#biometric validation

[soulpaybanking]

A Comparative Insight: AEPS vs Alternatives Payment Options

AEPS enables individuals to conduct monetary transactions through the utilization of their Aadhaar number and biometric validation. It is particularly beneficial for rural areas where access to smartphones and the internet is limited. Go through the blog for more information on Aeps Payment Service.

[mydignityisinflames]

Happy Election Eve!

For all those eligible to vote in the UK General election get ready for tomorrow. Polling stations are open between 7am and 10pm and you must bring VOTER ID

Valid voter ID includes

UK or Northern Ireland photocard driving licence (full or provisional)

a driving licence issued by an EU country, Norway, Iceland, Liechtenstein, the Isle of Man or any of the Channel Islands

a UK passport

a passport issued by an EU country, Norway, Iceland, Liechtenstein or a Commonwealth country

a PASS card (National Proof of Age Standards Scheme)

a Blue Badge

a biometric residence permit (BRP)

a Defence Identity Card (MOD form 90)

a national identity card issued by the EU, Norway, Iceland or Liechtenstein

a Northern Ireland Electoral Identity Card

a Voter Authority Certificate

an Anonymous Elector’s Document

an older person’s bus pass

a disabled person’s bus pass

an Oyster 60+ card

a Freedom Pass

a Scottish National Entitlement Card (NEC)

a 60 and Over Welsh Concessionary Travel Card

a Disabled Person’s Welsh Concessionary Travel Card

a Northern Ireland concessionary travel pass

The name on you ID must match what is registered on the electoral roll. If it does not you have to take a document with you proving you've changed your name (e.g, marriage certificate)

You can still use your ID even if it has expired, as long as it still looks like you

[house-of-kolchek]

Dress (Part Two)

Leon Kennedy x Reader

OK I KNOW ITS BEEN A HOT MINUTE SINCE PART ONE BUT I LITERALLY REWROTE THIS THREE TIMES I APOLOGIZE

Also I love you all.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part One (18+)

Ok this is slightly (significantly) more drama than I was initially planning so. Enjoy my tears.

You didn’t get your dress dry cleaned. 

In fact, for a long time it remained in that pile, pooling at the foot of your bed. You were too afraid to call at first, your stomach churning with guilt, rejection and most of all, shame. And finally, two weeks later when you did try to call, the phone didn’t make it three rings before it was sent to voicemail.

So, with growing resentment in your eyes, you turned your phone off completely.

But still, as you stopped seeing him at work, that nagging itch in the back of your mind convinced you to ask around - even begging Hunnigan to assure you that yes, he was still alive in the least.

With that knowledge, you resigned to staring at the dress on your floor. The rumples in your sheets from your unmade bed - having not properly made it since that night. You felt like you were going crazy, biting at your nails and asking question after question to yourself in the silence.

Was he more drunk than you thought?

Did he think it was something else?

Did he regret it - did you ruin something over a one night stand?

The six week mark came and went. You’d finally picked up your dress a week prior, dumping it into a bag for donation, or just garbage, you weren’t quite sure. At this point, that stain was probably cemented into the fabric. You’d gone through a deep cleanse of your room, your apartment, anything to push away the plaguing memories of that night. If Leon wasn’t going to get back in contact with you, you would just have to move on.

Which was, of course, easier said than done. 

“Raven two- are you still with me?” The voice in your ear snapped. You cursed, glancing back at the smooth wall in front of you. The questions in your head were starting to follow you everywhere - even into work. You couldn’t help but wonder if you should have been working in the state you were in, but who would accept “My best friend and I slept together and then he disappeared” as an even remotely valid excuse?

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just looking for intel,” you muttered into the piece, picking at your nails, and the bits of dirt catching underneath them. The hallway behind you was long, leading to a sealed door. “There’s a door here that’s locked with a biometric scanner. The name matches our guy though.” You continued to study the panel, lightly running your fingers along the seams until - bingo.

With the edge of your knife, you pried against the gap in the panel, until the screen flew off, falling to the floor with a crack. Within a second, the lights had dimmed, a faint echo of an alarm bleating across invisible speakers. You cursed under your breath, taking a moment to analyze the collection of wires and motherboard looking things beneath the panel. 

What the fuck did any of them even mean.

“Fuck it.” You grabbed a handful of wires, and in a final hail mary moment, yanked them all from the panel. The alarm grew to a shriek, though you caught sight of the door shifting, just enough to indicate that the lock had faltered. Honestly, you had no idea how that even worked. 

“What the hell is going on in there?” your earpiece rang again. Your operative sounded less than thrilled.

“Well, let’s just say the security in this place is weird,” you huffed, reaching to pry the door open enough to slide into the office. “I made it into Brown’s office though.”

“Good,” she sighed. “From what I can tell they’ve dispatched a team towards the office. You’ve likely got two minutes before you need to be out of there, so get the notes and go.”

You nodded to the empty room, your brows furrowing as the lights within the office continued to flash. A computer was still on, the login information filled in.

How convenient.

You raced over to the computer, snatching a random flash drive from the desk. Clicking the login button, you watched the foreboding circle on the screen as the information loaded, your heart soaring as the desktop flashed into view. Wasting no time, you hit the files tab, plugging in the USB and copying anything, everything that you saw. You filtered through the email tab, copying the most recent files onto the drive as well. 

And then, a chorus of voices caught your attention. 

As the drive process edged towards completion, you searched through the room again, your attention catching on a door on the opposite wall. Praying that it wasn’t a closet, you ejected the drive, your arms flailing to grab at a pile of file folders, each labelled with three lettered initials. Hopefully they were important; you didn’t have the time to care. 

In a haste, you wrenched the door open, and-

“Fuck me.”

It was a closet.

“Harper,” you hissed into your piece, pushing forward between the hanging jackets and a mop handle. “I’m a little stuck in place right now, and I would really appreciate any backup.”

“Where are you?”

“In a broom closet. In Brown’s office.”

You heard a frustrated curse. A chorus of frantic typing on a keyboard before Harper’s voice was back in your ear.

“Okay, hang tight. Kennedy’s on his way.”

Wait.

“Fucking hell,” you cursed, wondering why the world had decided to curse you further in this clusterfuck of a mission. “How far out?”

“Five minutes. He was already on his way to the building.”

???????

You let out a whispered acknowledgment, falling silent as the first voice burst through the room. And then another, and another, until you were counting five low voices, assigning each other different areas to scout.

There was no way you could hide in here. Your free hand fell to the knife at your waist, shifting to the holstered gun along your thigh, and then back to the knife. It was safer. 

Better for close combat.

As Harper’s voice echoed “three minutes” into your ear, you heard a shuffle of footsteps halt directly in front of you. You held your breath, unsheathing your knife and loosening your knees into a short crouch.

The door flew open, and you lunged.

The first man let out a shout as you barrelled straight through him, sending him stumbling back off his feet. The four others - plus another surprise attendee - all whirled around to face you, their guns drawn. In a second, you ducked to the side, shuffling yourself behind the computer desk. You gave up on the file folders with a curse, throwing them over the desk towards your attackers.

In the distraction, you unholstered your gun, switching your knife to the other hand and crossing them together. Ducking your head over, you took a shot, hearing a pained cry. You shot again, creeping closer to the side of the desk. If you could sneak your way around and out the door, you could-

“He’s there.”

Another round of gunshots, ringing with that familiar weight, cut through the room. It felt quicker than three minutes, and you couldn’t help but peek your head over the desk.

Leon’s expression was stoic, his brows drawn into a line as he let loose another spray of gunfire. Two men fell to the ground, clutching at their legs. You took the opportunity to shoot out from your position, circling around towards the door. You took a few shots of your own, downing another two attackers as Leon’s arm reached out to force you behind him. 

You didn’t waste any time, grabbing his wrist and running from the room.

“Are you okay?” He huffed from beside you, having just barely caught up to your pace. You nodded, not trusting the words in your throat. His hair had gotten longer in the weeks, and there was a new hollowness just below his cheekbones. The sight of him sent a pang of emotion through you, and you chose to ignore it, keeping your expression blank as you raced towards the lab entrance.

Leon called your name as you escaped the building - surprisingly easily as no other security detail came after you. Your back flared, but your feet ignored the will of your mind, turning you to face the agent. With his long hair, wearing that familiar leather jacket and a pair of knitted brows. The sight of him, after those weeks of radio silence, of forcing you to question yourself over, and over again.

You weren’t relieved to see him. There was no spark of joy, no twinge of grief in your heart. You were angry.

“What the fuck do you want, Leon?”

He recoiled at the venom in your voice, his lips tightening further into a frown. You wanted to feel bad, to apologize and reach out for his hand, as you’d done in every argument before. But you couldn’t allow yourself to do that.

Leon cleared his throat.

“You’re bleeding,” was the only thing he said, directing his gaze to your side. You glanced down, taking in the dark, damp spot against the navy fabric of your shirt. The pain in your side didn’t even flare up until you pressed a hand to the wound, a sharp breath hissing between your teeth. Leon stumbled forward a step, his arm stretching out, until you caught his gaze, and he faltered.

It was quiet for a moment, the dull throb in your side beginning to grow in intensity. Leon’s gaze fell to the side, his teeth catching his bottom lip. If you had to hazard a guess, he looked angry, but you couldn’t tell why. 

