, elderly, young person and such to define the stages in your life.

You should define what you want to do at each stage in life. Continue doing what you want to do according to your own pace and you will be fine. As for the things beyond our control - I used to dream of being a professional basketball player, but due to an injury it was not possible. Let it go if it can't work out, there will always be regrets in life.

Gains and losses, strengths and weaknesses are all often experienced in life. Missing something or messing it up it also part of life. When life isn't perfect, you don't have to beat yourself up over it. Because when you begin to do so, your whole system may break down and you won't be able to efficiently think of ways to solve the problem, and things may end up spiralling downwards.

If it's not done well, then continue to try, or switch to an alternate route. Don't rashly choose to berate yourself.

This isn't vanity or arrogance, but a form of self-awareness. If you wish to lead a happier life, you must possess a sense of self-awareness. No matter where you go, you have to stand behind yourself with utmost support, and be your number one fan. You have to say out with confidence: I think I'm still not bad.

Actually, I feel that during this stage in life, I am most curious about the things that I can't do well. The more I can't do something well, the harder I want to work on it. Once I've accomplished it through further determination and actions, I have once again levelled up.

But before that, I definitely have to be interested in the task. If it's something I don't like, no matter how good it is, I won't be envious of it.

This is a form of respect towards myself. Life is short, we shouldn't make do with too many compromises, nor should we waste it.

No matter how good an era is, if you're not in it, it can't be considered good. An era that doesn't include you is meaningless.

There are blazing flames in my heart

There are some people who may think that since debut I was a super idol, a big celebrity that's worlds apart from my peers. But that's not the case, my personal life isn't too different from other young people. I enjoy going out on my own, without a driver, bodyguard or babysitter... and I'll also go out with non-industry friends to shop, eat, and play basketball. I was able to lead the life that everyone had, there was just a little gap due to my career.

Setting aside career, I am someone who is very close to the era of 90s kids.

I feel that this is a very good era, of course, it's not because this era is a certain way that makes it good or not. I believe that: As long as it's an era that I exist in, it's a good era. No matter how good an era is, if you're not in it, it can't be considered good. An era that doesn't include you is meaningless.

Obviously, I still maintain this mindset with blazing flames in my heart. I still believe I'm a simple and pure person, otherwise I won't be racing cars at this age all of a sudden.

However there are many ways to define "pure", and many people believe that when a person is said to be pure, it's because they are good - have not encountered much, is a good boy, a great kid - then I'm obviously not someone who appears to be one.

But I believe that the meaning of pureness extends beyond this.

True pureness exists within your heart, it's whether you have undivided focus towards the things that you are passionate about, leaving behind all other reasons, whether you are still able to put in effort into the things you love, whether you are able to understand this world simply, whether you can treat every person you meet with sincerity, and whether you can face the world with a childlike gentleness and curiosity.

We all feel that once we step into the adult world, everything immediately turns boundlessly complex. But true pureness is understanding all of your past experiences. With such events and turbulent times, if you can continue to maintain pureness in your heart, you are pure.

This is the kind of pureness I possess. 

Perhaps it's because my goals in life are constantly changing, and small goals are constantly emerging, so I have always lived a life that's pulsing with vitality, and my galaxy is still blazing. Perhaps it's because I have gone through certain experiences, which surprisingly widened my heart.

Looking forward in life, perhaps I may encounter some stress when I reach 40 years of age. But I feel that even if I'm 40, I'll still be a very cool person, still continue to take part in car racing, and stay immersed in my studio making music. I also think that at that time, I'll probably slow down my pace in life.

Perhaps I'll spend more time to really feel this world at present, travel to places I've never been before, explore more and see more, discover life, experience life.

I believe that [when I reach] that time I will have an entirely different mindset than what I do now. I'm still nervous now because there are certain aspects that I am lacking in. I'm looking forward to having that mindset.

But right now, at 30 years of age, I'll take my blazing flames along with me and race forth!

translation: @wu_yi_fan

[purplesurveys]

803

Do you have a fan/air conditioning on right now? I have a fan turned up at the highest level right beside me. It’s been so humid all day but the air outside is getting colder and it’s obviously going to rain soon, so at least it’s not as hot as it’s been. When was the last time you sang along with a song? Which one was it? Earlier today while watching Descendants of the Sun – I FINALLY FINISHED IT AAAAHHH. Thank fuck it was a happy ending, I was giddy enough with the final scenes that I sang along to the background music, heh. I remember an anon recommending Who Are You: School 2015 to me, so I might watch that next :) Are you currently wearing any hair accessories? Which ones? Yes. I have a simple black hair tie that I’m using for a ponytail now. Have you ever wished you had a different name? Which name would you choose? I definitely wished this as a kid, but I’ve warmed up to my name now especially after hearing more people tell me that they like it. Back when I disliked my name I insisted on being called my second name, which is Isabelle. Do you often press the wrong keys on the keyboard? Only when I’m typing in a hurry. Otherwise I’ve got a good hold of the keyboard.

Have you ever customised an item of clothing? What did you do to it? Other than the time we had a customized dress made for my prom, no. I don’t do DIY, so I wouldn’t be able to pull that off. When was the last time you got a splinter stuck in you? D: Probably in high school. Do you prefer drawing or painting? Any particular reason why? I like painting, but only with those paint-by-number kits that already come with a guide and an outline. I find those kits therapeutic. I have absolutely no hand control when it comes to pencils and I’ve never been able to follow drawing guides, even the simplest and most basic ones, so I’ve never enjoyed drawing. Are you saving up for anything right now? What? Not at the moment. I’m just savoring the time I have left at home before I have to get my ass up and start looking for a job. Are you any good at playing pinball? I guess, but I’m no expert. Close to a decade ago there’d be long stretches of time where we’d have no internet at home – because Philippines – and I’d have no choice but to play hours of either solitaire or pinball on my old laptop. Eventually I got skilled enough on both.   Do you own any figurines? Of what? I have action figures, if they mean the same thing. I have a couple figures of AJ Lee that have stayed inside their packaging the entire time I’ve had them. If you have any siblings, how much rivalry is between you all? Zero. All three of us have different skills and interests, so it’s pointless to pin us against each other. When did you last have itchy eyes? Last night my left eye was starting to act up, so out of annoyance I rubbed it really hard. If forced to go camping, would you rather sleep in a tent or a caravan? If I was forced and I didn’t want to go through it at all, I’d take the caravan. But if it’s a camping trip that I had planned for in advance and was something I was looking forward to, I prefer the full experience and would go with the tent. Is it dark outside right now? Yes, it’s nearly nine in the evening. How often do you get jealous of other people? What is it usually about? Not very often. As someone who’s a little materialistic, I get envious more than jealous. Do you prefer framed photos or just sticking photos straight onto walls? Framing them. I don’t think sticking photos is the smartest thing to do with a painted wall. What's your favourite type of cake? Cheeeeeeeeeesecake. Have you ever woken up from a dream and believed it to have been real? Only for a few moments after waking up, but it’s easy for me to go back to real life and realize what’s a dream and what isn’t. When was the last time you brushed your teeth? This morning. How tired are you right now? I’m a little drowsy and it sucks that I can’t drink coffee until Tuesday because of my antibiotics prescription, because I don’t feel like sleeping yet. I’ll take a shower after this survey and I hope that’ll wake me up for a bit. When was the last time you had an argument with someone? What was it about? Not strictly an argument but more of a civil debate - Gab and I were discussing whether it’s okay to be furious with celebrities to the point of harassing them if they’re found to be silent in matters such as Black Lives Matter, and whether normal people hold the responsibility to educate these celebrities whenever they act like they’re unaware. If there's a bug in your room, can you sleep or do you need to get it out? Get it out. How long have you gone without sleep? Today? It’s been 13 hours. Can you drive yet? How good are you at it? Yes, I’ve been driving since I started college. I’d say I’ve gotten very skilled in the last few years. I’m not always the safest (I tend to weave in and out of lanes especially once I get bored in traffic, OR if everyone around me seems to be a dumbass with crazy slow reaction times) but I’ve never put anyone I’ve ever driven in harm; so as crazy as I get sometimes, my friends still always choose to ride with me and that’s the biggest compliment ever lol. Do you prefer travelling alone or with people? WITH PEOPLE. Traveling is one of the things I can never imagine doing alone. Did you listen to the radio today? Technically. My favorite station does livestreams on Facebook, and I caught several of them throughout today. What was the last baby animal you saw? I saw a pup roaming around the street this afternoon. Generally speaking, is it warmer or colder in your house than outside? A little warmer at the moment. When was the last time you threw up? The last time I felt like throwing up was last Wednesday, though nothing came up. The last time I actually threw up was sometime in like April or May last year. Do you give people high fives or hugs more often? Hugs. I barely go for high fives. Have you ever tie-dyed something? We had to do it with a shirt in a Grade 7 class, but that was the one time I ever did it. It’s not really something that interests me. Name something you thought was cool when you were younger but don't now: Lisa Frank. How long does it usually take you to get to sleep? Depends on the temperature and/or how tired I am. I have to tire myself out; I can’t just close my eyes whenever I want and expect to doze off. When did you last get a papercut? It’s been a WHILE, thank goodness. I can’t even tell you when. High school, probably? Which do you prefer: Blackboards or whiteboards? Just for nostalgia’s sake, blackboards. I haven’t seen one or written on one since high school since we have whiteboards or just straight-up projectors in university. What sort of things do you have bookmarked in your internet browser? Surveys to take, links for various classes in college that I should really be un-bookmarking now to save on space because I don’t need them anymore, movies I want to watch, recipes I want to try...it’s really mostly for-future-reference stuff. Are / were you spoilt? Would others agree or disagree with you? I’m spoiled in the context of our family in that I often got what I asked for, and if I was told no, I could typically pull out a pout to get what I wanted lol. But I was never spoiled rotten in that I’d lie on the floor and kicked around if things didn’t go my way and I never disrespected my parents or yelled at them, or threw a fit if the phone they bought wasn’t in the color I liked, etc. I just had one trick up my sleeve, but I never abused it. Still, compared to my siblings, I’m probably the most ~spoiled. What are you wearing right now? I’m wearing a tank top and shorts, but I really should be showering after posting this. What was the last book you read? I reread some chapters from Crazy is my Superpower last week.

[koszmar-zycie]

All of the fun, random questions! Do it!

Oh lawdy! To quote Ace Ventura: “Aaaaaalrighty, then!” - Apologies for the janky post, since I can’t space them without the site making the numbers all screwy.

Do you have any “yeah I’m good at it but I hate it” kind of skills? - hmmmm. To be honest, leading. If you buy into horoscopes, I’m a Dragon. And maybe it’s natural, maybe it’s theatre experience. But when I apply myself as a leader, I do AMAZING. The issue is that I generally like to be a support. Sometimes I like leading, but usually I’m not into the idea of being this focus or figurehead guiding the way as the leader. Whether projects or even fun, I tend to fall into a like... intermediate leadership role at best. 

If you could make one type of food cease to exist, what would you banish? - To be honest, I can’t do that. Even foods I’m not fond of are foods, and I would be remised if I were to remove any.  

You’re allowed to know everything about one highly specific thing/topic. What would you choose? - Deep sea thermal based biology. The deep sea is my 100% very favorite place on Earth. If I die and there’s an afterlife, I want endless ocean of all kinds. If I’m reincarnated, I want to be a Dragonfish or something. At any rate, I would do anything to have such a wealth of knowledge. Especially about something as fascinating to me as the ins and out of how the deep sea creatures that survive and thrive around the *extreme* heat and pressure of the vents. 

What’s a fictional character who you want to be like? In what way do you want to be like them? - I would love to be like Nathan Ford from Leverage. I want to be able to live my life as freely and wildly as he (though maybe not as illegally lol), and also pursue what I feel is right for me. Live through and persevere through hardship as well as he, even if he struggled.

If you had to live in and not leave a city for the rest of your life, what city would you choose? - That would be a VERY hard call between Avalon on Catalina Island USA, or Sedona, Arizona. While Sedona overall has more of what I love, Avalon has the sea. And I’d probably die without my ocean. 

Do you tend to say what you’re thinking? What would people think of you if you did the opposite?  - Usually, yes. But in a careful way. It WILL happen periodically, because I’m also an emotional hunk of waste. But in general I do a decent enough job of being honest without being harsh about it. When I’m provoked or something really gets to me, then I can just vent without thinking.

Is there anything that you’ve done/experienced so much you hate it now? Easiest to come up with are like, food or music. - Hmmm. Not really. Halloween got SEVERELY killed for me, though. I still like it, but Haunt people are by and large the most obnoxious and hypocritical. Since I adore haunt, I HAVE to deal with them. Hatred for Christmas and other holidays while spouting about Halloween has drained my interest in Halloween. So yes an no, because that’s really OTHER people killing it for me. But I’m also sort of involved because of my love of the haunt business.

Were you afraid of anything “silly”/irrational as a child that you’ve since outgrown? - Deep water. As a kid I HATED the deep end of pools. Now I’m obsessed with deep water and the dark, unknown, crushing depths. Funny how things work out! I used to hate going near the slope in a pool if it was even a little dark (lighted pools were fine). Now, the only thing stopping me from just continuing to swim down if I go diving is my tank limits.

If you were to impart one moral lesson (think Aesop’s fables, Golden Rule, etc) on the world, what would it be? - Treat others as you wish to be treated. It’s SO easy to say, and yet nobody does it. 

If you were a DND character or a game character (or something like that) what would your highest stat be? What would you want your highest stat to be? What about the lowest, to both of those? - HA. I think about this way too much. I’d be a sea elf druid. STR 10 INT 12 CHA 16 DEX 12 END 18 WIS 18 - If I were to apply myself logically as an analog of myself, I’d have good durability and understanding and social capability (again, in specific regards), but my outward strength and dex would be kinda average. I like to think that I’m decently intelligent, as I LOVE books, learning, and figuring things out. But I’m also far from genius. Hence my focus on Wisdom. I’m also surprisingly dexterous, but in certain circumstances more than others, so that’s also pretty average. I don’t think I’ve really have any “bad” stats, but I’d definitely mix average with a couple high ones.

Is there anything you judge others for when you probably shouldn’t? - Probably. I have a huge mistake of expecting others to be courteous and offer a common decency/open perspective on things.