“Just get me out of here,” you breathed, after another moment of silence between you two.

—

You didn’t let Leon come with you into the infirmary, much to his vocal protest. You received a visit from Ingrid, her expression remaining mostly concerned, though her lips held a tight line, and some prodding got her to admit that the agent had mercilessly been pestering her regarding your wellbeing. 

Why now?

You remained steadfast, refusing to confront him and allow yourself to fall back into whatever spell had prompted this whole disaster in the first place. You wallowed, you caught yourself staring at his contact in your phone. You listened to the low, muffled timbre of his voice outside your room and fought the urge to call him in, face the time, the distance that’d been placed between you two. You forced a wall up, defensive and as strong as you could muster.

You kept that wall up for five days. And then Ingrid decided she’d had enough.

You were leaning against the bed, packing up your few personal items to take home when the door opened, signaling Ingrid’s arrival.

“Hey - do you think we could stop at a drive thru on the way? I swear to god I need an actual meal-”

You shut right up as Leon Kennedy stumbled into your room, looking like a feral cat as he shrugged Ingrid’s hands off his shoulders. Her gaze found yours, unrelenting as she gestured between the two of you.

“Change of plans. Leon’s driving you home. Figure out whatever the fuck is going on between you two or I swear to god I am leaving you to die on your next missions,” she hissed, slamming the door shut without another word.

You all but shriveled into ash, your throat tightening as the man that had plagued your mind for the past two months scowled at the wall. He rolled his shoulders, biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze slowly, sloooooowly found yours.

“What have you been doing here, Leon?” you finally sighed.

“You need to be more careful.”

You huffed. “Noted. As if you have any right to tell me that. I’ll ask again: what are you doing here?” 

“If I hadn't shown up, who knows what could have happened.”

“Leon-”

“You know, you’d most likely be dead!” His voice grew in pitch, his gaze growing harder as he took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“Leon-”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that reckless,” he hissed. 

“Well, what the hell do you think caused that?” you shouted. Leon’s mouth finally snapped shut. His jaw clenched, his gaze falling away from yours.

“You can’t just disappear for six weeks and-” you cut off with a hissed curse, reaching for the sudden flare of pain in your side. Leon’s arm shot out, and against your better judgement, you stepped away from it, holding a hand out to stop him. You watched him wince.

“You can’t just do that to me and pretend everything’s fine, Leon,” you finished. He looked hurt, his hand coming up to cover his face under the facade of brushing a stray hair away from his eyes. And the silence between you grew for a long moment.

“I know,” he finally breathed, his voice clipping at the end of its sentence. When you spared him a glance, you noticed the tightness of his fists, his nails digging hard into his palm as his gaze remained unfocused against the floor. You swallowed against the lump in your throat, forcing the words out from your lips.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked, and his gaze snapped back to yours in a moment. Before he could get a word out, you were talking again. “Did I take advantage of you? Because I swear, I thought you were fully coherent. Hell, I’ve seen you in a much worse state without any problems, but maybe I read into something and I forced your hand and-”

Leon’s hands found your shoulders, and you physically jerked out of your thoughts. You watched his face twist into something that looked like pain as his hands flew off of you with a muttered apology. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I swear,” he muttered. “I did everything wrong. I just…”

You waited. And he took a breath.

“Let’s get you home.”

You let his words balance on your tongue, your gaze slipping away from him. Your brain felt like mush, both relieved and disappointed. Overall, entirely unsure of what to think. So, with a silent nod, you let him slip your bag over his shoulder, his hand hovering over your shoulder as he led you out of the infirmary and to his car.

God, you’d missed his car.

The door shut behind you, and you immediately noticed your chapstick, still settled in the second cupholder between the seats. His bags were still strewn across the backseat, along with one of your old hoodies, the only neatly folded item on the seat. Leon flicked on the radio as he drove home, keeping the volume low enough that it almost blended with the noise of the car along the road.

You recognized the song, something you used to sing to your curtains at night. Something about a fancy dress, bought for a single person.

You reached across the dashboard to switch the radio station.

Throughout the drive, you made too much effort to sneak some glances at him. He looked tense, his grip on the wheel almost as tight as his jaw. He had that familiar knot in his brows that told you of the racing thoughts in his own head. And every once in a while, you’d catch him as he snapped his attention back to the road.

By the time you arrived at your home, you’d actually tired yourself out trying to analyze his thoughts. 

Leon parked the car, glancing towards your front door. Though it wasn’t dark, the moment felt familiar. The awkward silence, the silence that thickened the air. So, before it could get too reminiscent, you practically threw yourself out the car door. 

Leon was on his feet as you shut the door, looking over the roof of the car to meet your gaze. He’d already reached to grab your bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Can I help you bring this in?”

You fucking hated this distance between the two of you.

“Do you want to come in?”

Leon barely hesitated - only enough for his shoulders to relax - before he nodded, circling around the car to follow you into your home.

You shut the door, directing Leon to just drop your bag by the pile of stuff in the hall, before you trudged over to the couch, falling into the comfort of the cushions. He sat next to you, much closer than you would have expected. You spent a long moment staring into space, mustering up the words you needed to say before finally letting out a heavy sigh.

“Why did you disappear for two months? And then why did you show up? Why did I have to listen to you outside of my hospital room? Why did you leave in the first place?” 

As you asked them, your questions didn’t seem to stop, and Leon seemed to pick up on the increasing urgency in your voice as he caught your hand, rubbing a circle along your knuckles because he knew it would calm you down. You wanted to pull away from it, to keep that fiery wind in your sails before your resolve completely crumbled. Yet as you started to pull away, his grip tightened on your hand, a sharp breath sounding from his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his own nose scrunching as he thought. “I thought I ruined something, that maybe I took advantage of you and ruined things.”

“So why not just talk about it?” you pressed. “I mean, we’ve seen each other through much worse.”

Leon was quiet. (I’m about to hit you with the cheesiest fucking line known to man)

“I mean, what could be worse than fucking that up and losing you?”

There was a strong wave of pure feeling that crashed through your chest. Something that felt like grief, like adoration. It felt like pain and bliss all tied up together in a bow. It was like you were teetering at the edge of a cliff and something in his words had just anchored at you. But at the same time, it felt like you were watching each other crumble apart next to each other. 

Without any warning, you burst into tears. 

Leon’s breath caught in his throat as you flew into him, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and pulling him as close as possible. He was trembling, his own arms wrapping around your waist, as he buried his nose into your shoulder.

It was rare to see this kind of emotion from him. His voice was trembling, and his grip on your waist was tight enough that you wondered if he was scared to let go. Those walls you’d watched him carefully craft over the years crumbled right in front of you, and your heart couldn’t help but swell at the outpouring of those emotions he’d locked up for so long.

“Can you forgive me for running away?” he asked. Pleaded, really. His eyes grew wider in your silence. A part of you wanted to wash away the past weeks, draw him right back into your arms without another battle. The smaller, more bitter part of you wanted to keep arguing, to show him just how much he’d hurt you. 

But this was Leon. He was your closest friend…. And he was looking at you without any defense in his gaze. He held only sincerity, if not a little bit of fear as he waited. You’d been more honest with him than anyone else, and in a moment you simply knew with utmost confidence he would offer you the same. So you asked.

“What did that night mean to you?” you asked, fighting against the tightness in your chest for volume. As you pulled away to face him head on, his gaze softened. His lips twitching in the first smile you’d seen in months.

“You said you bought that dress for me,” he started, his gaze unwavering. “And I swear I saw heaven. I meant every word I said. And I want you. I want to be with you.”

The words were simple, but they made your heart soar. 

“You’re my person,” you muttered. “Always.”

And Leon let out a huge breath, his eyes falling shut and his shoulders sagging before he surged upwards to kiss you.

When he kissed you, it felt like he craved you, like he couldn’t live without the feeling of your lips against his. He held you tight, his fingers digging softly into your back. You let your own hands curl into his shirt, your lips parting just enough for his tongue to prod against the seam.

Leon broke away from you for barely a second before he kissed you again, soft and so tender that you felt like glass about to shatter. Your thumb brushed against his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his hair, simply reassuring yourself that he was actually there in front of you.

He pulled you close, closer than you could even have thought possible, his hands curling into your shirt. When he finally pulled away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone, his breath shook. Your shirt grew damp, and your arms tightened around him.

“Y’know how much I missed you, you fucking dumbass?” you sighed, and Leon let out a weak chuckle. He lifted his head slowly, his nose barely brushing against your jaw as you found those ever familiar baby blues of his.

“I think I have some idea,” he whispered with a short grin.

And you kissed him again.

TAGGING:

@chaosandbubbles @obsessedwithtoomanythings @navstuffs

[hotchs-bitch]

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

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—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly. 

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work. 

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk. 

You’re in New York.

— — — 

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm. 

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

———

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t. 

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support. 

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him. 

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.” 

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected. 

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning. 

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports. 

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over. 

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises. 

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” 

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out. 

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours. 

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question. 

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…” 

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried. 

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years. 

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long. 

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now. 

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you. 

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead. 

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.” 

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...” 

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave. 

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

-

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

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G Witch episode 16 thoughts

Or the episode where the real plot thickens. No offense to earth and Guel but these are the sort of stakes and drama I'm weak for. Truly a wonderful present to receive on this blessed of Sundays! Just in time for Walpurgisnacht too

And we start off strong with this heated Prospera and Bel confrontation! Cont. from last time, Bel just learned Eri Samaya is not Suletta Mercury or even alive anymore, but a mysterious 3rd thing-- her biometric code uploaded to the cloud aka Aerial. We learn her immature body couldn't handle it so she perished. Eri is now entirely composed of Permet particles, and without Aerial housing her consciousness she'll dissipate. The Gundam is literally possessed by a child's ghost.

And it seems with a permet score of 8, the datastorm can be extended with Quiet Zero and create a space for Eri to live. Or that's the implication, I gather. How exactly that would happen is a mystery though I suspect it would mean granting Eri a new physical body, perhaps by 'overwriting' Suletta's mind/soul. (Well this is sounding familiar, isn't it 3h fans?)

But amid all this, there's the matter of Benerit's leadership. Without Delling, they need someone to control the various corporate beasts so it's decided they'll hold an election. Awfully democratic of them tbh. Though I wager leadership might boil down to whoever can crush hardest in a Mobile Suit royale.

We know Shaddiq will be throwing his hat in the ring, as will our prodigal failson Guel by the looks of it. Speaking of, I wish he had a bigger moment with his brother but maybe later? Their surprise was pretty good, and I enjoyed Guel's talk with Petra. She's grown up quite a bit from the shallow bully/fangirl of the first season.

Moving on to Mio, I went nuts over this shot. Suletta is fulfilling all her promises!! Even cleaned her disaster area of a room and messaging three times per day. She's unnervingly good at following directions tbh.

Adored this so much too. Lauda is grateful to GUNDARM for their aid and subsequently clears them of suspicion in the terrorist attacks. He goes out of his way to say Mio is free from the dueling games too, but Mio could care less about that petty nonsense. Her heart and mind is set on Suletta.

Quick mention to Secilia for being the most relatable person in the show. She just wants to sit on this god forsaken couch, watch the drama, and see who'll be Miorine's husbando. She's so funny, I swear.

And ofc we get spacian/earthian hostility in the wake of the attacks. You can't blame these kids for being scared and lashing out at the nearest targets but also Earth House was clearly not involved and aiding students during. Even Lauda of all people can understand that. They are grieving for a friend apparently which just complicates the situation further. Sad for all tbh

Martin steps up to defend his housemates, which was nice to see, but it's Mio who is able to shut down their hostility with a clever bit of blackmail. She's so cool and taking no one's guff this season

Nika had a brief interaction with Sabina, but it was insightful. We understand Sabina's loyalty to Shaddiq now as she's an earthian who was taken in by Grassley. Like Nika, she wants to become a bridge for spacians and earthians. Their methods contrast Nika's but they're all coming from the same place. Sabina is anyway. Shaddiq is a bit more inscutable.

Detective Mio is exploring all avenues in her quest and the space assembly league are all too happy to collaborate. They all find Shin Sei and Prospera suspicious, it seems. Valid observation. She does manage to locate Nika, sorta, and brings that information back to the others.

Mio is so adorable when Earth House thanked her for everything. This is probably the first time in years people appreciate who she is on her own merits and formed bonds that aren't conditional or tied to her father. It was just a really wholesome moment. Ah I love her and Earth House! Especially after hearing that first drama cd sketch.

Shout out to Till for shipping these two like the rest of us. Solid wingman right there. Poor Suletta doesn't quite know where they stand after all this time and doesn't want to be a nuisance, but still desperate to show Mio her dedication.

Just look at this pathetic puppy face 🥺

Only a monster could say no to that look, and luckily for her Mio is an understanding and loving bride.

Prospera Jumpcare. Watch out y'all, this one has a mean bite. Her showing up suddenly was unnerving. For the love of all that is holy, never do this again lady. Creeping me out somethin fierce.

HOO BOOOY where to begin? So 5lan was rejected from Aerial immediately, unlike when Eri was humoring El4n and Mio. Is this a sign she's grown in power or just fed up with 5lan's gremlin antics? Could be a combo of both! I take this as confirmation there were multiple failed clones/instances of Eri and Suletta was the lone sucess. The others look Eri's age. 12 of them in total, making Suletta unlucky 13.

I kinda felt sorry for 5lan here, cause he has a right to want to live and not be a tool but also... I don't like him and wish him nothing but misery for being a creep + striking Bel, who I do love. Poor Bel is not having a good week in between Prospera's guilting and now 5lan's.

And we finally arrive at THE SCENES we've been waiting for. It's so wonderfully tense but also tentatively hopeful at the start. Suletta who wants nothing more than to bridge the gap and Mio who wants the same.

Mio starts off with an empathetic apology, stating she understands Suletta's choice in ep12 even if it was traumatic for her. But the reconciliation derailed the moment Suletta declares her mother was right after all. She did the right thing. Run gain one, move forward and gain two.

Mio is galvanized by this logic and hastens to ask Suletta how she can smile at something so terrible. She might understand why Suletta killed for her sake, but she doesn't get how Suletta can just blindly accept everything is ok; that murder was right. Then Mio goes directly in, striving to make Suletta understand. She presses her about her mother, asking if Suletta would do anything. Including giving up her dream for Mercury or killing again.

Her answer, while terrible, is yes. To all of it. Suletta would forfeit the school for Mercury. Would kill again at the behest of her mother. Would do anything so long as her mother said it was right.

Suletta only sees the positives. She got to go to school, have friends, and meet Miorine who she loves. All because she moved forward at her mother's demand. It's horrifying but it makes perfect sense why she would think this way. It's clear from her anxious gestures she's not wholly oblivious to the horror either, but deems her discomfort inconsequential when she gains so much from obeying.

Hearing this speech is the breaking point for Mio who dashes away, leaving a forlorn Suletta to gaze after her. And we're swiftly shown what exactly she has on her mind

This scene was electric from the start. Someone is finally calling out Prospera's manipulation and while she's unflappable as always you have to admire Mio's fire. She wants Suletta to be freed and doesn't care a whit what Prospera thinks.

GOOOOOD this quote. We know Mio loves Suletta genuinely but Prospera only sees her 'daughter' as a tool to be tossed around and used by others. Her phrasing is disgusting in this exchange. 'She's a good little girl, isn't she?' *shivers*

Prospera proceeds to lay her cards on the table and is amazingly forthright, declaring her intent. She reveals her hungry fixation for vengeance and 21 yr long grudge against Delling.

Ngl it's pretty hilarious that Mio doesn't mind the idea of these adults killing themselves fighting each other so long as she and Suletta are left alone. Mio in protective wife mode fr.

It's not that easy however, as Prospera coerces Miorine to help her with QZ. And the first step is to become president of the Benerit group. Miomio for President 2023!! Will she find a loophole from this dire situation? Cast your votes now as we await what becomes of our stellar cast until the next Suletta Sunday~

[noblemansdemon]

I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm afraid I have to get the word out.

Dismantling most accusations/complaints against Pokemon Sleep (There are a few which are actually valid and to a point the developers have started to work on them)

Part 1 - Those I don't understand

- Pokemon sleep steals our biometric data

No they don't, they specify that very well in the terms. Yes they ask to use your mircophone but there are other sleep thrackers that do that. This one simply earned an uproar, because it was Pokemon who dared to. Also in your phones settings under Apps>Pokemon Sleep>Authorization you can disable the app to access your microphone.

- Pokemon Sleep could turn our children to compulsive gambling

As a pedagogical caretaker who actually tried and pkayed the game I can't see this. They are not monopolizing on the time before and after going to bed. Everything you can do is done in at most 10 Minutes. As for the payment options, if there is no Debit/Credit Card or Paypal account behind the account you use on the play store they can't buy anything anyway. If there is it is the responsibility of the parent to show them, on what they would spend real money.

- Pokemon sleep is inaccurate when you're around the room but not on your mattress trying to sleep.

Yeah, no shit sherlock, any other sleep tracker would be too. Even my fitness tracker sometimes counts me being completely still as being asleep in the eveningy when I'm actually just reading or watching something.

- Pokemon Sleep is too hard to play

Actually it is really simple and everything is explained pretty well. A game shouldn't serve you everything on a silver tray, there should be room to explore and I think pokemon sleep does that quite well

- The progress in pokemon sleep is too slow

This is no super fast progress game, duh. It is meant to be relaxed and to encourage you to improve your sleep cycle in a fun and cute way and it does a wonderful job. If you need to have fast progress to have fun, it is a sign of how damaging those games with fast progress actually are, they are much more attention and time grabbing and much more dangerous when it comes to developing compulsive gaming disorder.

Complaints I do understand (and am willing to offer a solution)

- The relaxing tune is too loud.

I had that problem too and it is not a solution of sorts, but they fixed that pretty fast. What I prefer to do though, is to listen to my own custom playlist on my iPad and set the timer to one hour to turn the music off.

- The mobile overheats/the app crashes/it uses too much battery

This one I find more understandable. There is a notion that bug fixes are underway. If you're not willing to wait for the bug fixes an alternative would be to buy the pokemon go plus +. No I'm not sponsored by The Pokemon Company in any way shape or form, but I calculated it trhough. For a sleep tracking device which can also be cross used with Pokemon go, the pricing is alright. My current fitness tracker with an innate sleep tracker costs almost thrice as much. There are Smart watches out there you pay ten times as much for. The device comes with a clip to not fall under your pillow, and your mobile has to do nothing over night, because you simply sync the sleep data in the morning. The battery of the Pokemon Go plus + also keeps going up to one week when fully charged. And needs about 3 1/2 hours to carge from zero.