Who are “your kind” of people? - Goths and hippies, my friend. If you want to know my style? Goth Druid. lol 

If you had to come up with your last words right now… what would they be? - “Don’t regret not accomplishing what you set out to accomplish. Regret having not tried. I do not regret trying, even if I did not succeed.”

Do you have any “weirdly strong” opinions about things that don’t really matter? - This is VERY obscure (I have others, but it’s late and this came to mind first) But if you play Fate Grand Order.... SET YOUR GOD DAMNED SUPPORTS.

Your goal is to completely confuse the people around you in as short a time as possible– what do you say/do? - Honestly, just start quoting Lorne from Season 5 of Angel. Or act like a Malkavian. One of my VTM characters was a Malkavian who got in a fight with a parachute he had. Her name was Kitten.

What’s the most comfy place you’ve been in? - I don’t know, actually. Maybe the Luxe Hotel in LA during Anime Expo?

Did you have any “silly” beliefs as a kid? Where did they come from (parents, friends, out of nowhere, etc)? - Not that I know of. At least in terms of anything that’d have changed or something. I’m sure there’s Something, but I honestly can’t dig anything up in my memories.

If you were to add or remove one physical feature to yourself… what would it be? Can be from animals, can be from imagination… whatever. - Hahaha, I ALWAYS think about this one. Right now, I’d want maybe the electro-vision of sharks. 

What could you happily give a two hour lecture on? - Ocean conservation, and what’s correct and what isn’t.

What would a mirror opposite version of yourself be like? It doesn’t necessarily have to be an evil version– any feature can be reflected! - Someone who’s mostly optimistic. More bright colors than dark, short hair. Focused on socializing and extroverted. More than happy in one place forever, without an interest in travel. 

What’s an occasion you’ve done a double take? - Anime Expo a number of times. Seeing weird or unexpected, or legendary cosplays. 

If you could only see one color (and its varying shades– dark/light) for the rest of your life… what would you choose? - Blue. Guess that was probably obvious. But it’s a cool color and associated with calming. Between dark midnight and navy blues to vibrant aquamarines pressing towards green (without actually going into it), I feel like there’s a happy spectrum of all kinds that would be enough to get through without going too crazy.

Do your friends all share certain qualities? Major or minor! - Despite my.... unique personality, and preference towards quiet etc (INFJ), I have a lot of radically different kinds of friends. I honestly don’t think I could put any one thing down. Other than that I choose my friends carefully on who I think I can trust and is a good persona at heart. To a sufficient degree anyway. That’s also a huge part of my downsides, too. By being sensitive (and having certain conditions), when a friend does something that hurts me, it REALLY hurts.

How do you motivate yourself to do things? - Oh man, that’s funny. It is entirely circumstantial. As an artist/writer/creative (I use artist in the broad sense, but I figured I’d add that to help specify) I can VERY easily just have motivation on a moments notice. So it’s often pretty random. But if not, I jut need to think of why. I Looooooove gardening. Weeds need pulling? I think about what’ll happen if the roses or tomatos or lemon tree don’t get their water because of weeds sucking it up. Need to write? I’ll never leave my creation for *any*one if I don’t at least crack down on notes, and make slow and steady progress if nothing else. It’s usually just a small thing I think of to act as a spark, but it’s usually very effective.

What’s one of your favorite jokes? Tell it to us!  - Okay, so this isn’t a joke, but it’s seriously STILL making me laugh just thinking about it. I was going to reference an old comedian in a previous post (I didn’t end up doing it, but still). Anyway, I was really confused as to why I couldn’t find him in google. It turns out, instead of looking up “Groucho Marx”, I was googling “Marco Grouch”. LOL That’s probably not quite as funny to y’all, but for some reason it’s killing me. XD

Hooooooeeee! Well, that was long, but actually really fun! Thank you @scatteredstoryteller! That was like... an essay. lol But definitely fun. I love asks. XD

[nanigma]

Leon Fanbook Translation: Profile

Link to the Takumi Fanbook

Introduction

Look who actually kept her promise! This still took me forever and a half, but I am very happy I got it pushed out within the time frame I imagined. Things are off to a good start, I think.

Before we continue, here is the same note as before: As I am currently without a real income, I would very much appreciate it if you could throw me a couple bucks via my ko-fi account. It doesn’t have to be a lot, just what you think my translations are worth really.

My comments in italics

I will be using the Japanese names

My comments in italics

I will be using the Japanese names

Page 8-9

Profile

Prince Leon's Profile

His personal data, history, as well as dialogue and all sorts of information will be shown here. Before we can really know, and therefore talk about the younger Nohrian Prince Leon, we need to some basic information on him.

Just what kind of person is Leon, the younger Prince of Nohr? If we start with data such as age, height and weight of the person in question and analyse everything until we arrive at topics such as his mother and his family, the information we can gain on him is not inconsiderable. Trying to pinpoint more through his in-game profile description “likes tomatoes the most out of everyone in the army”, one can glean his favourite food. Once he gets started, the praise he heaps upon tomatoes can become quite disconcerting. It seems that even with the 40 to 47 pages of published material, questionnaire results and submitted art,

Leon’s image is forever associated with tomatoes. But, that’s not all. To be worthy of being called a Leon fan, it is necessary to know and understand him by collecting all the surrounding information on him, and thereby truly ascertain his character. Definitely things like him pretending to be cold in order to push others away, or how much he prides himself in being a strategist. Perhaps he also uses the strong impression left by something like his obsession with tomatoes to conceal the things about his character that he doesn’t want others to know.

Personal Data

Prince Leon's personal data

Name: Leon [Leo] Gender: Male

Class: Dark Knight Weapon: The Sacred Treasure “Brunhilde”

Physique: tall and slender, with no excess fat attached Birthday: June 30th Country of Origin: Nohr Residence: Royal Castle of Darkness

Hair Colour: Gold-shaded flax colour Eye Colour:  A blood-like shade of crimson Skin Colour: A little sickly seeming First Person Pronoun: Boku* Second Person Pronouns: Kisama, Anata, Omae* Likes: Reading, Tomatoes

Family: King Garon (Father), One of Garon's Concubines (Mother)

            Marx (Older Brother), Camilla (Older Sister), Elise (Younger Sister)             As well as a large number of other siblings             Aqua, Kamui             Foleo (Future Son) Retainers: Zero, Odin

Voice Actor: Mamoru Miyano

Page 9

History Data

Early Years

He was born as the child of King Garon of Nohr. In those days, Garon would keep a number of concubines, from whom he also received a lot of children, beside his legal wife Ekaterina. The woman who became Leon's mother was one of them. Their royal children's claim to the throne, as well as their constant aim to become worthy in the eyes of their “spouse”*, meant that the rivalry between the concubines grew ever more tense, and they soon became wrapped up in intrigues that were literally dripping with blood. Because of Leon's mother, who stood in opposition to the main faction belonging to Ekaterina, he did not have any contact with his older siblings, Marx and Camilla, during his early years.

Childhood Years

His handsome features inherited from his mother, and moreover his possessing an overwhelming number of outstanding qualities, made Garon take notice of Leon even among his many siblings. Leon's mother would use this fact as a trump card against Ekaterina's faction, as well as the mothers of the other children, in order to assert her own superiority. Compared to her stated motive of looking out for her son's interests, her desire to turn the King's love and attention towards her was clearly more important. According to Leon's own recollections, she never displayed much of what could be called „a mother's love“ towards her son. When Leon seemed to turn his talents towards the magic arts, his exceptional qualities became yet more polished as they bloomed. Once he reached the position of one of the most preeminent magic users in the kingdom, Leon was given a place at Garon's side next to Marx and Camilla. At the same time, Garon's many illegitimate children, as things were progressing towards the conclusion of their violent struggle over the selection process, finally acknowledged each other's existence.

As for Leon, together with his older siblings, Marx, Camilla, Kamui, as well as his younger sister, Elise, he formed a unit that would later come to be referred to as the „The Nohrian siblings“. For someone like him, who grew up without receiving any parental love, there can be no doubt that the warmth reflected in the eyes of his siblings was a great source of happiness for him.

Once the war breaks out

And so, Leon, who had attained an untouchable position among the Nohrian royalty, continued expanding his magical abilities to become a Dark Knight of the highest order within the army. When he entered, it was with the Divine Weapon Brunhilde in his hands. Thanks to his tremendous powers, he was granted the title of „Gravity Master“. Due to not having had many allies because of the circumstances of his birth, he has a hard time trusting others, as well as a deep hatred for cowardly deeds and acts of betrayal. To tell the truth, his Nohrian brethren have in the past been on the receiving end of Leon's mercilessly executed punishments. This is why he is called cold-blooded, but instead it would be more apt to say that he is shaking with anger and unease on the inside. On the surface he appears to have a cool-head, and because of that seeing his true self sometimes shine through the cracks of the mask is all the more meaningful – For those who are familiar enough with him, this too is just another big part of „Prince Leon's“ appeal.    

Resolution, as well as the future

As these events become history, it says that as the Nohrian and Hoshidan royalty joined hands and fought their mutual enemy together, the two younger princes, who grew up in similar circumstaces, seemingly displayed a mutual affinity for each other. It is further says that during battle Leon would rely on only his older brother, Marx, as well as his retainers, Odin and Zero, but after these events it would seem there is documented proof that the name of the younger Hoshidan Prince, Takumi, was added to the list as well. Leon's signature divine weapon „Brunhilde“ would later be inherited by his son, Foleo.  

Performance Data

Just his starting stats and skills. You can also find them on the wiki

Monologue

Prince Leon's monologue

Level Up (Worst): Maybe my bearing wasn't befitting of royalty... Level Up (Low): Well, as expected. Level Up (Good): I'm glad this didn't end in embarrassment. Level Up (Best): It scares even me to see how strong I've become. Level Up (Max): I am already strong, so don't you think this is enough? Class Change: Hm, I trust that my clothes didn't turn inside out?

Buying: Be sure to pick something out that looks good on me, alright? Buying (salesperson): Only you would ever buy things for the person running the store. Selling: I would prefer if you didn't just go around selling my belongings... Selling (salesperson): Having my own belongings sold to me... it's painful. Forging: I'll show you I can handle any kind of weapon. Forging (salesperson): I dislike physical labour... I wonder if I can't just use magic?

Defeat (Classic Mode): No way... To think someone like me could be defeated... Although, I should accept death with dignity, I simply can't do that to my siblings... Allow me to retreat here... Defeat (Casual Mode): How dare you... To think of all people, I'd be forced to retreat... This is humiliating...  

------------------------

1. Boku: The more non-threatening yet still distinctly male form of I. 2. Kisama: Used to be formal, but is now an incredibly rude way to say you (though also a bit antiquated). I think Leon mostly uses this with Ganz, Zola and Macbeth, as well as Corrin for part of Birthright. 3. Anata: Standard, “polite” way to say you.(although it has to be said that in common Japanese pronouns are not often used, and even anata can seem rude or weird when used in excess) 4. Omae: Literally “you in front of me”. Not the most polite, but can be used in casual situations. I think Leon mostly uses it with Elise. 5. The kanji used here was  夫 or literally husband. The concubines apparently considered Garon this, even if they weren’t on Ekaterina’s level, but I thought this would sound confusing, so I am clearing it up here.　

Overally, I am enjoying the Leon book so far, although I would have liked if they had included more info about the conclusion of the concubine war and what exactly happened to Leon’s mom (or at least give her name!!).

[mu11berry]

Otp Questions - Another Aveyond RhenxDameon meme

From @the-moon-dust-writings, I was tagged by @starlit-nyx for Rhen and Dameon and clearly I had to

1. Who is the happy morning person and who is grumpy and just wants to go back to bed? Dameon is the morning person, he gets up and makes breakfast and makes sure Rhen is warm and comfortable until she begrudgingly drags herself out of bed and asks him to braid her hair (and then he does haha)

2. Who falls asleep on the couch and who puts a blanket over them? I kinda said it already but Rhen falls asleep on the couch and Dameon tucks her in or carries her to bed. Buut also sometimes Dameon falls asleep on the couch and Rhen gets a blanket for him and massages his head, thank you

3. They end up going to a party? What couple are they? (Ex- Clinging to one another? Just there to steal some free food and leave? Both want to party?) Rhen likes parties and dancing and talking to everyone and all that, Dameon is more reserved and shy but her excitement makes him excited too and they definitely dance together and it’s definitely adorable, and also Dameon goes back and forth from the snack bar to Rhen like a million times probably because she wants to try everything XD

4. If they were in a zombie apocalypse AU, how would they meet? Idk anything about zombie apocalypse fiction so forgive my ignorance but Rhen would be the super hardcore hero type who’s seen stuff and can take down the zombies with anything at hand, like a chair or something, idk, while Dameon is the guy trying to make peace and reason with the zombies or something, and he was a nurse before the apocalypse probably and maybe together he and Rhen can find a way to reverse the disease and save humanity, and they meet when Rhen saves Dameon from a zombie he was trying and failing to reason with, aaannd darn, I’m really gonna have to add RhenxDameon zombie AU to my list, aren’t I? Yep, I am adding it. It is necessary.

5. Where is their number one date spot? Why do they love it so much there? A garden!! They love flowers and nature and peaceful places where they can see the sky and just be together and talk about silly things or important things or anything, and just enjoy each other. Plus Rhen can make them flower crowns so >.>

6. Who would be more likely to hug their partner and pick them up off the ground? Rhen does this to Dameon because she is a silly sap and it makes him laugh. Dameon does this to Rhen because he is also a silly sap and she is short and fun to carry and he likes to remind her she is his “highest” priority;D

7. If one partner isn’t the best at communicating their feelings, how do they show their feelings to their significant other in other ways? Rhen isn’t great with words but she is great at sword fighting and she protects Dameon from the monsters. She is also great at listening, helping, and kissing, haha. And she might not always know what to say, but she cares enough to try to say something even when it’s hard and that means a lot to Dameon. Dameon is better with words but he also is very good at knowing when to say nothing, and it makes me really happy to think of Rhen being able to have that kind of understanding, she deserves it<3 Dameon is also good at compliments and quietly doing things to help Rhen, and they’re both very good cuddlers. 