Due to emotional involvement some of this contains my personal opinion/advice. I'm not seeking any form of a fight over these points, though I'll be happy to discuss them with you contructively in the comments.^^

[artichokefunction]

the agent walks up to the kitchen staffs door, and it holds its wrist up to the ID scanner. it is let inside, no problem. that chip in its organic arm is one of the few actual wireless pieces of tech it has installed onboard, because those chips are easy to write to and easy to erase and are a very non-obtrusive system. can't hack someone through their ID, and those are so easy to fake. you don't really know why they're still in such common use. makes your job easier, you suppose. the kitchen staff work around the agent, and the agent slips through them.

it gets weird looks, they know they're in some danger, but no one ends up hurt. it stresses you out, a little bit, to see your agent around civilians. you dont really know why. or, well, you know what it can do. you don't know what it won't do. it's impossible to test for the absence of an occurrence. that's not the phrase. it's impossible to prove that something will never happen. that's it. no wait, that doesn't sound right either. whatever. you are not afraid of the agent, it is your friend. these random civilians are not it's friends. as far as you know. but it is polite, as far as you can tell, as it moves through the crowded kitchen. you check that it has access to the latest version of your little map of this building, and it does. and then it proves that it does because it goes the long way around and takes the door that leads to the staff hallways, and not the fancy ass dining area. it's following the route it needs to, no issue. tiny issue. it needs to get through two locked doors. issue so small it is microscopic, because all these locks are ID activated. lol. you scrape the biometric data you need from the security network, and update it's chip. and it's let through without issue. no wait. a little warning popup about how one person apparently went through one door twice in one direction. valid concern. you delete the warning. lol. the agent makes it to the room without issue.

inside of the room is a slender young man with short, greasy hair and a jumpy air to him. the agent startles him a lot by just popping up silently in the corner of his office. this is the client, and not the target. your view from the agents visor keeps wandering, because it's a bit bored. the client, Petra, asks you a question, out loud. well, he asks the agent a question, but it's not really listening. you respond via text, same channel that he hired you on.

"So. You're... agent Mandible?"

the codename you're currently using. [yes yes. where is the target? thought there was a job to do.]

you do not need to be this rude, but also it's kinda fun, watching the fear on his face, watching him puzzle the pieces together entirely incorrectly, because he whispers "Ah, so you're a robot..." under his breath in a way he thinks you won't hear. lol? even if one of you was a robot, you would be able to hear that. this guy is a fool. a fool who is paying you to kill his superior. it might actually be his dad, you didn't pry enough to find out. he has composed himself enough to tell you what room the target is in.

"I don't think I need to tell you how to get there, given that you found me just fine." he shuffles his feet, and visibly struggles to maintain eye contact. he feels he needs to be polite, apparently. "You arrived at the perfect time, he should be asleep for the next 15 minutes or so..." he trails off, and then turns to look out a window, hands behind his back, all fuckin formal. the agent is out of there as soon as the talking is over, and you've sent it on the updated map. you check on the targets room remotely. holy shit. the door lock isn't even engaged. he left it open. there are two cameras in his room. one is completely off, he requested that? lol. the other is not off, but it is on standby mode, it should alert and start recording when it detects movement. getting past that specific trick is not brainlessly easy, but it's not impossible either. you just want it to look untampered with. or- wait. it only needs to look untampered for the text ten minutes or so, while no-one's looking too hard, probably. you get it hacked, it's a good enough job. as good as it needs to be. they won't have footage of the incident. now you get to watch the agent do it's part of the job, from its perspective, no less. it takes a moment to consider something. medium of dispatch, maybe? oh, yeah. it gets out its knife. hand over his mouth, blade into his neck, up into the skull. simple and silent. kinda messy and gruesome also. the poor cleaning staff, that is not a cheap carpet. at least that desk seems very blood-proof, with how excessively shiny it is. the agent wipes its knife on the targets sleeve, and then it is out of there, along the new route you've sent it, down the quiet staff hallways but not the same ones as earlier. you leave your cam hack in place, might as well, and you text the client and tell him [it is done.] which is very edgy of you, you admit, but it's appropriate for this job, probably.

hmm. there's something to ponder there, about the aesthetics of death. guns make the process of creating death much more efficient, they're machines, they're optimized. using your own hand weapons takes the degree of separation out of it. you're much closer to the violence you're doing. you, in the general grammatical case, your personal hands are still pretty clean, overall. well, ok, no. degrees of separation, again. you are paid to be the middleman between the person who wants someone dead and the person who does the killing. person is here. you wave it into the truck, and then you drive away, out of this parking lot.

[do you want more hand weapons? i've been mostly focusing on guns, for range and effecacy, but for small jobs like this it might be worth it. maybe? what do you think?]

it makes a small ponderous noise, and looks up to the roof, fidgeting with its fingers, deep in thought.

[i should be able to get my hands on some weapons catalogs for you, plus there's that expo coming up in a few weeks. but with both of those, there's the problem of you being actively sold something. lots of loud flashy words to get you to spend lots of money money money]

it huffs a quiet laugh, and then it pulls its mask down to tap at its jaw. huh? oh, it's referencing the guy who sold you that jaw, and a lot of other very flashy and not strictly nessecary items. you laugh at that.

[oh man, i don't remember how many of them you've met, but i have quite a lot of friends like that. my sincere condolences.]

it throws it's hands up in mock despair, very clearly smiling at the same time. you have a new message, from Petra. [The money has been forwarded to you.] oh damn. immediately after the job? this guy has a lot of trust in his bank security. or he just hasn't thought of what an investigator might look for. family of rich idiots, over there. once the money comes in, you'll move it to your actual account. obfuscatory steps. the agent is messing with a small piece of fabric, folding and unfolding it. it might have snatched that from that last job. that's fair, honestly. small enough to be hard to identify and easy to dispose of it needed, and it looks like it has a good texture to it. you should get it some new fidgety things, once this money comes in. you could get yourself something too, maybe. been a while since you got new clothes, but also you don't like lugging around too much unnessecary stuff. maybe there's a clothes swap event somewhere nearby you could drop in to. how would you find that. you could ask a friend. carmen, they seem like they would know. you should drop into them anyways, say hi. it gets kinda hard to keep up with friends, with the constant travelling. but you do your best, and your friends are cool, they all seem to understand. the agent has just finished typing something out on its communicator.

[bazooka would be funny]

that is SO far from anything you were expecting, you're breathless with laughter.

[say fuck all of you. get explode]

you make a little explosion motion with both hands, one still on the wheel. the agent looks somewhat proud of having gotten you to laugh.

[okay, man, do you have any actual ideas?]

[no. give me some time]

[yeah yeah, no worries. we're in no rush]

[thailandlaw]

UK Vignette Visa Transfer

Obtaining a UK visa can be a lengthy process. Thankfully, if your existing visa hasn't expired and your circumstances haven't significantly changed, you might be eligible for a UK Vignette Visa Transfer from Thailand. This article streamlines the process, guiding you through the steps involved.

What is a UK Vignette Visa Transfer?

The UK Vignette Visa Transfer allows you to transfer your existing visa from your old passport to your new one. This applies to visas with a validity period of 30 or 90 days, acting as a temporary entry permit to collect your Biometric Residence Permit (BRP) once you're in the UK.

Benefits of a Transfer

Saves Time and Money: Compared to applying for a completely new visa, a transfer is often faster and less expensive.

Avoids Delays: You won't have to wait for a new visa decision, allowing you to travel to the UK as planned (within the original visa validity period).

Who Can Apply for a Transfer?

You can apply for a transfer if:

You have a valid UK visa vignette in your old passport.

Your visa hasn't expired.

You have a new passport.

There haven't been any significant changes to your circumstances since your original visa application (e.g., employment status, finances).

The Transfer Process from Thailand

Here's a simplified breakdown of the transfer process from Thailand:

Online Application: Access the UK government's online visa application portal (https://www.gov.uk/transfer-visa). Choose "transfer your visa to a new passport online if you're outside the UK."

Complete the Application: Fill out the application form electronically, providing details about your current visa, new passport, and travel plans.

Fee Payment: Pay the transfer fee of currently £154 (subject to change).

Biometric Appointment: Schedule a biometric appointment at a designated visa application center in Thailand. This involves capturing fingerprints and a digital photograph.

Supporting Documents: Gather the required documents, which typically include your old passport with the visa vignette, your new passport, and proof of your online application submission.

Submit Your Application: Attend your biometric appointment and submit your application package.

After Submission

Processing Time: The processing time for a transfer can take up to three weeks, though it can vary depending on individual circumstances.

Decision Notification: You'll be notified of the decision via email. If approved, your new passport with the transferred visa vignette will be returned by courier.

Important Considerations

Double-Check Eligibility: Ensure you meet the eligibility criteria before initiating the transfer process.

Validity Period: Remember, the transferred visa retains the original validity period from your initial application.

Seek Professional Guidance: For complex situations or if you're unsure about your eligibility, consider consulting a UK immigration lawyer specializing in visa transfers.