8. How did they try to impress one other before they were dating? Rhen shows off her sword fighting skills but is also like, super self-conscious about it, like “why am I being so dramatic about this, it is just a snake for Aia’s sake, I am such an idiot-- is Dameon looking? Argh I am so dumb” and it is HECKIN cute. And Dameon is too shy and serious to consciously try to impress her but he does everything he can to make sure she is comfortable and safe, and also he finds himself telling a lot of lame jokes and he can’t make it stop haha

9. Who is being way over the top and dramatic and who just nods and cheers on their partner from the sidelines? Rhen is dramatic, Dameon cheers from the sidelines at first but her enthusiasm pulls him into it, too^_^

10. Where did they confess that they loved one another?  I like the idea of it happening near Thais, because Thais is a new beginning for both of them in the game and it’s kinda poetic for it to be the beginning of their official defined relationship too^_^

11. What is something small, but cute they do for one another? (Ex - leave cute encouraging notes for one another on the counter.) Dameon gives Rhen flowers; my sister wrote me a oneshot once about Dameon always making time to pick a bouquet for Rhen and quietly putting it somewhere she could see and remember how loved she is<3 And Rhen sings for him when he has trouble sleeping. I headcanon her singing leans sharp and is off-key but Dameon thinks it’s endearing and listening to her is his favorite thing.

12. Who is the one who does the cooking while the other helps prep the food? Dameon does the cooking, Rhen chops up vegetables with her big sword and everyone else stands back XD 

13. What is a memory they share together that makes them both laugh so hard they cry when they think about it? When Rhen, in a state of great agitation and excitement, without preamble or any previous planning or hinting of any sort, announced that she wanted to marry Dameon, and Dameon, in a similar state of excitement at the prospect, said “Me too!” XD  Honestly that is so cute though, a big part of love and friendship is that sense of “me too,” like two people who share feelings and understanding, and it’s sweet and lovely as well as funny that they can have that phrase to represent them<3 It’s honestly my favorite proposal ever, in fiction or real life. Idk how Amanda came up with this but I am grateful

14. They are having a water balloon fight, who wins and how do they deliver the winning shot? Nobody wins, eventually they both just collapse to the ground laughing, both soaked through and covered in tiny colorful water balloon pieces. Later Dameon will say Rhen won, and she’ll be laughing too hard to argue. Yes, this is another fic which I will be needing, thanks for asking.

15. Who would give the other their jacket because it’s cold? Dameon gives Rhen his jacket, or his cloak or anything else he has, because even though I kinda see Dameon getting cold more easily then Rhen, Rhen would be the one to forget her jacket, and it is Dameon’s life mission to do what he can to help her be warm and happy<3

[yesimgoingtopeacecorps]

A Woman Is Not An Object or a Prize

As a female Peace Corps volunteer, there is no escaping it.

The sideways glances, the stares that last too long in your direction, the sigh you feel leaving your body when you're asked, yet again, if you are married or if you're dating anyone- and if you're not, "why not?"

There is a lot a person can get used to and become accustomed to when living in a foreign place. I am no longer phased by the fact that my toilet is simply just a hole in the ground, or that I have to wash my clothes by hand, or plans don't work out, or a three hour long car ride could end up taking me almost an entire twenty-four hours. Those are things that are easy to adapt to.

But the one thing that I will never fully adapt to? The one thing that continues to wear on me and chips away at the patience and acceptance I have built for other things in this experience? It's the feeling that no matter what, I am constantly looked at by men as an object, and I'm spoken to as if I have a buying price.

"Where is your husband?"

"Why are you not married yet?"

"My love, I love you, I want to marry you."

"Don't you want a husband? You need to start having children"

"Please, my darling, love me. We can go back to America together."

"If I was to marry you, you would be worth 1,000 cows. I would pay your father and he would be very happy."

"Hey baby, you are so sexy."

"Why are you not talking to me everyday? Is it because you do not want to be with me?"

"He is saying that because he wants to be with you, he does not mean any harm."

Let me be clear about something here, these aren't things I have heard from just Guinean man. I've heard it in all of my travels across the world. From my creepy rickshaw driver in Cambodia who picked me up from the airport, to the safari car driver in Tanzania where I worked for a summer, to my female host mother during my rural homestay in Uganda, who told me basically that “men will be men” when a drunk neighbor came by and wouldn't leave me alone. After awhile, this gross objectification starts to get to you. 

However, I think the difference for me now is that in the past, the trip always ended. I would go home and was able to surround myself again with male figures and close friends who respect me as a human being and don't look at me like I'm a walking vagina and breasts. 

I was able to build those walls up again and rebuild stronger each time, so that each new foreign experience, I started to care less about the stares, the crass comments, and the creepy actions towards me. I grew, I learned how to recognize these men and these situations, and I would brush them off or I would say something really brash and straightforward like "I want a husband someday but it won't be you." or I'd ask "Why is it necessary for me to have children?". I could say what I wanted and be as cold and detached as I needed to be if someone was making me uncomfortable or was being disgusting to me because, 9 times out of 10, I was probably never going to see them again.

I had these walls, these safeguards, and these skills I gained from over a decade of dealing with men out there who feel as if myself and other women are something that is owed to them. I came into Peace Corps with that fortress of self reliance under my belt and I was ready to take on what Guinea was going to throw at me. And let me tell you, in the last 17 months, the constant objectification has been bombarded on me.

The stares from men anytime I go anywhere, the constant comments from taxi driver asking me where my husband is (or if I want a husband, or can they be my husband?), having my photo taken without my consent, having to refuse invitations to men's homes, the persistent feeling of never fully being safe in a crowded male dominated space… the list could go on, and I know for a fact most other female volunteers I know have similar stories to share with you. It's gotten to the point where many of us just find it necessary for our sanity to straight up lie about being married or engaged to avoid further questions because, after the hundredth time of hearing "So if you are not married or engaged, you need to find someone here to marry." you stop wanting to have the argument of women's rights and choices.

But, all that said and done, those are the sort of instances and people I can deal with. Sure, they're exhausting, but I built those walls on purpose and they've kept me safe here. These sort of things exist everywhere in the world; as much as I individually do what I can to change those actions and inherited traits of these sorts of people, I try not to let them affect my life.

What exhausts me in the end, are the alarming number of men here whom I've put my trust in to not act that way towards me, and then having them betray that trust. They are the cannonballs among the pebbles being thrown in my direction and they are the ones that are wearing me down to a point of burn out.

Guinea, like almost all of the rest of the world, is a male dominated society. Unlike the culture I grew up in that has adapted and begun the journey of social equality for all, many Guinean men do not see women are their equals. It’s a culture where a bride price still exists, meaning simply that a woman literally has a monetary value assigned to her and her rights, her choices, and her body can be sold to the highest bidder. It is also a culture where, for the most part, the thoughts and feelings of the males in society are seen as the only ones that matter. But because I want to get work done, and because I want to make a difference, I grit my teeth and I grin through my gut-wretching feeling of wanting to run the opposite direction. I try to make friendships, develop work relationships, and have casual conversations with the opposite gender.

...Obviously the director of a branch of a major non-governmental organization in our area who works with my health center would be willing to work with me on helping to improve the capacity building of the community. We have so much to work on and he'd be a great work colleague. At least that's what I thought until I went to his house once on my way to my regional capital, just to chat, and he told me he wanted to "marry a beautiful American woman" and would leave his wife to do so, staring at me the whole time like a vulture waiting for his chance at the roadkill. Uncomfortable, I left and ignored his phone calls after that. He's since been moved to another posting in the lower part of the country.

...Of course this guy in my community who wants to work on organizing sessions for malaria trainings wants to just work with me because he cares about what I'm here to do… unless of course he's decided that by doing this with me, it was his way of telling me how much he loves me and wants to be with me. He said this to me over text message after a campaign that we did. When I didn't answer him and I started getting his six phone calls and fourteen text messages a day for a week, I finally had the doctor at my health center get involved and the harassment ended.

...There's no way that my friend and French tutor, a young, well educated, guy, would want anything more than my friendship and to hang out- until he asks me to dump the Peace Corps volunteer I’ve been dating so I could date him and when I said no, that I just wanted to be friends, he proceeds to stop speaking to me.

I’ll reiterate again, this sort of thing happens to women in America and all over the world; I'm aware it's not just a Guinean phenomenon of culture. But when my Peace Corps service has consisted of over ~80% of my interactions with male acquaintances always leading to me hearing a comment about my marriage status, or the 99.5% chance of me being nice to the taxi driver and then giving him my number to contact him for rides later, result in him constantly calling me asking to hang out, or, when I have at least a 1 in 2 chance of a man I'm trying to develop a professional friendship with, is thinking that working with me is eventually a way to get in my pants- you really begin to question whether you’re going to be able to make any difference at all.

So, what keeps me going on days that I feel like this? And feel like venting out about how I don't think things will ever evolve in this testosterone filled space I find myself currently apart of?

Every single day is a constant struggle to keep pushing back against these norms and keep allowing myself to trust people and let my guard down- despite being hampered with so many reasons to be jaded and shut the men out all together. But the reason I don't give up is there are men who are an exception the rule. By forming friendships with these men and having them embrace that fact that I am a human being, not an object or a prize to be won, it empowers them to teach others group them how to act and behave towards the opposite sex. It gives me hope that they will be the ones to change the ways of the next generation.

I see it in my friend Cissé, who's marriage I was a part of and who has constantly been working with me to start a girls' sports club.

I see it in my Chef de Santé, Dr. Bah, who always tells me about the importance of educating women and calls me his teacher.

I see it in my counterpart Mamadou, who has never once asked me about a husband or has ever made a pass at me in our year and a half of working together.

I finished writing this, and I went and stopped by my health center and sat down with Dr. Bah. Frustrated, I explained my feelings to him about how men act here. He said something to me that gives me hope. “Les hommes qui ne respectent pas les femmes ne sont pas des hommes bons.” The men who do not respect women are not good men.

So, because of them, and Guinean male role models like them, I keep moving forward. I keep finding ways to, cautiously and carefully, let the other gender into my life while I'm here. I keep going so that, maybe one day, men like my few Guinean male friends who respect me and respect the rights and choices of women, will no longer be the exception but will instead be the rule.

[kusunogatari-a]

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Twenty-Five: Samurai AU ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hiashi, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina, blood mention ] [ Verse: At The Beginning ]

The dust of the road settled after a light morning rain, his trek south is both quiet and calm. A gentle breeze rolls through the trees that line the mountain road, grasses churning like waves. If it weren’t for the task he’s been assigned, it would be a picturesque day.

But the samurai has work to do.

An estate south of the city - large, rich, and responsible for countless rice paddies - has been suffering raids by unknown bandits. According to his father, it should be something simple for the younger of his two sons to handle on his own. A few honorless thugs stand little chance against a carefully-trained samurai.

Geta silent against the soft soil of the road, Sasuke travels with one hand resting atop one of his blade’s hilts, the other tucked into the gaping front of his top. Dark eyes half-lidded, he’s nonetheless alert despite his lax aura. Sharp senses pique, trained for telling noises and visions. If need be, a swift draw will take him only a moment to bury steel into his foe.

But not yet.

Eventually he’s on the downward slope, and a break in the trees reveals the estate. A large manor sits atop the highest foothill, the rest tapered into terraces, fed by a river that winds between the hills. From this distance, the people tending the rice crops are like little hunched-over ants. It will still be a time before he descends to the lord’s lands. One Hyūga Hiashi, once part of the land’s military, retiring to his rice paddies and rather large clan. A widower, with two daughters...and a branch family that handles most of the labor on his estate.

Being part of a large samurai clan himself, Sasuke knows of established hierarchy...but his own doesn’t operate quite like this. But...it’s not his place to intervene. He’s been hired to defend the lord’s lands. Nothing more.

The sun is high when he arrives, taking the path from the road toward the manor. Those in the paddies straighten to look to him curiously, murmuring to one another, the same word on everyone’s tongues:

Samurai.

Ignoring them, he makes his way to the gate, a runner announcing his presence. Adjusting himself only slightly, he prepares to meet with the clan head.

“Ah, you must be the Uchiha.” Hiashi speaks ahead of himself, hands in his sleeves as he approaches with a small gaggle of underlings. His gaze is hawkish, looking down his nose at the young man despite their rivaled levels of power. Soil-shade locks are greyed at his temples, lines carved into an otherwise-infallible face.

Hand still on his sword hilt, Sasuke ignores the slight and gives a shallow bow. “Hyūga Hiashi-sama.”

The man’s nostrils flare slightly as he sniffs. “...as stated in my letter, I have had issues with thugs ransacking my property. We can discuss the details inside.” An arm brandishes to gesture before tucking back to his sleeves, turning and not waiting for Sasuke’s reply.

Following through the entryway courtyard, Sasuke spares subtle glances at the landscapes. Gardens of both flora and stone are well-kept, attendants seemingly in every corner. All bow, only risking glances to their guest once Hiashi passes.

Tucked away in a corner, nearly so hidden he almost misses her...is one of Hiashi’s daughters. Dainty fingers pluck blooms from obliging plants, arranged into a vase held aloft by yet another lesser Hyūga. She glances up as the procession passes, and for a moment their eyes lock.

Her hair is a curtain of ink, highlighting amethyst in the sunlight and falling to a blade’s edge along the tip of her spine. A lavender-shade kimono is tied with a baby blue obi, silk shining in the light and highlighting doves and clouds soaring across the fabric. Pale skin is without mark, eyes like newly-bloomed lilac. Round-cheeked and doe-eyed, she looks much like one of the ladies of the emperor’s court his father has described after travels to the capital.

He’s never seen a woman so beautiful.

Sasuke, however, is thankfully a level-headed man. He’s entranced only a moment before turning to watch Hiashi’s back as they enter the manor. Something tells him ogling the man’s daughter wouldn’t make the best impression.

It would probably get him chased from the manor by a swarm of naginata-wielding Hyūga.

Within the manor, Hiashi takes him to a table, whereupon a map of his lands is unraveled. Once the party gathers around, he gestures to the paper, a few small figures stood across it to signify the damage. “...we have been been hit mostly from the east. Our crops dismantled, and a store of tools raided and burnt. A watchman was grievously injured when he attempted to confront them. We’ve lost several paddies already to the disruption. Should we lose many more, our profits will be in danger. Whoever has targeted us must be stopped.”

Sasuke studies the diagram carefully. “...what sort of defenses do you have?”

“We have patrols armed with kama. But admittedly...most of my men are not experienced in combat. They are mostly for show, and until now, we’ve not had much trouble.” Hiashi scowls. “...unrest further south has made the people unruly. At first I thought perhaps the poor were looking to steal...but nothing is missing, simply destroyed.”

“...do you have a map of the lands around yours?”