By following these steps and considering the crucial points, you can navigate a UK Vignette Visa Transfer from Thailand efficiently. Remember, a successful transfer hinges on a valid existing visa, a new passport, and minimal changes in your circumstances. Now, with your transferred visa in hand, you can proceed with your UK travel plans with greater ease.

[tobiasdrake]

At last, the secret lab. Allegedly.

Honestly, yeah. Yes, please. Give me one of your masks. If the goal is to sell the illusion that I'm your private secretary, that's all we need. Someone sees me walking around in a Makoto mask, they will assume "Weird Makoto Thing" and pay me no further mind.

That's brilliant. Do that.

At the very least, a change of clothes would be good. I didn't think about this before we got here but Yuma's still wearing the Standard Master Detective Uniform. It's easy to forget 'cause all the Master Detectives are mavericks who screw the rules and dress how they please. But to anyone who knows the WDO, these clothes are a neon sign that reads "MASTER DETECTIVE".

This is like going undercover in a Galactic Empire base, but wearing your white/orange Rebel Alliance Pilot jumper while you do it.

Ooo, maybe there's a murder to solve.

Which. I. Should not. Solve. While I am undercover as a not-murder-solver...

...

But... mystery....

Maybe it's Halara. Maybe this is the same Restricted Area somehow, and now they're halfway through trashing the entire Peacekeeper army to find evidence of malfeasance.

They'd need to get past the biometric scanner to get here, but it's Halara. Remember that time they successfully drew a floor map of a place they'd never visited before? Halara could glare sternly at the biometric scanner, and the scanner would blink and give them a green light.

Yeah, I was thinking that too, Shinigami. The both of us being here at the same time may not be directly related but it's unlikely to be entirely coincidental.

It's okay. We go in, we see what's up, maybe high-five the intruder if they are who I think they are. Everything is fine.

Everything is not fine. We are doomed. This is the worst possible scenario that could ever have occurred. Yuma, why didn't you take the mask when it was offered!?

Going straight into business mode and pretending I'm not even here. Completely ignoring the elephant in the room. That's certainly a choice, Makoto, but I'm not sure if Yomi will go for it.

Makoto strongly implying that Yomi's presence here is suspicious. Would Yomi descend from his ivory tower to catch some burglar?

...

I mean. He sure does descend from his ivory tower to chase after us a whole lot, so this doesn't seem that OOC for him. Though that could be my bias talking, as he's taken a personal interest in our organization specifically.

So maybe it is OOC for Yomi to care about a break-in, but not if it's a WDO-related break-in. Which. If it's Halara. Then.

He's weaseling so hard to get me into that crime scene and I have no idea where he's going with this. I can feel the play being made but cannot for the life of me fathom what maneuvers it will involve.

If you have to tell people that you're charismatic then that's a tacit admission that you're not very charismatic. It's one of those things that can't be self-diagnosed.

Power and numbers, I'll grant you. He's got four armed men with guns while Makoto's got one out-of-place Junior Detective struggling not to pee himself.

Ooo, appealing to Yomi's ego. Yomi is the Scar to Makoto's Mufasa. Putting pride on the line and offering him a chance to prove he's better than Makoto is a genius play.

Yomi has no practical reason to accept Makoto's offer. But Yomi is not a practical man. He's jealous, spiteful, and desperate for validation. How could he possibly resist a dick-measuring contest against the central focus of his ire?

Weird name for a guy who only KO'd a couple guards. I would have expected a Slaughter Artist to. Y'know. Slaughter.

Also, fantastic job subtle-interrogating Yomi there, Makoto. An effective technique for extracting information is to avoid asking questions and instead make false statements. People love to correct people. It's reflexive. If you assert something that's wrong, you're more likely to get a right answer in response than if you merely asked about it in the first place.

Ask someone, "What's John's role?" and he'll tell you to eat shit. But tell him, "We nabbed your boss John," and he might go, "Fuck you, John's a glorified delivery guy. He just moves supplies. You dumbasses think I answer to JOHN?"

Makoto isn't doing that, but what he is doing is that-adjacent. He's playing civil and offering Yomi opportunities to bark information at him. Playing on their rivalry to make Yomi uncooperatively forthcoming with information about the situation taking place.

He's a corporate arms manufacturer so I'm not surprised he's made some deadly enemies. So now we have another serial murderer targeting corporate assholes for retaliation.

Clearly, Fink the Slaughter Artist must be Halara. :P

Okay but why tho. Why send a letter to the cops going, "Hey cops, I'm going to be coming to kill one of your cop scientists soon so you better CLOSE RANKS!"

The existence of this letter is extremely suspicious. A hitman who calls the police to report on himself does not sound like a very good hitman to me.

Just like that, Yomi's snared in the psychological trap Makoto laid for him. He's so eagerly chomping at the bit to prove how much smarter he is than Makoto that he completely forgot he was going to have Yuma dragged away and waterboarded.

This is what a master class in manipulation looks like.

...oh, yeah, I guess he landed that too. Master class in manipulation. This is unsettling, in fact. Makoto, did you hire Fink to break in for the express purpose of providing us with this smokescreen?

...

Hold on. Breaking into a secret government lab. Conspiracies wheeling within conspiracies. Searching for secrets related to homunculi. Out-of-control serial killer running amok. Something about this scenario seems familiar.

...

No, I can't place it. Must have been my imagination. Anyways, let's go see if we can hunt down Barry the Chopper before Yomi does.

[dddragoni-drabbles]

After more than an hour on hold, the line finally connected.

"Galactic Central Affairs, how can I help you today?"

Sorus shot up in the pilot's seat, shaking off their bleariness. "Yes, hi, hello, I'm uh, here to collect a bounty on a Marven Wolt?"

The receptionist, a Balaman woman, did her best to smile warmly, although her fangs made that difficult. "All righty! I'll just need to see your license and the bounty information, and we'll get right to it!"

Sorus rolled their eyes at her clearly-forced enthusiasm but forwarded their credentials over the link.

The Balaman looked down at her terminal, frowning. "I'm sorry, sir, but this license isn't valid."

"I'm not a..." Sorus shook their head. "What do you mean it's not valid? I just got it a couple months ago!"

"What you've got here is a Korvian bounty license, but Marven Wolt's bounty was posted by the Dorsun Authority. As I'm sure you're well aware, the Dorsun Authority is only an associate member of the Korvian Federation and, as such, retains its own records for licensing and documentation."

"Associate..." Sorus blinked a few times, head spinning. "Okay. Fine, sure. How do I get a... Dorsun bounty license, or whatever."

"You'll just need to fill out these forms-" Sorus's terminal pinged, signifying the receipt of a half-dozen files. "And send then in, along with five forms of biometric identification. That'll get you processed in six to eight weeks."

"Weeks??? But..." Sorus shifted the camera view behind them, bringing a bound Hilam in a makeshift brig into focus. "I have Wolt with me right here, can't I just hand him over?"

The Balaman shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't accept a bounty without a valid license."

"I'm not... What am I supposed to do with him, then?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that, sir. Will that be all for today?"

Sorus sighed. "I guess. And stop calling me sir!" They slammed the disconnect button on their armrest and sat back in their chair rubbing their forehead.

They heard Wolt clearing his throat behind them. "Wow, that, uh, sounds like a real hassle. Honestly, the bounty's not even worth it, you should just let me go and find something better to do with your time."

Sorus groaned. "Shut up, Wolt." They pressed the button to mute his cell, then leaned forward to their terminal, opening up the first of the files they'd received. No one had told them that being an interstellar bounty hunter involved so much paperwork.

[theonewhoseinlovewithfictionals]

Mr. Here To Stay

Warning: may contain adult languages. Please be advise. Minors do not proceed.

PART 3

You march to the accounting department with your do-not-talk-to-me aura. As soon as the biometric turns color green, you go straight to the meeting room and reserving it for the whole day. You put down your shoulder bag on the table but it fell off, "ughh-" you didn't even bother to pick up those because you're in a hurry.

You proceed to your desk and call the IT department and request a laptop and the reason you told was because you cannot bring your desktop to the meeting room for the whole day. You wait for the IT to deliver the laptop so you sit with the others.

N1 eating the usual breakfast, "What's up with the long face?"

You lean back to your ergo chair and sigh deeply, "These reimbursements!" You loudly tap the pile of papers beside you, "I sampled one yesterday and guess what, I've seen numerous errors on the form. Now, I have to correct it with red ink and in addition to that, I have to prepare a journal entry for each of..." you purse you lips as you try not cuss, "--transaction!"

N4 glances, "that's a lot...why don't you do it next week?"

You shake your head no immediately, "I can't, have you forgotten what's next week?" Horrified marks on their faces. Their energy died down as they remember what's coming, "exactly, auditors doing their quarterly audit plus internal report," you close your eyes, "I thought I'm having no-work-on-Fridays-so that-you-can-enjoy-waiting-for-the-night-out-later. "

You heard a knock on your desk. You open your eyes and the IT is standing there holding the laptop you requested. You politely receive the company's asset and signs a paper, "thanks," the IT quickly leave the department, "okay, I'll see you later," before entering your prison, you grab a pile of journal entry form and a bunch of red pen at the supplies cabinet then headed to your detention cell.

Hours passed and you feel like the pile of paper hasn't going down. You stretch and drink water, pausing and looking at the minimalist painting on the wall. Taking a few deep breaths and continues to work.

------

Third party POV

Marco, having full of energy for unknown reason, he walks in the accounting department with his radiant smile, bringing again the last batch of reimbursements. Well, actually, it's only his disbursement for yesterday's afternoon small talk for the hospital's affiliated medical school. He make his way to Y/N station, only to find that Y/N's not there. Disappointed, his smile turns into frown however, Y/N's coworkers feel his presence without even saying 'hi' or 'good morning'.

They give him a welcoming smile and he waves 'hi'. Marco is about to open his mouth to pose the question but N3 answers right away, "Y/N's there," pointing N3's pen to the meeting room. Marco was about to walk to the room when N4 raises hand, stopping him.

N4 before sipping the beloved coffee warn the handsome doctor, "warning, Dr. Marco, you may not want to talk to Y/N right now or next week..."

N2 butts in, "or the next, next week either..." N2 sighed as N2 goes his sight from paper to screen, vice versa.

Marco with confusion on his face and scratches his head, "Then, next month, I guess?"

All of them shake their head no, N3 answers, "Y/N will be angry. The reimbursement is only valid for 7 days after the expense occurs," N3 focus on the monitor as N3 replies.

Marco leaning to Y/N's cubicle, "So what options do I have?"

N1 having the strength to answer, "Dr. Marco, just choose between these three options for Y/N's anger," Showing off her polished nails to the doctor, "A. Rude, Sarcastic and a Bitch,"

N2, "B. Feral"

N4 ending the multiple choice, "Or C. Violence,"

After the options lay down, all of them look at the doctor, waiting for his response. Marco's silent for a while, hands on his pocket. N1 blushes more as the pose is striking and making him more attractive. Grabbing N1's phone, take a photo of him, secretly.

After thinking it through, he finally reach his decision that could alter the accounting department's universe or rather Y/N's, he fixes his red eyeglass and curls his lips, " Or D. All of the above," hot on his heels, he walks toward to the meeting room.

Y/N's coworkers stare at the doctor as he marches forward to his death. They look at each other with is-he-serious? stare. N4 commenting, " And a challenger enters into the lion's den," None of them has the intention to go back to work as they are curious what would happen to the doctor's resolution...or they are worried what would happen to the doctor.

----------

You POV

You roll your eyes the moment you heard the glass door opens, "Haven't I told you be---" you stop as you see Dr. Marco enters the meeting room with his gleaming smile. You lean at your ergo chair and cross your arms, giving him your resting bitch face, "I take it, haven't they warned you?"

Marco confidently walk towards you, "They did," stopping in front of you. Resting and pressing his toned, perfect muscle cuts on both arms on the table. Undeniably, you gulp as you watch his shoulders tense under his white coat along with his stethoscope. He teasingly smile at you, leaning forward, "Just yesterday, you were thoughtful and sweet and now," his grins wider, "I just wanna see how much rude, sarcastic, bitch, feral and violent can you be..." he said in a challenging, low voice with a hint of seductiveness.

You didn't back off, especially your in the state of I don't give a fuck attitude. You put down the red pen and slowly stand up. You copy the doctor's stance and make sure he receives your message loudly and clearly by meeting his gaze with seriousness, "Then so be it..." Both of you stare each other.

You and your blazing eyes vs Marco and his calm ocean blue eyes.

The tension that you both created fills the room. You did not break the stare this time even though his eyes is dominating you, making your knees weak then you remembered the pile of papers you have to finish. You have no plans on backing down too even though your heart's been thumping hard.

After a minute, the doctor chuckles, "Okay, okay, I surrender," he stand properly and crosses his arms over his broad chest, "I'm just testing you,"

You gaze him, "I'm not in a mood for play time," you said in a tired, flat voice. Your eye catches the papers he holds. Your stressed increases but you realizes you don't have a choice either, "hands me those paper and get the hell out!"

Marco, being playful and it seems doesn't bother by your rudeness, tucks away the paper behind him, "This is not reimbursement, these are...patient's record,"

"Then what are you doing here?!"

"Roaming around..."

"Go home, you have a flexible schedule. Don't waste anyone's time..." you seat down and continues to check the amount and supporting receipts. Marking them red meaning your done.

"I don't wanna go home..."

You put down the red pen, "That's not my problem," you give him a lazy look, "for the last time, Dr. Marco, get out."

Marco's eyes soften and sparkles as he hears his name coming out from your lovely mouth causing also a smile on his thick lips, "Okay, okay." He let out a small laugh, "Bye, Y/N, it's nice seeing you today," he exit the meeting room with a wide smile.

Your brain is too stun to process, "What's wrong with him?" your eyebrows furrow and shake your head.

As the pile of paper goes down to the last, your stomach shout for food. You look up at the clock and it's 2 in the afternoon. You sigh and reward yourself a little treat. You pick up your bag from the floor when someone enters your zone. You immediately turn around and see a stranger standing with a paper bag and a drink, "Y/N?"

Confuse still you nodded, "y-yeah, that's me,"

the stranger happily give the items, "enjoy your meal,"

"but I didn't--" and poof the person's gone. You look at the paper bag remembering when did the last time touch your phone to order food online. No, you didn't. You're sure of it because you can feel in your right hand the tiredness from writing. You sit down and open the paper bag and the aroma of the packed food makes your stomach growl. You didn't even think who give the food, maybe one of your pals in the department? You quickly glance to them who appears witnesses on the food. All of them shake their head no.

You had no time to wonder who it is as the hunger making you crazy. You sit down and with one bite, you close your eyes and feel relief. You nod as the food taste like coming from a five star restaurant. you couldn't stop taking a bite until the food stuck in your esophagus. You grab the drink and pop the straw. You aggressively chug. Your eyes blink as it taste lemonade, feeling refreshed. Then you notice on the drink, there's a small post-it note on the middle part. You pluck it and read,

Peace Offering...for making you piss off earlier. -Dr. Marco, the one who look like a pineapple You cough at the note and let out a small laugh as you read the pineapple thing. Moreover, it makes your heart happy. With that, the stressed you had earlier somehow lessen. You can't help but smile while eating and rereading the note. You never thought a doctor having a beautiful penmanship and a good sense of humor.

Before the long arm ticks off to 12. You stand up and go back to your station, calling again the IT to let them know your finish using the laptop. Then, you go back to the meeting room and start packing up. Alas, you're done with the reimbursements and the journal entries for that matter is posted in the system. You put down the pile of papers under your desk and give the summary to your Manager.

You come back and the IT was there already. You smile and thank the IT staff. You sit in your station and put out a mirror to reapply your favorite lip balm.

"So, who gave your lunch?" N2 probes.

You smack your lips and keep the mirror, "Dr. Marco...he pissed off me earlier so he gave me a peace offering,"

N1 starts to whine, "I want to experience that! Y/N, can we change our role?! Just you know for two weeks!"

You giggle, "Sorry, N1, I cannot or else, all of the employees will receive their salary/pay late," N1 pouts but you just laugh.

As soon as the clock tick at 5p.m., all of you stand up and walk out the door but on the halfway to the door, you stop, remembering something. You shout at them, "You guys go, I'll meet you at the entrance!" You quickly go back to your desk and grab the post-it note. Smiling, you keep it in your bag.

Silly.

For some reason, it makes your heart flutter.

----------

A/N: PART 3 bonus will be posted soonest. :) I'll update this post to link the Part 3 bonus. I hope you enjoy this modern au because I am. xD Anyway, I don't think this will be short so, I might post this on my a03 account with my OC as "you". I'll post the link here when I'm done with that.

[richardsphere]

Leverage Redemption Log: The Date Night Job

Well, that title should be obvious, though weird with Hardisons availability... Oh no, are we going to do a "Sophie and Harry" thing? Or is it going to be Breana? (not saying widowers cant move on, just worried for execution of such) --- Parker on a roof, holding a binocular,

Hardisons actor was available!

Soup in space... So Hardison is going to space, oh right he was working on a satelite with a rich-dude wasnt he? This is going to be a final meal before he goes sort of deal. Parker is worried about the space-trip. Insert Baljeets "so peanuty you wont even taste the chicken" jingle here.

Guy in a limo with his son, headed to some art-based party. He's trying to connect to him and help him deal with the recent death of their grandmother. (please dont be the bad guy)

Kid inherited a fortune and the guy (i think he might not be the father after all, as the kid inherited. He's just a will-executor or trusted accountant) is warning him that people will try to get close to him to exploit him.

YES! Non-guy affiliated badguy is scouting the limo! (that means Guy is just a good surrogate parent and not secretly a bad-guy like Ethan!)

Bad guy presses a button to fake a trafic jam to reroute the limo forcing Hardison to take the long-route to the freeport where Grandma's stuff is stored. (oh no, we're gonna steal from a grieving urchin. I do not like this)

So the lock is supposedly unpickable,and the only way to get the code (refreshes every 12 hours) is to get a biometric scan first. (whose biometrics? Presumeably there is a person in charge of the freeport. Otherwise its a dead grandma and something tells me we're not stealing the corpse.)