“I do. Why?”

“Are there other rice farms nearby?”

“...not for some miles.”

“Perhaps someone has hired a few bandits to ransack you. Drive you out of business to better theirs. The less rice there is to be sold, the higher the price...and less competition.”

The Hyūga’s brows furrow. “...it may be so. If you can, take a man alive. Attempt to wrest answers from him. But to me, what matters most is that the raids stop. Perhaps a show of force will deter anyone else.”

“Understood. The attacks surely come at night?”

“They do. Once every week or so, but mostly at random. We know not when they will strike...only that they will.”

“I’ll need to stake out the property. Wait for them to arrive.”

“You may rest in the branch quarters. I will have a room cleared for you.”

Remembering the apparent caste system of the clan, Sasuke replies, “...that won’t be necessary. I’ll rest on the engawa. I need to be able to watch and listen, anyway.” He doesn’t want to take what little they appear to have.

“...as you wish. Do you require anything else?”

“No...beyond lodging, food, and water...it’s best you carry on as if I weren’t here.”

Hiashi nods. “Very well. I will have our foreman give you a tour of the estate, as to orient yourself. A meal will be delivered this afternoon to the...engawa.”

Sasuke follows Hiashi’s suggestion, mapping out points of interest...and possible places any bandits may strike next. The afflicted fields - still early in the season - are in the process of being replanted.

“It is even more work for the branch family,” the foreman offers when asked, brow drawn. He looks very much like his uncle, Hiashi - the son of his younger twin, upon his introduction. “And should we fare poorly this season, times will be lean...and it is us who will suffer before the main house.”

“Hn...any other information you can offer?”

“The watchman who was attacked said he could see little of them - it was dark, and his torch dropped when he was struck from behind. His estimate put their numbers at six, maybe eight.” Neji gives him an inquiring glance. “...do you require any help?”

“No. Besides...you don’t need any more injured to care for.” Dark eyes glance to pale. “...you sound assured. Have you combat training?”

“I do. My father, alongside his brother, were both in the army. He died saving my uncle’s life. I took up the practice in his honor. At times, I am called upon to guard Hinata-sama and Hanabi-sama. I am most proficient with a bow.”

“Your cousins…?”

“Yes. Hinata, the elder, and Hanabi, the younger by five years.” As they walk, Neji asks, “What about you, Uchiha-san? Have you siblings?”

“One, an elder brother. I am close only to one of my cousins...for I have many. They too are samurai of high reputation.”

“And yet you were sent alone?”

“I am capable. And they have their own tasks. We are often called upon.”

“I see...the samurai are said to have much influence. The emperor, they claim, is more a figurehead to their power.”

“...you wouldn’t be wrong.” Finding himself feeling rather companionable with the man, Sasuke goes on. “It’s not rare for samurai men to marry women of the court...or even relations of the emperor himself. It’s a tangled web...but I care little for it. I simply prefer to peddle my skills and make myself useful. Politics is more my brother’s game.”

“I must wonder what it would be like. The branch Hyūga have no such options. We are serfs to the main house. I am lucky: among them, I am the highest ranked. But it is still nothing to my uncle or cousins.” He gives a wry smile. “...I am simply the most useful.”

“I would offer you pity, but something tells me you’ve little need of it.”

“You would be right.” As they reach the branch barracks, Neji gestures. “...are you sure you won’t lodge inside with us?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt. And won’t take anything further from you.” Despite decorum, Sasuke gives a polite decline of his head. “Thank you for your help. I think I know the lay of the land well enough, now. All that must be done now...is wait. Please, tell your watchmen to be careful - don’t attempt to fight them. Just make enough ruckus to draw my attention. From there...I’ll handle it.”

“It will be done.”

Settled along the south porch of the branch quarters, Sasuke sits with his back along the wall, eagle eyes watching over the downward slope toward the paddies. As the sun sets, another branch Hyūga brings him plain rice and miso, accompanied by matcha. Accepting with a nod, he eats in silence, still keeping watching eyes over the estate as the sky goes dark.

Along the perimeter, torches blink into being, slowly making rounds in the blanket of night. Flickering between each in an effort to see the first sign of trouble, Sasuke snicks his blade slightly as a sound emerges beside him, half-drawn and ready to strike.

Illuminated by a candle, Hinata stills with wide eyes.

“...what are you doing out here?”

Gaze trapped on his katana, it takes her a moment to look up. “...I brought you something. For luck.”

He nearly scoffs. Luck? “You'll get the both of us in trouble if you're spotted.”

From her sleeve she draws a talisman, holding it out for Sasuke to take and clearly ignoring his warning. Once he does, he draws back his hand to reveal an omamori.

“...it was my mother’s. I know my father is paying you, but…” Her head bows. “...I’m grateful for your help to protect our home. Were you to be hurt for our sakes…”

Considering the trinket for a moment, Sasuke tucks it into his sleeve. “...you don’t have to worry about me, Hinata-sama. But you should get back inside, it’s not -”

He hears the shift of gravel, and without a moment’s consideration, Sasuke springs forward. Arms encircle the heiress, rolling with her as an arrow buries with a thwack into the post she’d been knelt behind. With a draw of his blade he blocks another, pushing her behind him. “Go! Now!”

“But -?”

“NOW!”

“Hinata-sama!” Neji’s voice sounds behind them, insisting she retreat with him as Sasuke readies his stance. Where was the patrol? How did they slip through unnoticed?

A band of eight men encircle him, armed with crude but deadly weapons. “Ah, a samurai…? Seems Hiashi finally sacrificed some coin,” one rumbles.

“I’ll warn you once: stand down, or I’ll cut you down.”

“You might be a samurai...but you’re outnumbered!”

Knees bent and blade slightly lifted in its sheath, Sasuke lets a smirk grow across his lips. “...and you are outclassed…!”

Falling for the insult, two men rush forward...and fall in a spray of blood. With a quick draw of his katana, Sasuke makes clean cuts to their chests, dipping the tip through their backs as they fall to finish them.

“...next…?”

Clearly more cautious now, the remaining five spread out, shifting as they consider their means of attack. Dark eyes flicker between them, watching for openings.

But before any make a move, a bolt strikes one man through the eye, whipping his head back with a cry. The rest panic, Sasuke glancing furtively behind him.

Armed with a bow, Neji already draws another arrow. “I will cover you, samurai!”

Not needing to be told twice, Sasuke takes advantage of the chaos, cutting down another bandit and parrying a second. Four down, four remain. Two take to striking at the Uchiha, the other two making to chase the Hyūga, fumbling to block bolts. One crumbles as a shaft buries in his thigh, a second to the chest laying him flat. Too close to shoot the second, Neji shoulders his bow and draws a kama, twirling fighting style too fast and unpredictable to be countered. When the man’s hand is cleaved from his wrist, a strike to the throat is all it takes to finish him.

Sasuke, in the meantime, disarms one man armed with a club before beheading him in a fountain of crimson. The last, falling to his rear, makes to shimmy back. “Please, master samurai! Mercy!”

Sword at his gullet, Sasuke considers Hiashi’s request to take one alive. “...very well. I’ll grant it.”

The man slackens...before Neji delivers a kick to his head, knocking him out cold.

“...but they won’t.”

By then, Hiashi rushes from the manor yard. “Have you done it?”

“Yes, Hyūga-sama. All but one bandit lay dead. Your foreman has the other tied by the branch quarters.”

He nods stiffly. “...then we may find out who sent them. My thanks, Uchiha-san.”

“It’s not just me you owe your thanks. Neji handled half of them on his own. His skill with the bow is impressive...you chose your foreman well.”

Hiashi’s jaw tightens slightly. “...it appears I have.”

Behind him, the lord’s daughters emerge. Hanabi is shielded from the gore, but Hinata peers to the samurai. They exchange a glance, but no one seems to note her rumpled state.

Neji says nothing.

“...well, I will have this...mess taken care of. Perhaps we can speak of coin in the morning, after you rest?”

“As you wish. I will want to take my leave early. I’ve a long trek home, Hyūga-sama.”

“Of course, of course.” Dismissing them, the clan head retreats, his daughters in tow. Hinata manages one last glance, and Sasuke gives her just a hint of a nod and a smile.

“...do I want to know what Hinata-sama was doing out here?” Neji asks once they leave, murmuring as he closes the distance between them.

“She came to give me this.” Sasuke displays the charm. “...apparently it worked.”

“...I will not tell Hiashi-sama she was here. It will only enrage him. Had anyone else seen you two together, alone after dark?” The Hyūga shakes his head. “...imagine the rumors.”

“I didn’t even touch her,” Sasuke mutters. “...until I had to get her out of the way from those arrows. But I think Hiashi would rather her kimono get dusty than her chest impaled with a bolt.”

“My point is that she should not have been out at all,” Neji retorts. “It is...unbecoming of a lady of her stature.”

“Then tell her that, not me. I did nothing to warrant it!”

The pair stare at one another before the elder sighs. “...Hinata-sama is a shy, unobtrusive person. That she approached a stranger like yourself in such a way is...worryingly out of character for her.”

“I looked at her. Once. It was she who approached me. I did nothing to dishonor her.” Wiping his blade clean on a bandit’s shirt, he asks, “Now, are we going to clear away the bodies, or not? They’re going to draw flies come morning.”

“...very well.”

Sasuke sleeps little once the task is done, washing blood from his skin in the river and replacing his stained garments. Hiashi summons him, giving him the arranged coin.

“Should I ever have need of another samurai...I know which clan to call.”

“We appreciate your patronage, Hyūga-sama.”

With the coin in his sleeve, Sasuke takes his leave, escorted by the foreman to the front gate. “...here.”

Pausing, Neji accepts the omamori. “...I do not think she will want it back.”

“It’s hers, not mine.”

“Is this how you react to every gift? Besides...last night should have been omen enough: you need it.” He holds the trinket back out.

“...fine. I’ll hold onto it for now. But she’ll get it back eventually.”

“You make it sound like a threat.”

“...something like that.” Giving Neji a nod and a smirk, Sasuke leaves the gate behind, heading back toward the pass.

Well...now he has an excuse to see her again.

     Word count: 2929      Cumulative: 33,704      WELP, this ended up like...more than twice as long as usual, but I couldn’t help myself xD I read over the wikipedia page about samurai to try and get a better idea about them...no idea if I wrote this very accurately, but I tried. I also don’t have a verse for this, so...this is my closest stand in, lol      I’m still technically behind and need to do today’s, but ngl...this one wiped me out, and I still have a lot I owe on another blog. So we’ll see if I catch up or not, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, lol      Either way, hope y’all enjoyed! See ya in the next one~

[adeleymccormick1990-blog]

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Talking to the Moon

A lovely anon requested: "hey im such a huge fan of your writing!! i was wondering if maybe you could do a peter x reader based off the bruno mars song 'talking to the moon' please? thank you so much if you do!!!"

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader

Warnings: very few swear words, mentions of implied death?

Word Count: 2, 651

Summary: Fast forward a few years from now, Reader is an advanced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and Tony Stark's adopted daughter who's gone on an undercover mission and Peter Parker wishes there were things he'd said before they left.

Masterlist

A/N: This song is so good and I had too many ideas I couldn't sort them out which is why this ended up being a huge mess. I apologize in advance for this. The reader and Peter Parker are in their early twenties. I literally wrote this under the full moon which I think is pretty awesome. Also, as you may be able to tell, I've been catching up on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars

You've been gone for six months now. A little more than six months actually; 191 days as of tonight to be exact. 191 days ago, you got the offer to go on the undercover mission of a lifetime, the duration indefinite. 191 days ago, you had to leave immediately without so much as a goodbye to anyone. 190 days ago, was when you last communicated with the boy- now man, you are in love with.

The day after you were whisked away, you managed to slip an encrypted message through your adoptive father, Tony Stark, to let Peter know that you were okay. It was totally illegal and you spent the whole night encoding and encrypting when you should have been getting your rest for the mission.

You knew your father had the means to keep tabs on you throughout the project and you knew he'd give the team updates about you. You were never safe, but at least you were still alive. Little did you know, for the past two months you were totally off the radar and no one had any idea if your cover was blown, or if you were still alive.

For a while you didn't think you'd make it out. All you could think of in those moments, was that you might die without ever telling Peter how you felt.

I know you're somewhere out there

Somewhere far away

I want you back, I want you back

You never led a quote-on-quote "normal life". Your parents, who were also S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, were taken from you at a young age due to a mission gone awry. The number of agent casualties during that mission were the highest in a very long time, your parents included in the devastating death toll. They had trained you throughout your childhood, so when your skills were evaluated by the organization after their passing, you sent straight through the academic and recruitment process. Not long after being put in the system, they stuck you with Tony Stark for a bit and he decided to adopt you since you had lost everything, and he saw an unbelievable amount of potential on top of having grown to love having you in his life.

The academy was a boarding school, but Tony would bring you back to New York as often as he could. You grew up around the Avengers and considered them your family. Whenever you were over, you'd always hang out or train with them, leading you to acquire a wide variety of skills from each of them. As much as you love them all, you've always had a bias towards your dad's work with software and technology which was a large part of why you two got along so well. It was during one of your visits home that you had met Peter Parker.

Peter Parker has been in love with you ever since then. You weren't like anyone he'd ever met before. Besides the extremely impressive fact that you were a prodigy, having attended the academy at an earlier age than would normally be allowed, and graduating with honors. You trained with the Avengers while still attending the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, and joined in on multiple missions. At first you assisted as Clint and Natasha's apprentice or under your father's wing (or sidekick as some may call it) for their individual missions, and now you had quickly grown to be your own hero as well as an official member of the team.

Being around the same age, you and Peter basically grew up together, seeing each other from your awkward teenage years to your still awkward young adulthood. Essentially being raised by agents your whole life, you were never the trusting type, but you trusted your father's judgment. If you're being honest, the first time you met Peter you couldn't quite believe that he was the friendly neighborhood genius from Queens your father told you about, because he face planted into a wall after seeing you. He was so stressed about making a good impression on you, that he somehow made the biggest fool of himself whenever you were around. At first you kept your distance from him like you would with any person you didn't know and observed his behavior. You brief social interactions consisted of you giving him short answers and curt nods, and him being a stuttering mess. He always maintained the excitement of a child and told really bad jokes which led you to worry that he might not be mature enough.

Eventually, you happened to come back home and came across him and your dad working in the lab. You watched them for a while before entering to greet them and he dropped a box of screws all over the floor. Witnessing how smart and professional he was while working, you decided to give him a chance. After all, you were both still teenagers and he just liked to have fun, but having grown up so quickly, you didn't know what that was like.

You soon found the thick walls you had built to protect yourself from the world crumbling down at the hands of the sweet boy with the big brown eyes. You had endless conversations about absolutely anything, but also felt most content in the comfortable silences. He charmed you with his sense of humor, bringing out the goofy side you didn't think you had.

When you'd fall asleep on the couch while marathoning the Star Wars movies he'd introduced you to, he took in all your features and how serene you looked when you're sleeping. He remembered every detail of all the stories or theories you've ever told him. During training, he memorized every way your body moves and was left flabbergasted at all the different ways you could kick his ass every time. He memorized the way your face changes when you were happy and the sound of your laugh as if it were the last time he'd see you.

He loves every bit of you and he never told you.

How could he not tell you? He saw you every day; when he'd go to the Stark Tower for work, during training, on missions, when you'd go out for lunch or hang out, and sometimes you'd even help him out with keeping the city safe. You spent all the time you possibly could together. Every time he would either forget about his insecurities and bask in the happiness you brought him, or he'd give himself lame excuses as to why he couldn't tell you, and later beat himself up about not being able to confess his feelings. You are best friends - or were- he doesn't know anymore and it's driving him insane.

The pressure of being a hero is getting to be too much for him. Crime rates have gone up recently, and when that happened in the past you'd always be more than happy to help him out. With you, he feels strong enough to save the world with you by his side and him by yours. Without you, he feels like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He wants you back.

My neighbors think I'm crazy

But they don't understand

You're all I have, you're all I have

Peter gets back to his apartment, hanging out on the fire escape after his nightly patrol. He stumbles, wincing as he slowly eases himself to a sitting position with his back against the wall. The jump in crime rate and the stress, not to mention the injuries that are adding up, are taking an immense toll on his body. He slumps down, taking a long and painful breath. He pulls out his phone, letting his thumb hover over the phone icon not knowing whether to bother or not. He can't give up.

He calls Tony, like he has every single day for the past two months, even though he had just been in contact with the man a few hours ago.

"Peter, I'm going to tell you what I've told you every day for the past two months: no one's seen or heard from Y/N. If anything changed I would tell you."

"Please, there must be somethingyou can do! Anything- Something we haven't thought of yet-"

"Listen, no one has heard from her, and none of us have the clearance to get that kind of information!" Tony snaps.

"Mr. Stark you don't under-"

"Understand?! She is my daughter! My pride, my joy, the one thing that doesn't make me feel like such an asshole when I go to sleep at night- And now I don't know if I'll see her again!" He sounds nonchalant and sarcastic like he usually does, but Peter senses the immense pain that lies underneath the surface.

"Please- I-I love her!"

Tony goes quiet on his side and speaks in a softer tone. "I know, Peter. I know." Peter's never heard Tony's voice so full of sorrow and he feels his knees go weak at the thought that something really bad might have happened. It was highly unusual for Stark to show that much emotion. Which is why Peter's heart hurt a thousand times more at hearing the pain of your father. "Peter, you need to concentrate on keeping the city safe right now. If there is even the least bit of trivial information that surfaces, you'll be the first one I call. But for now, you have a responsibility to this city."

"Yes sir."

After hanging up, Peter gets up and leans on the railing, burying his face in his hands with his elbows supporting his weight.

"I know it's pointless and I don't know why I keep doing this, but I don't know what else to do," he mutters to himself. He looks up at the moon, throwing his arms up in the air and releases a frustrated shout, "Give me some sort of sign!"

"Hey!" Someone calls from the street. "No one gives a shit!"

Okay... Not exactly the sign he was looking for, and yet he can't help but consider it as one. For all anyone knows you could be gone for good. He refuses to believe that. You've never given up on him and he sure as hell won't give up on you.

He can't give you up. He just can't.

You're all he has left.

At night when the stars light up my room

I sit by myself...

Talking to the moon

Trying to get to you

In hopes you're on the other side talking to me too

Or am I a fool, who sits alone, talking to the moon?

He sits on a chair that he's permanently left in front of the big window that leads to the fire escape as me places a bag of his choice frozen vegetables over his bruised ribs. It's become a ritual that he hasn't failed to complete every single day since you've been gone; call Tony for updates after nightly patrol, then pour his heart out to the night sky while he takes care of the damage done to his body.

"I don't know why I keep doing this either. Maybe I'm being foolish, but I hope you can hear me."

He had no idea how to tell you everything he feels for you before you left. So here he is, talking to the moon, telling it everything he wishes he could say to you, hoping that the moon will somehow deliver his messages and make you feel loved wherever you are.

"I miss you, your dad misses you, everyone misses you- but you probably already knew that," he starts, in a light tone as though he was pretending to be happy for your sake. "Aunt May's been worried sick about you. I told her you left for a long work assignment overseas- which I guess technically isn't lying to her, but she knows something's wrong. I think she sees it in my eyes every time I visit her without you by my side, and she still always has extra food prepared in case you do show up as a surprise or something." He chuckles, but the sound he emits holds more sadness in it than it does humor.

"I remember the first time I saw you smile; it lit up the whole room. I walked in on you reading a book in the compound's kitchen early in the morning. You were in you pyjamas; flannel bottoms and a large t-shirt with the pi numerals on it- I remember that moment precisely because it was the first time I saw you as just another kid my age. You always acted so grown up because your childhood was just another memory of time that was robbed from you. Anyways, I guess you read something funny because you smiled wider than I ever thought you could- it wasn't directed towards me, but it made me feel so happy." He feels the similar sting prick the back of his eyes.

And like he does every time,  he averts his gaze away from the moon, ashamed to have you see him cry. He fiddles with the frozen bag in his hands, and like he always does, he forces himself to keep going. "And the first time you smiled at me, it lit up my whole world. I knew then that I never wanted you to stop smiling, so I made it my personal mission to make you smile at least once a day." Peter watches his tears drip down, onto his bruised hands. "It was about the millionth time you had bested me in training, and you had me face-down on the mat. I don't know what made that time different, or if it was some dumb thing I said, but that day everything changed. Every time you beat me, I fell harder for you- Literally."

When he files through all his memories it's always bitter sweet. His happiest moments are with you, but when the daydream is over and he realizes that you're not there, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He sees you everywhere he looks, but when you disappear, he feels the back of his eyes sting. Thinking about how much he loves you but can't have you, it makes his heart ache. Lately, his thoughts of you bring him pain and he wishes it would just go away.

He rises from his chair and makes his way back out to the edge of the small balcony to get as close as he could to the moon; to you. "Every day, it gets worse out there, and I'm terrified. It's not about life or death, or getting hurt that I worry about anymore. What if I get injured bad and I forget even one single moment I had with you- I, I can't even imagine my life without you in it. I can only think of you and everything else is a giant blur." He looks all over the sky, remembering all the times the both of you would identify every single constellation you could see, and finally back at the moon that seemed to shine brighter than it ever had. "I love you more than anything, I hope you know that."

But he could never forget you. Even if he wanted to- which he would never, he couldn't. He knows that eventually, the pain will subside and be replaced by happiness. He knows that can't start until he gets past the denial stage.

Maybe it's finally time to move on.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

Just as his last tear falls and he turns to leave, something catches his eye in the street below. There's familiar silhouette of a person with their head tilted up to look at him and he can see the faintest sparkle coming from their eyes. The figure steps into the light of the moon, revealing their features.

It can't be.

There you are, looking up at Peter Parker with glassy eyes and a nostalgic smile. Your hair has been cut and dyed a different color, and you have fading scars and bruises all over your body, yet in Peters eyes, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He sees you and yet doesn't believe his own eyes. It's not until you speak that he realizes it's not just another dream.

"Peter?"

[swanandapirate]

Access Granted (1/1)

So a couple of weeks ago, I made a post about a Hacker!Killian, FBI!Emma fic and voila, here is the whole thing. This is dedicated to (just) Ruhi @ofshipsandswans because she practically forced me to write it and she selfishly made me change my entire ending (shame on you rohana), but she also made me this amazing banner, gave me the title (which makes this boring fic seem way more exhilariating) and she just spread a whole lotta love in general which I am hoping to return with this. <3

~10,800 words

ff.net

Finding the code to success of being a good hacker is easier than one would think. It's all about knowing and understanding your opponent and adapting your tactics as you go.

Small websites are like young, inexperienced fighters. There's sloppiness and there are unguarded bits and spaces; they use all of their energy in the first ten minutes, trying to wear their opponent down, but end up tired themselves and even laxer. That's when you attack and strike the death-blow.

The key to hacking a multinational lies somewhere else. Think of them as the big, muscular, intimidatingly staring fellows whose arms are adorned with black tattoo lines and whose teeth are in dire need of attention. There is no way in hell you would win in a head to head battle; there's no point in even trying. What do you do instead? You look for their weak spot, their Achilles heel just waiting to be uncovered. You study their every movement, their system, how they function. And when the bright, neon arrow starts flickering; well, that's when the fun begins.

"Are you telling me not one of you is able to do this?"

Her eyes widen as she glances over the room and the people perched behind the computers, avoiding her gaze. Emma raises her eyebrow in disbelief. How could the most talented and skilled people in the country, chosen through various selection processes of the highest quality, be unable to do this one simple thing she was requesting?

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tink hesitantly apologizes, "but all of Gold's servers are air-tight, there's no way in."

Emma huffs and places her hands on her temples, her fingers rotating to offer some relief against an impending migraine. If there's one thing that will ruin her mood, it's this. And people who lie relentlessly. And when her cocoa has no cinnamon in it. And people who walk slowly; why must people always walk slowly right when she's in hurry? Alright, a lot of things can ruin her mood, but with the levels of stress and pressure she encounters on a daily basis, as one does in this line of work, that tends to happen.

"And you've tried every possible approach?" she asks, emphasizing her last words with small breaks in between, giving them one last chance to come up with a brilliant solution.

"Everything in this team's capability, yes."

An opportunity that they did not use properly.

"Fine," Emma says, but her tone reflects that it is most definitely not fine. She is not going to accept mediocrity, especially when it comes to such an important case as the Gold one. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for crying out loud. They thrive on excellence. "Then I'm going to need to find another way to crack this case. On my own, seeing that I'm apparently surrounded by incapable employees."

She steps aside, masterfully avoiding the newly formed puddles of rain between the cobblestones. The rain falls with soft thuds, creating a steady cadence on her black umbrella. Its color matches that of her coat and that of her pants, of her entire outfit, actually. There's no coincidence about it, everything sharing the same dark hue, because there's just no color better to shield someone – their face, their motives – than black. And that's something Emma can use; obscurity.

"August," she greets him, approaching until the shadows of the night are chased away and the light of the buzzing lamppost finds his face again.

He's sitting on his bike, eating an apple, dressed in a dark brown leather jacket. The epitome of casualty, of calmness. His hair is wet; small, clear droplets are clinging to the strands, attaching themselves until they inevitably let go again.

"Emma," August retorts as he tips his head as a sign of recognition. The small gesture, as well as the little tick of his lips, reveals their history, the shared past only they are aware of. "Sure no one followed you?" One of his eyebrows shoots up with the question and Emma can't help but roll her eyes.

"August," she scoffs, attempting to remind him of all the years they've known each other. "I've been with the FBI for six years. I think I can spot when someone is trailing me."

He lets her have that one, admits that she is right and that it was idiotic of him with a quick rise of his eyebrows. It's one of her favorite things about him. August knows her and he respects her, who she is and what she represents.

"What do you need?"

His blue irises shine with openness, with a willingness to help her, as he has done so many times before. Help her for a price, of course, because nothing in this world is free. There is always some underlying reason or drive hidden by a falsely reassuring smile. In most cases, it's money they are seeking. It may sound pessimistic, but, like Emma said before, she's been in this business for six years and her belief in fairytales has been gone for way longer. Information always comes with a price.

"A hacker. A good one." There's a small pause. "No, scratch that. An incredible one," Emma specifies. "Someone who isn't just a tech nerd. I need someone who can think out of the box."

August lifts the pocket knife in his hand and the dimmed and orange-toned light from the lamppost reflects off of it. The knife ruthlessly cuts into the green apple, separating a piece of fruit and lifting it to his mouth. His eyes intently staring over Emma's shoulder, August's jaw clenches as his teeth bite down and down. She can see the introspection he's doing, the deep-thinking process of sifting through all of his mental resources. Suddenly, he nods.

"I know someone. And I think he's exactly what you're looking for."

Her hand slips into one of the big pockets of her trench coat and rummages around until her fingertips comes into contact with a familiar shape. Emma grabs the post-it block and the pen she always carries with her, ready to take note of the person that will hopefully crack this case for her, that will play her personal IT savior.

"What's his name?"

"He goes by Captain Hook online. His real name, I don't know." His eyes narrow.

With her one hand serving as a flat canvas, Emma's right one flows over the yellow square, leaving two words written in black ink in its wake.

"And you're sure he's capable of doing what I need him to do?"

"More than," August assures her. "He's been wreaking all sorts of havoc in the last couple of weeks. I heard he was hired by one of the biggest cigarette counterfeiting criminals at the moment. He singlehandedly hacked a private chat owned by her biggest enemy."

"Cigarette counterfeiting?" Emma asks, the words ringing a bell somewhere in her head. "You're not talking about Cruella DeVil, are you?"

"That's the one. A piece of work, isn't she?"

"Tell me about it. I'm happy her case got moved to another division because she was really starting to bother me." The note is quickly folded and hidden in the inner pocket of her trench coat. "Thanks for the information, August. I appreciate it. As always…" Emma retrieves an envelope from the opposite pocket. It is thick and unfolded, its insides filled with a very rich content.

Emma has to give props to August; he looks like he's hesitating to accept the money, as if he doesn't want it, while they both know he has no other choice but to accept. He is in dire need of cash. Emma doesn't know what he does to make ends meet; can't actually because there's a serious risk that she'd have to arrest him if she did. So, this is what she does, help him out, because they've known each other for so long and because that's what friends do for each other.

"Be careful, alright?" she requests, leaving her carefully-crafted facade to reveal the genuine fear and worry that tends to loiter in the back of her mind.

"Always am, Ems. Always am."