Kid's name is Mason. Bucket falls and causes a minor distraction (heist-off?) Someone hacked the kids phone and told him to go elsewhere. (the kid was nana's only inheritor. Grandma doted on the kid and he loved the art. the kids biometrics are valid)

So they've both pre-prepped this heist seperately, Keytone analyser app.

Dont lick the dinobones.

And we're stuck in the vault (someone forced a reset of the passcode) --- TWO DAYS EARLIER (the font has become a lot less obnoxious at some point, i think they reduced it's size a bit.)

Parker, Harry and Breanna are preparing the Watch-heist. Hardison, Sophie and Elliot are preparing the T-rex skull heist.

Team Not-on-a-date went behind their backs and orchestrated the date together. Breanna has a date with a sculptor. (turns out her and electric plane-girl fell through at some point)

Grandma looks a lot younger then they were making her sound so far. (Her dating history is like Leonardo Di Caprio but a woman)

Huh, spirits ruse had a resurgance after they re-inspired the maker to get his groove back. Thats sweet. Oh the game is a Pokemon Go sort of deal (which means they can "drop" a spirit wherever they want Mason to go, and get him to get his biometrics scanned that way)

Sophie pulled an entire con to ensure that the two objects that Parker and Hardison wanted to heist over wouldnt be on the floor because they'd be too easy to steal otherwise. To reiterate: Team Leverage went on an entire con, just to make the heist MORE difficult.

Breana, dont be an asshole to Elliot. --- Justin is a chill dad-type, (please dont be evil... Please dont secretly have orchestrated the robbery) Breanna has cloned the phone, and is now bonding with Mason over the game. Breanna's cloned phone gives Parker the sounds she needed. Donald owns the freeport (please be the badguy so Mason can keep having a good dad.) Sophie puts the skull in the vault and looks at a vase. Elliot plants the key-thingy. Harry gives a guard 2 tickets so that Elliot has a vacancy to infiltrate.

Ok so Elliot's complication is that the guard decides to get some overtime. (yeah he's with the robbers)

Sophie is on the floor with Harry giving some Grifting Lessons.

Harry's guess of "barista" is wrong (coffeeshop with a reading corner). We have found the executor of the will. Studying to be a paralegal.

I knew something was off when a random NPC was talking legal jargon (but i was expecting it to be a case of them seeding some inheritance-drama, not a "Harry's Here". Might be both of course)

Harry drops the bucket, Breanna's hacking gets Mason with the game to leave (i know she's got a date, but we're talking "tell harry which button to press", not personal attendance). Ok, in hindsight it makes sense that its our team pulling a heist-assist. Rather then a rival heist-crew. But im nonetheless proud to have picked it up the first go-round) --- Coms are in play, Guard is knocked out. We need Donalds Key to lift the lockdown. Guard is back up.

Hardison is giving this date a 3-star review. (technically romantic, not the vibe he intended)

Parker has a "Hardison in space" based panic attack. Sorry Breanna, date night has been cancelled.

Harry realises instantly that the Big Robbery of the rich attendees is a distraction for the various vaults. (sure a couple paintings on display from 1 vault are nice, but the stuff that isnt on display from a hundred other vaults? Nicer)

Sophie and Harry suspect an inside man, First Supsect: Donald. (took up big loans to build this place, might be in debt. Unlikely, billionaire clients pay big rent.)

"well i have a client who'd love to peruse your services... this is not a good advert though".

They've realised the kid is missing. (Breanna has his phone, she should be looking. Not Elliot) Ok Mason walks in to find Elliot beating up, what mason thinks to be, a regular security guard.

Breanna has identified the target: Its Mason (hence it being tonight, the one night Mason HAS to be there. Not looking good on the prospects of "worried fatherfigure" being a good man and not being in on the robbery)

Breanna points out a crucial detail about SpiritsRuseGO: No mons on private property to avoid lawsuits.

Parker and Hardison leave the vault just in time for the robbers to access it with Mason. Parker and Hardison are about to adopt mason.

Parker talks with the kid about what its like to miss someone dear to you.

Hot Sauce Heiresses, dammit Justin only got a half-million in the will (please be a red herring, please let the Barista be the one) Donald is financially screwed though, fel for crypto it seems.

Ok I think Donald is actually innocent (he just yanked the alarm. If he was orchestrating this he'd trust his men)

Breanna's date is going south (turns out planegirl is doing well, but Breanna knew that any association with a Leverage member would ruin her future with government contracts)

Breanna's date is over, but the relationship is still on! (good for her) --- Cut to the freeport parking lot and Breanna has "broken" her car. She has discovered the joy of the Taser. The dino is still missing?

Oh they locked the kid in the vault and Donald is the bad guy. (or more likely its a multi-member conspiracy). They're killing the kid so that his inheritance can go to Justin. (still dont know why they took the dino though if it isnt in the car)

Dino head was the kids favourite, they used to picnic in the vault. The armed goons just left explosive behind. Like im not talking "random chemicals in bottles" that parker was going through, they left a chemical fuse in a backpack!

Parker smashing the owl when she sees the kid look in its direction. Hilarious. "wouldnt an explosion just use up more oxygen", good question kid. I like you. "at least if I die i get to see my grandma again" God that is a gut-punch. --- Sophie confronts the guy, Get him to turn on his employers. (Please be Donald and Barista working together, I want to like Justin)

Justin ran upstairs and instantly took note that the dinoskull is back in the vault. Which means he knew it was stolen, which means he's a bad guy.

Survivors clause apparantly means that the heir has to live 30 days past the death.

dude you forgot to change the default password on the vault? Sloppy. Mason with the post-it note. (are we adopting Mason?) Hardisons fosterparent is adopting Mason. Hardison, Mason and Breanna are siblings now. (this in-production third season better feature a Mason Cameo)

[mattriffle47]

2024's Finest: The Top 6 eSignature Software for Seamless Online Document Signing

Introduction:

In the fast-paced digital landscape of 2024, the way we conduct business and handle official paperwork has evolved significantly. The days of traditional ink-on-paper signatures are dwindling, making way for the era of electronic signatures. From signing contracts to validating legal documents, the world of eSignature software has become a pivotal aspect of modern business operations. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the top 6 eSignature software that are reshaping the landscape of online document signing, offering seamless experiences and advanced features that set them apart in 2024. SimpliciSign: Streamlining eDocument Signing with Precision SimpliciSign joins the ranks of the top eSignature software by offering precision and efficiency in eDocument signing. Explore the features that make SimpliciSign stand out, including its seamless integration capabilities and user-friendly interface. With SimpliciSign, experience a streamlined approach to electronic signatures that enhances your overall document signing process. SimpliciSign offers cheapest rates in the market of eSignature softwares. Free Trial is also available. SimpliciSign has features like: -With the subscription of : $4.99 per user /month + $0.50/per invite, Unlimited once you are billed $35 in a month. 

-Biometric Authentication-Optical Character Recognition(OCR) -Multi-signing Capability-Overlay Forms-Assign Sign Order-Fully Legal Binding Agreements DocuSign: Pioneering Excellence in eSignature Technology DocuSign, a pioneer in the eSignature industry, has maintained its prominent role as a key player for an extended period. Delve into the reasons behind DocuSign's leadership in the electronic signatures sector, exploring its intuitive interface and cutting-edge features that have firmly established its reputation. With a focus on robust security measures and seamless compatibility across diverse document types, businesses globally place their trust in DocuSign to fulfill their online document signing requirements. Key features of DocuSign: -Pricing Starts from $15 /month -Global Reach-Workflow Automation-Integration Adobe Sign: Unleashing the Power of Digital Signatures Adobe Sign harnesses the influence of the renowned Adobe brand in the realm of eSignatures. Immerse yourself in the realm of digital signatures and uncover how Adobe Sign seamlessly merges with widely-used document creation tools such as Adobe Acrobat. Discover the distinctive attributes that position Adobe Sign as a premier option for those seeking to enhance their online document signing journey, seamlessly combining convenience with the reliability associated with Adobe's trusted name in the industry of eSignatures. Key features of Adobe Sign: -Plans start from $22.99/month -Integration with Adobe Products-Mobile Accessibility-Compliance

Dropbox/HelloSign: Simplifying Signatures for Modern Businesses In the pursuit of a straightforward approach without sacrificing functionality, HelloSign stands out as a leading choice. This eSignature application prioritizes user-friendly interfaces and intuitive workflows, catering to businesses of varying sizes. Delve into how HelloSign simplifies the electronic signing process for contracts and legal documents, highlighting its commitment to efficiency and delivering a seamless and hassle-free signing experience. Key features of Dropbox/HelloSign: -Plans start from $19.99/month -User-Friendly API-Team Collaboration-Audit Trail

SignEasy: Redefining Convenience in Online Document Signing

SignEasy has established itself as a niche player by placing a premium on convenience. Explore the distinctive features that position SignEasy as a standout option for individuals and businesses in search of a direct solution for electronic signatures. With its design optimized for mobile use and seamless integrations with well-known cloud storage platforms, SignEasy is reshaping our approach to online document signing in the digital age. Key features of SignEasy: -Pricing Starts from $20 per user/month -Cross-Platform Availability:-Offline Signing-Intuitive Interface OneSpan Sign: Elevating Security in the eSignature Landscape

In the domain of electronic signatures, prioritizing security is of utmost importance, and OneSpan Sign excels in this regard. Investigate how this eSignature application incorporates advanced security measures to guarantee the integrity and authenticity of each digital signature. From robust encryption to multi-factor authentication, uncover the reasons why organizations opt for OneSpan Sign when emphasizing the highest standards of security in their processes for online document signing. Key features of SignEasy: -Professional Plan starts with $22 Per User/month -Advanced Security Features-Compliance-Mobile Capabilities

Conclusion:As we navigate the dynamic landscape of 2024, the demand for efficient, secure, and user-friendly eSignature software continues to rise. From the pioneering technology of SimpliciSign to the simplicity of HelloSign and the security-focused approach of OneSpan Sign, these top 6 eSignature software are leading the way in reshaping how we sign contracts and legal documents electronically. Embrace the future of online document signing with these innovative solutions, and stay ahead of the curve in 2024.