He salutes her before putting his riding helmet on and awakening the engine of his motorcycle. The bike roars off into the night, disturbing its previous calm. She watches him leave and sighs briefly while she hopes, wishes, prays that he'll return when she needs him, unharmed and unchanged. Losing someone close to her is not something she wants to experience.

The umbrella unfolds in one swift motion, being held above Emma's head once again as she walks back.

It is time to find Captain Hook.

"Humbert." Emma walks in with a determined stride and a cup of coffee in her hand. She takes off her blazer, revealing a burgundy blouse.

"Yes, boss?" Her employee turns in his chair, an open expression on his face. The fabric of his vest is slightly rumpled and Emma can spot the remnants of a donut on his desk but decides not to mention it.

"I need you to find me any and everything there is on a hacker called Captain Hook," she orders.

Obediently and without a word of objection, he turns back to his bright screen to start his search. Emma leans a bit closer and peers over his shoulder to follow his actions.

"Sure. Let me see." Graham's fingers swiftly move over his keyboard while his face is contorted in a concentrated scowl. The light thuds continue for a while but it seems that no combination of letters and numbers can lead to an answer to her question. "I can't find anything, sorry," Humbert says, reaffirming her hunch. "They're clearly covering their tracks."

"Can we trace his IP address?" Emma asks, already knowing the answer before Graham shakes his head. If he's a notorious hacker, he would not be stupid enough to leave his IP address out in the open, for everyone to uncover.

"It's encrypted. Do you have any idea what his last hack was?" His gray eyes look up at her.

"I know he was hired by Cruella recently to hack some chat owned by Isaac Heller, but I have no idea how long ago that was."

"Isaac Heller, the author?" The surprise in his voice makes his Irish accent stand out.

Emma shrugs to show that she doesn't understand the connection either. "Apparently they have some kind of major drama going on."

"Sounds like our Cruella. Hmmm." Humbert presses his lips together and rakes his fingers through his beard. "Maybe I can trace her payment to his bank account. We all know Cruella isn't the most subtle person, so her transactions should be easy to view."

"Alright." Emma stretches her back and backs away from Graham's desk. "Keep me updated," she requests, making her way to her office. A stack of paperwork awaits her, sadly enough.

The pile has shrunk by half when Graham calls her office, saying that he found something. There is no real use for her to go back to his desk, he could tell her his findings via phone, but Emma always has preferred some sort of visual, some sort of proof to back up his words.

"And?" Her black heels click against the linoleum floor.

"Cruella spends a horrendous amount of money on liquor," he informs her, but there is nothing Emma can do with that information. One, she had already concluded that from the amount Cruella drinks, and two, it is not a valuable addition to this investigation.

"Humbert, focus please," she reprimands in a stern voice. "You know that's not the information I need."

"Sorry," is rushed out of his mouth and he looks taken aback by her comment. He quickly starts telling her the info she is interested in. "Cruella wired one hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account in Switzerland, figures," he adds. "About two weeks ago."

"Yeah, that could be it." Emma nods. "My source talked about the last couple of weeks or so."

He frowns and a worried look flashes across his eyes. "Your source?"

Emma sighs softly. Graham is getting too attached to her. She has suspected that his connection to her went way further than the appropriate superior officer/employee for a while now, but she kept on trying to convince herself that she was just imagining things. Doing that is becoming more difficult every day.

"My source is reliable and I trust them," she reassures.

"I know, but it could be dangerous."

"Graham, I can handle myself," she tells him a bit too firmly. He means well, she knows that and he's just a genuinely good and kind guy but his puppy eyes are starting to become too difficult to face every second of every day. "Besides, I'm your boss, you're not supposed to question my actions." Her tone is final, ending the conversation right then and there. "Do we have a name to match to that account?"

His head held low, the mass of curls reply. "It belongs to James Hook."

"Why is this guy so obsessed with Peter Pan?" she whispers under her breath.

She purses her lips in thought. What could she do with this information? It clearly is an alias, the connection between Captain Hook and James Hook evident so there will be no census to look through or records to consult.

"James Hook also rents a postbox in Storybrooke, Maine," Humbert interrupts her thinking, simultaneously giving her her next step in her game plan.

"Storybrooke, Maine? Really?" There is not a chance in hell–or Neverland–that this is all a coincidence. This guy clearly spent a lot of time crafting his persona and Emma doesn't know if she should be impressed or feel sorry for him. "I guess it's time to make a phone call to the Storybrooke Post Office."

Emma retreats to her office again, sits down in her black leather chair and picks up the receiver of her telephone. Eyes focused on the sheet of paper next to her, she blindly types in the number. She straightens her back as she brings the phone closer. The continuous tone of the dialing resonates in her ear until it's abruptly cut.

"Storybrooke Mail, how may I help you?" a chipper, young voice greets her.

"Hi," Emma replies, the pep taking over her usual business tone. "My name is Leia Johnson. I'd like to send a package to my friend James Hook but I want to be a 100% sure that it reaches its recipient."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, ma'am. All mail and packages for Mr. Hook are carefully stored with us and are then picked up by his assistant," the young woman shares.

"His assistant?" Emma pricks up her ears.

"Yes, Killian Jones," the post employee divulges. "Mr. Hook is quite reclusive so Mr. Jones takes care of all his business. He's like his spokesperson." A light laugh reaches her ear and Emma joins to make sure she doesn't break character. The fake nature of the cackle is lost in transmission.

"Sounds like James to have one," Emma continues the charade. "Well, thank you very much."

"You are very welcome! Have a nice day!"

"You too," is the last thing Emma says before the call is ended and therefore her acting as well.

"Small town people are too loose-lipped." Her head softly shakes with her observation.

She quickly writes the name, the man behind the moniker, down. The next step on her to-do-list is to run an extensive search on him. Find out what drives him, what his story is. There are a lot of perks of working at the FBI; finding out everything on a person's life, past, ambitions... in one single mouse click must be one of her favorite ones.

She dials another number, this time one she knows by heart, and the person on the other side of the line instantly picks up.

"David?" Her question is excessive because who else would answer the phone on his desk?

"Yes?" His familiar voice responds.

"Did you solve that Walsh Woods case?" Emma lightly spins on her chair.

"I did, yes. Why?" he asks.

"I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me on a trip for the Gold case."

"Alright," he agrees without hesitation and fully trusting her. "Am I just coming along because you don't want Mills to criticize you?"

"What do you mean, David?" She pretends to be completely taken aback by his accusation, but she knows David had already figured her out. "I just want to take a road trip with one of my best friends."

"So definitely to avoid Mills' wrath." David chuckles. "But I don't mind. So, where are we going?"

"Storybrooke, Maine," Emma announces.

Her foot impatiently taps against the concrete. This guy needs to be home or else Mills will kill her for wasting half a day driving to and from a town in the middle of nowhere to have achieved exactly nothing.

"Hello?" he croaks through the speaker of the intercom.

Relief surges in her body; relief that she survived another day of Mills tolerating her; relief that she would live another day without having her heart ripped right out of her chest.

"I have a UPS package for a Mr. Killian Jones."

Knowing his kind, he will never let her in if she tells him the truth, if she introduces herself with her name and profession. And the chances of him regularly receiving visitors are probably low as well, so this was the only believable, plausible cover.

"Uhm," Jones clears his throat. "Could you leave it by the door?"

"You have to sign for it, sir," Emma insists, hoping he will fall for it and let her enter the building.

He considers it – contemplates it, if the silence tells her anything – for a moment.

"Alright." The agreement is followed by a sigh. "Come on up. It's the third floor."

The door buzzes open and Emma quickly heads for it, opening before the sound stops and the lock comes into force again. In lieu of the stairs, she decides to take the elevator because it does make more of an entrance than arriving on his floor panting and with a layer of sweat on her forehead. Stairs in these heels were deadly. She strides to his door, head held high and shoulders straight and lets her knuckles touch the door in three short but powerful knocks.

The door swings open and reveals a man around her age. He is about as tall as she is, though Emma suspects that, without her heels, he would tower over her. His hair is messy, a blur of dark strands and light stubble adorning his jaw. Emma already knew all of this, his age, his height, and what he looked like, courtesy of her thorough studies on him and his life, though she has to admit that seeing him in person does affect her. No picture can capture the blue she is witnessing; it's impossible to transfer the color or the sparkle of his eyes onto paper.

"You do not look like a UPS deliverer," he comments, his irritation accompanied by grogginess.

Another addition to her previous assessment: he looks like he had just woken up in the middle of the afternoon.

"That's because I'm not," Emma tells him truthfully. "Killian Jones, I assume?" Her eyebrow soars.

"Aye." He narrows his eyes. "And you are?"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. Emma Swan." She extends her hand, but he only eyes it warily. "I have an offer to make."

Before Jones can realize, Emma invites herself into his apartment, swiftly stepping inside. He lets her, leans back and opens the door wider for her but it's more out of avoidance of a collision than it is out of hospitality or warmth.

Her eyes roam around in the apartment, curious about the home base of one of the most feared hackers, but there's not much to see. The entire space looks empty and void. No big pompous art or designer items that could betray his very large income. Not more than the bare essential one could need.

"Emma Swan or Leia Johnson?"

He sucks her attention back to him and Emma smiles. He clearly has a perceptive side to him, a talent to pick up suspicious signs. Him figuring her out doesn't bother her, far from it, she even feels amused. Covering her tracks or being subtle about all of this, was never something she focused on, and the fact that he managed to connect the dots means that he will fit in her team, that he is a viable candidate for the open position.

His question gets deflected and ignored. "I want you to come work for me, Mr. Jones."

There's no trace of surprise in his expression, no flinch on his composed face and Emma finds it a bit curious. His passivity gives way for a salacious grin on his lips, indicating nothing good about the words to follow.

"I'm sorry but I won't accept your money. If you want to partake in more pleasurable activities, all you have to do is ask, Swan." He adds the nickname, articulates it as if they've known each other for years and as if his proposition isn't highly inappropriate.

A skeptical "are you kidding me right now" eyebrow goes up. One minute in his presence and this guy is already hitting on her. It does help to expand the file on him in her head, to assess his personality and to turn him from a couple words and pictures printed on a page into a living, breathing human.

She pushes her lips forwards and turns her eyes into slits, her look of authority, the look that got her to Supervisory Special Agent at the age of twenty-nine.

"Let me make things more clear for you, Hook," she says with disdain. "I am Special Agent Emma Swan. I work for the FBI and the only services I'll be needing from you are those that have to do with computers. So, will you accept my offer?"

"And why would I do that?" he questions arrogantly. "To have a meager salary to live off? I'm sorry, lass, but I do prefer the money I'm earning now."

Of course the only thing he can think of is money. She hasn't even shared how much he would earn and it's already too little, too inadequate for Captain Hook. But she expected this to happen. Money isn't the way to convince him, but from what she's noticed by peering around, something else might.

"First of all: I'm not a girl, I'm a woman and second of all: do you mean all of the money you're not spending?" she inquires, motioning to the spartan surroundings, to the empty walls and empty cabinets. "Look, Jones, I can't offer you a lot of money or fame," she admits, "but I can offer you something you clearly don't have right now."

"And what is that?" His lips form a snide grimace.

"A purpose," Emma tells him. "Something to do for the greater good. The guy I'm trying to arrest is bad; he's done a lot of terrible things to people and he still hasn't paid for it. If you were to agree, you would make a major difference. You would actually make the world a better place instead of only thinking of yourself and only picking your victims because you have something to gain out of it. You can be a part of something or you can just stay behind your computer in your empty apartment and be alone."

"You're quite passionate, Swan." His eyes move over her face, assessing her, trying to figure her out. Her speech must've worked, must've incited something inside of him as the hostility shifts into something more neutral.

"Some say that's why I'm so good at doing my job. Are you in?" she questions.

She doesn't let him see her nervousness, the slight clench of her teeth and the layer of sweat gathering on the palm of her hands, but it's there. Along with the understanding that he really is her last hope. Emma can try a hundred other approaches to try and solve this case, but they will all be the same, not one of them will be drastic enough to make a difference. Hook will be.

"Aye." Their eyes connect. "I will need to see some more details, but aye."

Her heart makes a jump of happiness. She is on the right path, one step closer to getting sleazy Gold locked up.

"If you want and if you're not too sleepy–" she jabs about his outfit of choice, "–my coworker and I can take you to the FBI HQ in Boston right now."

"Can I just clarify that a lot of my clients live abroad and that I have an unusual sleeping schedule to respond to their needs."

"Okay." Emma sounds unconvinced. "I don't really care, Hook. Are you coming to the HQ with us? I'll make sure you're home on time but seeing that you have an unusual sleeping schedule," her fingers form air quotes, "I can't see how that could be a problem."

"Oh, you're a tough lass, aren't you?" His question is accompanied by a grin that betrays his enquiry as more of the rhetorical kind.

She rolls her eyes. "Go change. The car is downstairs." Emma leaves him alone, making her way back to David and already damning herself for being hellbent on hiring this guy. Hook was going to make her regret it, of that she was already certain.

"So, do you think you can agree with these conditions?"

Emma looks at Hook for an answer. He occupies the place opposite hers, the chair he sits on smaller, less luxurious, and directed towards the plaque that bears her name. All small reminders of who is in charge.

"I think I can, lass–" Jones suddenly halts and he corrects himself, "–boss, I meant. Apologies."

It seems to work. He is learning to behave, to respect her and her superiority. Good. Maybe this collaboration isn't going to be such a challenge as she first feared.

"Great." Emma files the papers into the folder, the sheets rustling as they slide over one another. She thumbs through the pages one last time to make sure everything is present and hands him the maroon binder when she concludes that the paperwork is complete. "Go home, read the contract," Emma orders. "You'll be expected to visit HR sometime tomorrow, so they can take care of the legal side. After you get their clear, you are in."

"Thank you, Swan."

The gratitude in his face, in the slight curl of his lips and the softness of his eyes, strikes her. It makes breathing just that little bit harder. He's staring at the bland colored dossier as if it contains the most valuable content, a cure of all the diseases in the world, a secret to the happiness in life. Emma senses the drift of his gaze which falls onto her. She is his salvation, his savior, or at least his expression conveys that impression. To think that just a couple of hours ago, he was completely against the idea. What changed? How and why did Killian Jones go through an intense transformation in just the span of five hours?

"Don't thank me yet," she speaks courtly and grabs some paperwork to keep her hands and, most importantly, her mind busy.

He follows her instructions meticulously, stands at her desk the next morning, paperwork signed, a green light from HR in his hands and a proud smile on his face. It makes Emma wonder; what time did he get up to have driven all the way from Maine to Boston? She assigns him a desk, the tiny one next to Tink's, with just enough space for a screen, keyboard, and a mouse – everything he would need for this job – and lets the petite blonde fill him in about the essentials he has to know. Emma can think of a better way to spend her busy time.

Emma gets about twenty minutes of good, solid, uninterrupted work until her door suddenly swings open. Her annoyed look leaves her screen and is on its way to the intruder but it dissolves immediately as she sees who burst into her office. Mills, in all of her regality, stands at the door.

"Agent Swan, a word?" The woman's severe posture removes any air of choice. This was not a request, this was an order, an obligation.

They've never had the best dynamic, she and Regina. She joined the Bureau when Mills just got her promotion to Headquarters Supervisor and, as luck would have it, Emma almost got killed during her second week. Nothing regarding that incident could actually be blamed on Emma; the additional agents were stuck in traffic; their target figured out that his date wasn't really looking for a fun night; he wasn't supposed to be carrying a gun but he was and she got shot in the shoulder (it was a minor wound and what hurt Emma the most was the red stain on her favorite dress she never was able to get rid of).

So, Mills hates her and she can't really stand Mills (though she does have massive respect for the woman, for being a trailblazer and for making Emma's life in a man-centered world a little bit easier—not a lot because it is still the FBI she's talking about).

If Mills came out of her tower and into her office instead of Emma going upstairs and reporting on any progress, it means trouble. Big trouble. The black raven clearly reached the queen.

"Yes, Ms. Mills?"

"Do tell me why you thought it necessary to bring someone from the outside, someone without any training, to work on one of our most important cases?" Her arms are crossed across her chest, burgundy polished nails impatiently tapping against the black fabric of her tight, cut-out couture dress.

"I needed his expertise," is her simple explanation, but it isn't a good enough reason for Mills.

"And you couldn't find that in one of our own IT specialists?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches.

"No," Emma answers earnestly, frowning and shaking her head. "Not what he has."

"What he has is a hook."

Which is why Captain Hook is his hacker name. Emma is quite happy that that's the reasoning behind it and not some creepy, borderline psychotic obsession with fairytales. She noticed the hook the minute he opened the door back in Storybrooke, but it didn't matter. It still doesn't. Why would it matter?

"So? I fail to see the importance of that. Having one hand will not affect his knowledge or talent."

Emma is aware of Regina's hatred towards her defensiveness, towards those situations when she fights with everything she's got against her boss. They're both powerful women but when it comes to stubbornness, Emma takes the crown, no doubt about it. It's that defiance that spurs Regina to go even further into forbidden territory. The woman would never let her have the last word, at least not voluntarily.

"You are certain this doesn't have to do with certain other assets he has."

"Excuse me?" Emma's voice rises with her disbelief. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

Emma doesn't give her boss the time to reveal what she was insinuating, as she already knows. She wants to defend Jones, wants to keep his whole being from being reduced to pretty looks and the lack of his left hand. He's more than that and he deserves more than that.

"I do my job with dedication and perseverance and I do my job well, Ms. Mills," she says with conviction. "Even though you are my supervisor, I will not tolerate this. Jones is here because the Bureau needs him, and because he is the only way of solving this case and that's where it ends."

Not able to stomach her boss anymore, she storms out of her own office. Mills won't appreciate that, but she frankly doesn't care about Mills right this second. Tension is rising inside of her and the only way to release some pressure is a smoke. It's a bad habit, she knows, one she tries to limit but sometimes the ache in her body screams for it.

The outside air is crisp, tingling against her cheeks and erecting the small hairs on her skin. A spark instigates the flame of the lighter and it scorches the tip of the cigarette. She takes a long drag, the warmth fighting against the cold air, and releases the smoke again.

"You do know smoking causes all kinds of diseases, right?"

The voice startles her, forces her to stop absentmindedly staring at the gray gravel beneath her feet and makes her look up. Jones stands next to her, his hand lingering on the door handle, as if he is hesitant to join and ready to retreat if necessary,

"Shouldn't you be hacking something?"

"Oh, they didn't tell you? I guessed Gold's password. It was 1234. Et voila, access granted."

"Jones, please," she begs, closing her eyes while doing so. "I'm trying to relax here and you are not helping me in the slightest."

"Sorry."

There's something in her demeanor, her words that must reassure him or give him permission to stay because his hand releases the metal knob and he approaches her. Emma highly doubts that he read her correctly.

He leans against the wall she stands against as well, crossing his legs and arms, and scans her. She doesn't like the feeling. He's only known her for two days and it feels like he's already figured out most of the riddles to her heart.

"So what's bothering you?"

Emma purses her lips to let some smoke escape. "Regina." Her lungs fill with fresh air again. "Mills, I mean."

"I haven't had the honor to make her acquaintance yet, but Tink told me some stories."

"Oh, she'll definitely summon you at some point. Probably to yell at you. She does that a lot," Emma shares.

"Hmm. What did she do to you?"

"It wasn't really something she did." Her shoulders go up in a shrug and she stops talking until his hand encourages her to continue. "She thought it necessary to question if you had all of the qualities to do this job."

Emma doesn't delve into it further, knowing he'll struggle with being deemed as less.

"Ah, the hook," he figures out himself and Emma doesn't have it in her to lie and deny that that was what they discussed earlier. A self-deprecating huff follows and in the blink of an eye, his look of hurt evolves into something else, but the hurt was there, nevertheless.

"Yeah," she says softly. Emma doesn't want to linger in this gloom, this dark cloud of deficiency surrounding them, so she continues her tale. "Then she proceeded with doubting if I hadn't just hired you to have some personal eye candy."

It works as Jones barks a laugh.

"Well, I am devilishly handsome."

He waggles his eyebrows and the urge to roll her eyes rises again but she fights against it by taking another drag.

"Yeah," she reacts mindlessly, "but that has nothing to do with this."

The corners of his mouth suddenly widen, baring his teeth in a big smile. Why is he smiling? She throws him a questioning look before what she had just said dawns on her. She admitted that he is handsome. Which he is, anyone with eyes can see that but that doesn't mean he needs to know it.

"Hook, please don't start. I'm not in the mood," she cuts him off before he can even begin.

"I won't." His hook and hand go up to assure her. "Don't let Regina get you down, love, and definitely don't worry about me."

Worry... about him. She is. So much. More than is appropriate. It's the first time he has called her love, the first time she's heard his accent wrap around the syllable and a strange feeling stirs inside of her. Oh god. What if she becomes the female version of Graham? Constantly worrying about him and wanting to protect him and– No, this can't happen. The only people she has such an urge to protect are her son and her best friends. That's all and those are the only ones she should want to protect. Suddenly this random guy she's known for two days stands at the gate of her walls, ready to enter if he's granted a key. She can't. Emma abruptly buds out her cigarette and opens the heavy door to return inside, leaving him in the little courtyard.

Emma examines the large room, supervising the work being done by her employees. It's more quiet and empty than it usually is but that can be blamed on the additional training some of them were summoned to. Jones sits behind his desk, sipping some coffee from the mug that fits perfectly in his hook and enthusiastically typing with his free hand. He's been here for a week and clearly feels at home already. Her attention still on him, Emma walks towards another desk.

"Humbert," she requests Graham's attention. "How's the new guy doing?

"Jones?" She nods to confirm. "I don't like him. He spends way too much time flaunting his looks around."

For a split second, Emma isn't sure if she wants to laugh or groan. A mixture of both would be fine too.

"Graham, I mean how is he doing his job?" she stresses.

"You should ask Tink. She's the one spending all of her time with him."

"Okay." A frown appears on Emma's forehead. "I'll ask her when she returns from her training."

Too confused to directly go back to work, Emma diverts herself to the courtyard for a smoke. The sun is out, sending warmth towards her and it elicits a smile on her lips. A smile that doesn't last long because she hears the door thud shut and sees Jones joining her again.

"Jones, why are you always here? You don't even smoke," she asks exasperatedly, lighting her cigarette.

"If you can take a break so can I," he says and she can't really deny that he is right. "Besides, the weather is very nice, can't hurt to spend some time outside." She can't deny that he's right again.

They stand in silence, Emma inhaling smoke and Jones fiddling with his hook.

"What's up with Humbert?" he asks out of the blue.

"What do you mean?" Emma lowers her eyebrows.

He turns to her, leans his weight against the wall on only one shoulder instead of two. "Every time you come close to me, he starts staring daggers. He looks at you as if you're the sun. Do I need to continue?"

He doesn't and he knows it.

"Oh that," her simple reaction sounds. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying to handle it."

"You're not interested?"

She softly shakes her head. It isn't as if Graham is ugly or unkind or such a terrible person. He is far from any of that. There simply isn't a spark, no connection to make her fingers tingle or her heart beat faster.

"He's a good friend but nothing more. And even if I was, I'm his boss, Mills would not appreciate that. At all. Plus, dating is just difficult in my line of work."

How does he keep easing her into opening up? Her lips have to remain shut, nothing else can come out and be handed to him on a silver platter.

"Have you ever even been in love?" he asks and while Emma was expecting the question, she also wasn't.

"No, I've never been in love." It's not even close to the truth but he doesn't need to know that. "This job is more than enough to handle," she diverts the subject.

His attentive eyes observe her for some time, the intense feeling causing prickles that run up her spine and multiply all through her body. She brings the cigarette back to her lips to distract herself from the feeling and to delude him into thinking that she remains unaffected by the brilliant blue of his irises.

"You're not who you pretend to be." His head tilts as it moves from left to right.

"You don't know me," she reminds him and reassures herself.

"Love," he chuckles, "you're something of an open book. Regardless of the short time we have known each other, I'm quite positive I already know you better than you know yourself."

"Go to work, Jones. This case won't solve itself," she dismisses him, certain that her attempted unaffectedness won't last long.

"As you wish."

The next time she goes to smoke is postponed until she sees Jones has just returned from his lunch break, until she knows that he would not be able to join her again.

As much as Emma loves her job, she loves her free Sundays even more. A day without expectations, tension, and where the only responsibility is to make up all of the lost time with her son. It's the day where she gets to listen to Henry's enthusiastic babbling about his week and his friends and school and the new stories he has written without a single interruption.

"Swan! Swan!" someone yells.

She tries to ignore it because no one calls her that except people from work and that is exactly the type people she does not want to encounter on a Sunday, casually dressed, in a park with her son.

Henry throws her a funny look, silently asking why she's not responding but she just shakes her head. He doesn't have to worry; she's just not feeling up for it.

They continue walking, a bit faster than before but that certainly had nothing to do with the person who was yelling her name across Boston Public Garden.

"Swan." He sounds very close to her, close enough for her to recognize the British accent and low timbre. She subconsciously probably already did, hence the running away.

Except for occasional glances during work, they haven't had any contact since that one time, no more smoke breaks, no more checkups. Just nothing. And it was deliberate, at least on her part.

"You make a man work for your attention, bloody hell," Jones says out of breath.

"Language please," she scolds, immediately falling back into her superior officer role.

He looks at her with furrowed brow; she never really minded a bad word or two, especially since she tends to go into raging rants when things didn't go as they should. Emma uses her eyes to guide his gaze to her son partially hidden behind her as she protectively stands before him.

"Sorry, lad, I hadn't seen you right there."

Henry shrugs with a small smile on his face. Reluctantly, Emma has to admit that she swears at home as well, too much. Henry, smart kid that he is, introduced a swear jar and since then his weekly allowance is systematically doubled every week.

"Henry Swan, nice to meet you," her kid says while extending his hand.

He is growing up so fast.

"Killian Jones." He grabs Henry's smaller hand – but the difference is minimal – and gives it a good shake. "I work with your mother."

"So you work at the cupcake shop as well?" Henry peers up, the innocence beaming out of his big brown eyes.

"Um… aye." Killian scratches behind his ear. "Aye," he says more determinedly. "I work... as one of the bakers. I make a mean chocolate cake."

Henry looks up at her again, barely because he's almost as tall as she is, and there's a beat before they both start laughing, freely and uncontrolled. The laughter ripples through her, the movement causing her locks to dance.

Jones' confused and curious gaze jumps back and forth between the two of them, looking for an explanation to be able to join their amusement.

"I know my mom works for the FBI," Henry helps him with a wide grin.

The fit passes and Emma takes a deep breath to recover, lets the oxygen enter through her nose and lets the carbon dioxide leave through her mouth.

"Nice one, kid." Turning towards him, she raises her hand and Henry immediately catches on as his palm hits hers only seconds after she does.

"Bad form fooling someone you've just met but well played, lad, well played," Killian compliments him.

Henry seems to enjoy the verbal pat on the back and the pride makes him straighten his shoulders and stand a bit taller. Yet again, Emma is overcome with motherly feels. Damn these Sundays.

"So…" As an effort to keep the overly emotional mom tears at bay, she addresses Jones. "What are you doing here?"

"As you might derive from my outfit of choice, Swan, I'm engaged in some physical diversion."

A simple question with a possible, easy one-word answer and of course, he had to respond with the most Britishly-posh sentence she has ever heard.

Emma hadn't even noticed his shirt, or shorts, or the earbuds in his hand. So transfixed on the light in his eyes and the curl of his lips that she looked past the beads of sweat lingering on his forehead and the footwear that is unacceptable in any situation except for the one that involves some kind of sport.

"You don't think I can keep my handsomeness without working for it?" he adds with a wink when she fails to reply.

"Jones." Her eyes flutter shut as she sighs. He's incorrigible. "I don't really go around thinking about that."

Only occasionally. Late at night. When she was all alone. After she'd consumed a couple of glasses of Merlot. It's her own little secret no one really needs to know about and definitely no one in her company right now.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Henry and I are going to get some cupcakes." Her hand settles on her son's shoulder, ready to lead him away from Jones, but Henry shies away from her touch. Before she can ask what he's up to, he directs himself to Killian.

"Excuse my mother's poor manners, Mr. Jones," Henry says. "What she means is: would you like to join us for Sunday cupcakes?"

"Henry!"

They are not inviting Captain Hook to happily have Sunday cupcakes, their sacred ritual, with them. The lines between her business life and her personal one are already starting to blur because of Killian Jones; Emma doesn't need her son to give him permission to casually step over it.

"Mom." His eyebrows quirk up, challenging her.

"Next time, maybe," Jones politely declines, interfering in their conversation via stares. "It wouldn't feel right if I ate more calories than I burned during this workout. I appreciate the offer, however, and please, call me Killian."

"That's too bad." The insincerity of her words is palpable. "We best get going Henry if we want to make it in time for the movie later."

"Young man. Swan," Jones acknowledges them both with a brief nod. "Enjoy your Sunday." His hand gathers the earbuds hanging from his collar and in that moment, she notices that his hook is gone and his blunted wrist is bare for the first time in a month. The silvery scars reflect in the sunlight and the ache quelches her heart.

"You too, Killian!" Henry yells, breaking Emma out of her abstraction just in time to see Killian run in the opposite direction.

When he's out of sight, Henry gives her a look.

"What?"

"Nothing, mom. Nothing." But he sounds a smidge too exasperated for her to believe him.

The succession of several warm, sunny, slightly breezy days announces the official start of spring and the end of staying holed up inside with three layers of clothing. Emma decided to utilize this gorgeous weather to consume her lunch outside, in a park bench with sunglasses and sunscreen, somewhere far away from Mills, and Humbert, and Jones.

"Coincidence meeting you here, Swan."

He towers over Emma, stands in the middle of the path of the sunlight to her. The rays are creating his own personal aura while he casts a shadow over her.

Someone must be fucking kidding her right now. How do they keep running into each other? How does he keep finding her everywhere? She is trying to keep her distance, to do the right thing; why does the universe keep making them encounter one another?

"I'm on the verge of having a headache, Jones. Please, don't make it worse."

"Do you want me to get some painkillers?" he gallantly offers, a worried crease between his brows.

"No, I'll survive." She was only slightly exaggerating

"You're on your lunchbreak?"

"Yeah." Emma rearranges her blonde locks. "You too?

"Aye." He awkwardly stares around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Sit down, Jones," Emma says. "I give you permission."

Looking slightly too relieved, Jones takes a seat next to her on the wooden bench, keeping a respectable distance between his body and hers.

Emma continues to munch on her fruit salad, fishing out a grape and popping it into her mouth. He takes a bite of his sandwich, his eyes trained on the patch of flowers dancing along the wind's song.

"Can I ask you something?" The question is hesitant and comes out slightly stuttered.

He nods.

Emma nibbles on her lower lip.

"Last week when you ran into Henry and me, you weren't wearing your hook."

It isn't really a question, Emma realizes after ending her sentence. She doesn't add to her statement, that would only make things more uncomfortable, simply hopes he understands what she wants to know.

"I tend to take it off more ever since you summoned me." She tries to not let that mention of her, of how she changed him settle into her heart, but it does, regardless. "Before, I would just go running with the prosthetic hand I have, but I left that back in my apartment in Storybrooke on purpose. Boston is less prone to judging, I suppose. More open minded and people gossip less than in such a small town. Typing and writing code goes easier with the hook, so that's all I really need."

Emma hums. There's a little desire to ask him how he lost the hand. His file has a section about it but it was very brief and lacked any sort of clarity. She doesn't ask though, because she knows he's probably sick of talking about it and done with nosy, prying people.

The silence returns, the only sound their chewing and the wind softly swaying.

"My brother Liam–" he starts unexpectedly, "–was the one who raised me. Our parents left, because they were forced by illness in my mother's case or just because they didn't care enough to stay in my father's case. So he, a fifteen-year-old boy, decided to raise a ten-year-old, purely on character. Liam was my hero," Killian says with the utmost respect.

"We struggled every day of every month for years. He was old enough to join the Navy so he did and I followed him a couple of years later. We went on several missions and after a while, we decided to slow down a bit to teach the new recruits. With our salaries, we saved enough to buy a boat; she was small but she was ours.

"Three months later, the boat's engine malfunctioned in the middle of the ocean and caused an explosion. Liam died, I lost my hand. The boat's manufacturer was at fault; they were the one to blame but their attorneys found a way to shove the blame onto Liam, claiming that he wasn't fit to command a boat, that he had a drinking problem and anger issues. He didn't though." He shakes his head.

"Liam was a good man; the best I knew. I didn't get a settlement, but was left with all of the bills while learning to cope with living with one hand. It wasn't even about the money for me. They tarnished my brother's reputation; they smeared the legacy of someone who died way too young because they made a mistake. I got a dishonorable discharge from the Navy for insubordination. I was livid and that's when I spiraled. I drank so much and eventually, I realized that it wasn't helping one bit. That I wasn't going to be able to avenge Liam by getting drunk every day. So, I started scheming. I watched the company's movements like a hawk. I was able to hack the plans of the boat where it clearly states that the materials they were using were not suitable and lacking. The company was sued, fined, had to repay all of the victims, and bankrupted." A sigh escapes his lips.

Despite the sunny weather, chills are running up and down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their path. Fuck. Emma doesn't know how she's supposed to feel. There are several emotions colliding with each other inside of her right now. Pity, but she knows Killian won't want that from her. Grief, but how can she grieve someone she's never met? Hatred is the only emotion that isn't limited; hatred towards the world that has treated him so wrongly.

"Why did you continue? With the hacking?"

"I had my revenge, but it didn't bring Liam back. It didn't take away that grief. And I was good at it, so I might as well make some money off of it."

Emma makes a small sound of understanding, of empathy. She truly gets it.

"What about you?" Killian asks. "I'm sure your journey to being one of the Bureau's finest at such a young age must've been a special one as well."

"Depends on what your definition of special is."

He simply raises his eyebrows, a sign for her to stop beating around the bush and start telling her tale.

"I was abandoned as a baby on the side of the road and I went from group home to foster family and then back to group homes. I worked my ass off to be able to go to college where I studied social sciences because I wanted to help kids like me. Then I met my dick ex-boyfriend, who tried to frame me for some robbery he committed. I nearly went to jail but luckily the FBI figured out that he had committed large-scale robberies in other states as well and I was released. Discovered I was pregnant due to my dick ex-boyfriend, gave birth to my son. That's when I switched to Criminology and started dreaming of a career with the Bureau. I finished college while raising my son, applied, went to training, had an amazing best friend who took care of Henry, got accepted and worked my ass off again. And that's my very intriguing tale," she ends, summarizing thirty years into one, rattled timeline.

Killian stares at her for a moment to process her hasty words before he gently smiles.

"And I thought you were an impressive woman before. Swan, you are incredible."

"Swan." Killian barges through her office door. He looks shocked, his chest heaving and his eyes wide.

Emma jumps up. "What's– What's wrong?" she asks, thinking and expecting the worst.

Suddenly a huge grin breaks out on his face, like the sun unexpectedly appearing from behind a cloud bank, warming her face and bringing a smile to her lips as well.

"I did it." His shoulders shake with the rumble of his laugh. "I've solved the case."

"You did what?" Her jaw drops and she leans forwards. "Holy fuck! Killian. Show me now."

In four quick strides, he bridges the distance between the door and her desk, the exact distance between him and her. A couple of clicks brings him to where he wants to be.

She watches him animatedly explain all his steps, his hand and hook sculpting the story before her eyes. She isn't really listening, not with her full attention, because her eyes can't stop being drawn to the shine in his irises and the smile embellishing his mouth and the dimple in his cheek.

His summary ends and he stares at her expectantly, waiting for her next move. It should be congratulations or a handshake or something appropriate among colleagues, but it isn't. Emma places her hands on his cheeks and pulls him closer, creating an encounter of their lips. It takes him two seconds, not that she counted, to figure out what they're doing and to act on it. He kisses her back with as much passion, as much fervor as she did. His hook feels cold against the skin of her back. It's a welcome cool touch against her burning skin, however. Killian's thumb is tracing circles on her hipbone. His teeth tug on her lip, the sting turning her on even more. Emma moans, tightening her arms around him and letting her hands wander through his hair.

They're forced to break apart when they're in dire need for air and reality comes crashing down as they do. She's his boss, they're in her office, he's going to leave. When did she ever start believing in fairy tales again? There was a reason she had given them up. They only lead to disappointment and heartbreak.

"That was…"

"A mistake." She gently shakes her head to come to her senses. "I'll– I'll go inform Mills." Eyes directed to the ground, she leaves him.

Emma decides to visit the restroom first. A good thing she does. Pupils blown wide, lips swollen with a little discoloration where Killian was a bit too enthusiastic, hair a mess, blouse out of her skirt; she looks absolutely fuckstruck. Her heart is pounding one hundred miles an hour. It feels as if her chest is about to break under the pressure. She tries to slow her heartbeat down, splashes some water on her face, neatly tucks her blouse back; it all seems pretty useless but at least it makes her think it makes a difference.

She knocks on the ebony door.

"What is it?" Regina asks.

Emma understands the underlying invitation to enter. She opens the door slowly because the fear isn't completely gone.

"Jones solved the Gold case," she announces.

"He did what?" For the first time in her six years working with Mills, she seems to have run out of words, no more witty comebacks or sarcastic quips. "How?"

"There was a lot of technical stuff involved that I don't understand, but I checked and we have full access to everything. He did it."

"Well," Mills responds. "He was hired to."

Emma lets out an inaudible sigh. Regina is never going to change. Killian deserves a compliment; hell, she deserves a compliment for hiring him but Regina isn't the person they are going to get it from. She gives up and returns to her own office. This has to be done, she has to face him now and then it's all over.

"So," he says, his eyes lighting up when she enters again and his smile soft and dreamy, still carrying the effects of their kiss.

"So," she replies.

"I guess this puts an end to our cooperation."

"It does."

"Swan." Her name is a sigh on his lips, full of reluctance.

"The FBI will forever be grateful for your addition to this investigation." She summons all of her courage, all of her strength to play the part of detached and cold agent.

It's not difficult to see his worry, to discern the bewilderment in his expression.

"Swan."

Perhaps he thinks repeating her name will spark something inside of her, make her remember. It's an idle attempt; she won't crack because if there's one thing Emma Swan is, it's determined.

"You made a major difference and without your expertise, a criminal would continue to roam this country," Emma continues.

Avoiding his gaze, she stares at the table, the wall, the stain on the ceiling, anything except for him.

"Emma."

Finally, she looks up and distinguishes the plea in his eyes, the plea not to do this, to let him stay, to at least try. Her eyelids shut and she shakes her head, denying him his wish. Killian will understand and knowing him, he'll grant her hers. She doesn't want him to leave, she wants him to stay; she wants to hear his laugh and talk with him. But she doesn't have the right to; he has a life back in Storybrooke. A relationship here would be doomed. So she lets him leave.

"Tink?" The small blonde turns around at the call of her name. "Can you transfer that security tape of Fiona Schwarzenberg pushing that kid off the stairs to me? I have to send it to Judge Blue. She needs it to grant us a warrant.

"Coming right away!" she sprightly replies.

"Thanks!"

Emma sits down in her chair and hears the notification of a new message in her mail only five seconds later. Tink meant the right away part. She looks through the footage again, making sure it's the right part and starts crafting her email to the Judge, telling the story of the criminal, how she stole babies in poor countries and sold them to wealthy Americans looking to adopt.

There's a light knocking, so subdued that she wonders for a minute if she didn't just imagine it.

The door opens and before her stands a man she hasn't seen in a month; the real version at least because every time his absence started to tinge too much, she squelched the ache by imagining him, his laugh, the way he spoke. It helped, sometimes.

"Jones?"

This is the real him, however, breathing and with a pulse, not just a duplication made by her memory.

"Did you miss me?" His stupid expressive eyebrows go up.

"What're you doing here?" she asks, shaking her head and not understanding why he is in Boston. He should be in quaint, little, fairytale Storybrooke, living his quiet hacker life.

"I've been here for a while. I was waiting until you took your smoke break to surprise you."

"Oh, well you would've waited a while. I quit," Emma explains.

"Really?" He looks pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. But that doesn't really answer my question. Why are you here?" Emma stands up and circles around her desk.

"It seemed that Regina was in dire need of my services again."

It isn't surprising that they communicated if Mills wanted to hire him but it still stings. She was the one that consulted August, drove to Storybrooke, hired Jones, fought relentlessly and it earned her a lot of angry Mills. She was the link between them.

"And is Regina the only reason you returned?" She sounds desperate but she needs to know if she fucked everything up beyond repair last month, if there's only the tiniest bit of hope

Emma spent days fluctuating between "it was the right thing to do" and "it was the most stupid thing to do". She almost called him nineteen times and considered driving to Storybrooke six times, but in the end, the anxiety won and she did nothing.

"That and certain Special Agent I missed. Seeing that Regina moved me into Nolan's team, you're not my boss anymore and I hoped that that would change some things. Give me another chance."

"If anyone should be given another chance, it's me," Emma admits. "I ruined everything last time."

"I'd be happy to forgive you if you agreed to go on a date with me."

"Sure," she says nonchalantly. "Coincidence would have it that my lunch break is coming up in twenty minutes."

"That is very convenient indeed." Killian smiles and he comes closer to her. "Maybe we could even stop by your cupcake shop to get something sweet?"

"My cupcake shop? Where did you get that idea?"

Their hands touch and fingers intertwine.

"Hmmm, I would not know."

"Swan, Jones, stop flirting with each other," someone commands, making them both turn towards the open door and Mills standing in the hallway. "FBI stands for Federal Bureau of Investigation, not Flirting Bunch of Investigators."

"And that's my cue to leave," Killian decides, his hand still firmly holding her. His hook gently brushes a lock away from her face. "I'll see you in twenty." Before leaving and closing the door behind him, he winks causing Emma to giggle. No doubt about it, she is going to grant him the key.

Also major thanks to @captainwiley for beta-ing this and making me laugh with her hilarious comments, to @zengoalie for checking everything a second time, and to the other lovely ladies of the Hub for all of the fun times <3 @the-reason-to-sail-home  @artandteaandstuff  @killians-tinkabelle @lenfaz @katie-dub @dassala @killiancygnus @acaptainswaneternity 

Other people who expressed interest in this (sorry if you didn't actually want a tag): @pirateherokillian @csforscience  @shady-swan-jones @myideaofperfect @pursuinghappynes @idristardis @lassluna @hiccstrid-rucas-percabeth @xellewoods @onceuponataarna @nalisa3star @lillyanjones @kingkillian @fleurreads @natalias @zannereid27 @effulgentmind @pocketful-of-sunflowers @caskett82 @storybrookeswans @kdy-oncer4life-77 @hxxkxd @galadriel26