[uk-visa-updates]

Bringing Hearts Together: All About the UK Spouse Visa

Table of contents:

What is a UK Spouse visa?

Is it easy to bring your spouse to the UK?

UK Spouse Visa Requirements

UK Spouse Visa Fee / Cost

Processing time for a UK Spouse Visa

Ways to speed up your UK spouse visa application

The success rate of spouse visa UK

Why would a UK spouse visa be refused?

How do I appeal a spouse visa refusal in the UK?

Read the detailed updated Guide on UK Spouse Visa

What is a UK Spouse visa?

A UK Spouse Visa, also known as a UK Marriage Visa, allows non-UK nationals to join their partner in the UK.

Know More: What is a UK Spouse Visa explained by The SmartMove2UK

Is it easy to bring your spouse to the UK?

According to the Home Office, 1 in 4 UK Spouse Visa applications are refused. However, there are other ways to bring your spouse to the UK:

·        UK Dependent visa

If you have a valid UK visa, you can bring your spouse, civil partner, or unmarried partner to join you in the UK.

·        Fiancé Visa

Your partner can enter the UK for up to 6 months and marry or register a civil partnership.

Interested Reading: Why settle for long-distance when you can bring your partner to the UK?

UK Spouse visa requirements

To qualify for a UK Spouse visa, you must meet the following requirements:

·        Age: You and your spouse must be at least 18 years old.

·        Relationship: You must have met each other and be legally married.

·        Income: Your UK sponsor must earn over £18,600 a year. You can use savings of over £16,000 towards proving the minimum income requirement. If you have savings of £62,500, you don't need to show evidence of minimum income.

·        Housing: You must have adequate housing provisions.

·        Money: You must have enough money to support yourselves (and any dependents) without claiming public funds.

·        English language: You need a valid UKVI IELTS score or a certificate of equivalency (ENIC).

The Specifics Explained: Qualify for a UK Spouse visa

Other requirements include: 

Provide extensive documents which show your relationship is genuine and subsisting.

Intention to live together permanently.

UK Spouse Visa Fee / Cost

In 2023, the application fee for a UK spouse visa is £1,048 if the application is submitted within the country, and £1,538 if it is submitted outside of it. 

The annual Immigration Healthcare Surcharge of £624 and the £19.20 biometric fee are additional expenses. 

Should you wish to get a decision by the end of the following working day, the super-priority service charge is £1,000.

Trending & Useful Guide: UK Spouse Visa Cost 2023

The standard processing time for a UK spouse visa is: 

Inside the UK: 6-8 weeks

Outside the UK: 3 months

However, processing times can vary depending on: 

The country where the application is submitted from

The documents provided

How you can satisfy the requirements

Processing times have recently been affected by COVID-19 and the war in Ukraine. For example, partner visa applications from outside the UK are currently taking up to 24 weeks to process. 

You can speed up the processing time by opting for the 'Priority Service'. The fee for priority processing service is £573 in addition to the visa application fee. 

UK Spouse visa processing time explained by The SmartMove2UK

Here are some ways to speed up your UK spouse visa application: 

·        Priority service

Pay £573 to get your visa processed within five working days. 

If you're applying from outside the UK, it can take up to 30 days. 

·        Super priority service

Pay £1,000 to get a decision within 24 hours. 

 There is a limit on how many people can use this service. 

·        Submit more supporting documentation

For example, you can submit proof of your partner's ILR or British Citizenship. 

·        Contact your MP

They can find out more about the delay and might be able to help speed up your application. 

·        Contact the Home Office

If there are compelling or compassionate circumstances, you can request that your application be treated as a priority. However, there are no guarantees that the Home Office will do so. 

What is the success rate of a spouse visa UK?

The UK spouse visa success rate for the year ending March 2021 was 86.88%. The refusal rate was 12.69%. 

The success rate for UK spouse visas in 2019 was 79.78%. The refusal rate was 19.66%. 

The Home Office doesn't publish UK spouse visa appeal success rates. 

However, general estimates indicate a success rate of around 35-50%. 

Why would a UK spouse visa be refused?

A UK spouse visa can be refused for several reasons, including: 

Financial requirements: Not meeting the minimum income requirements of £18,600 per year or savings of £62,500

Relationship evidence: Not providing enough evidence to prove the genuineness of your relationship

English language requirements: Not meeting the English language requirement

Application errors: Making a mistake on the application form or using the wrong form

Immigration status: Issues with the UK sponsor's immigration status

Convictions: Not disclosing past convictions

Appealing the decision: Appealing the decision

Home Office: 1 in 5 UK Spouse Visa Applications Refused Every Year

Other reasons for refusal include: 

Incorrect organization of documents

Applying for the wrong type of visa

Ineligibility for the visa

Not providing enough documents or evidence to prove you meet the requirements

Immigration officials believe your marriage is not genuine or subsisting

The notice of refusal will specify the reason for rejection. 

Top 3: UK Spouse Visa Refusal Reasons and how to avoid them

How do I appeal a spouse visa refusal in the UK?

To appeal a UK spouse visa refusal, you can: 

Complete an appeal form

Submit the appeal form within 14 or 28 days of receiving your decision letter

If your appeal is refused, you can challenge the decision by the way of Judicial Review (JR)

You can only appeal to the tribunal if you have the legal right to appeal. Your decision letter will usually tell you if you can apply for an administrative review and if you do not have the right to appeal. 

The appeal process may take between 6 and 12 months.

Guide: What to do next if your UK Spouse visa is refused?

Read the detailed updated Guide on UK Spouse Visa

If you would like to confirm your eligibility for a UK spouse Visa or have had a UK Spouse Visa refused, you can read detailed information here regarding the same or contact our UK Spouse visa Specialist.

[adracat]

Esoteric and Divine Composite: Prospera

It's time for everyone's favorite gaslighting mommy. As with her daughter and Miorine, I see a number of interesting inspirations and homages for her character. They range from the esoteric Magician from tarot to divine figures, Mimir, Loki, Hades, and Hecate

Magician

I've already covered this parallel in my As Above So Below post. But let me expand on this briefly. With her manipulation and intentional twisting of communication, you can see how she embodies the card itself. It's compouded by Suletta telling us multiple times; Prospera is a magician as her namesake is in The Tempest. But this magician is a hermetic scholar, and so is Prospera.

The Schwarzette's design, a gundam she's overseen the development of is coded with Baphomet imagery, is proof of this. As Above So Below. And just like any good hermetic alchemist, she pursues eternal life in the form of QZ. The Philosopher's stone or Panacea. She helped create a miracle already in the form of Homuculi, heavily hinted at being aided by Notrette.

But her time as the Red King is done, the crown given to her daughter, and with the absence of her White Queen another miracle is impossible. All of this is symbolized with her hair and face. Her sun has burned out and all that is left is decay.

There's another magician beside Prospero she harks to. Merlin, the one whose contest grants Arthur his first sword. Like Merlin, she gives Suletta a sword, lampshaded in Cradle Planet. And as with him, she is eventually 'imprisoned' by a Lady of the Lake (Miorine, who bestows Suletta Calibarn) after imparting wisdom. She's lucky Mio entrapped her as an in-law and not in a tree like Merlin.

Mimir and Loki

If Mio is Odin then it's Prospera who plays the wisdom granting Mimir. As with Odin, Mio is forced to make a painful sacrifice in order to drink from Mimir's well and gain insight. Take note of Prospera's visor, since it's the first in a series of subtle mythological references. Mimir is eventually beheaded and kept at Odin's side as an embalmed head that provides counsel.

Loki isn't hard to extrapolate even if you have a passing knowledge of the trickster. It's interesting to note both Odin and Loki are associated with different aspects of Hermes/Mercury. And since GWitch's Hel and Fenrir are her children, she must be Loki. It is Prospera who begins the events of gwitch ragnarok by sending Suletta, as Baldr Guel's mistletoe and slayer of the Nemean Lion, to Asticassia.

But why the father and not the mother? Because Angrboda is a giant who isn't very relevant in norse other than simply being the mother of monsters. What is intriguing is that you can make a valid comparison for Earthians=Giants in norse myth. Both are contesting against the Aesir/Spacians. So who is an Earthian geneticist who could have uploaded Eri's biometric code and crafted replichildren? Anesidora/Notrette is Prospera's Angrboda. It's wild how they hint at Notrette being Prospera's counterpart in multiple ways. Makes you wonder, is there more to be uncovered? She is explicitly Anesidora, 3 chthonic goddesses who deal in hidden knowledge.

Hecate and Hades

I mentioned it briefly in the Mio analysis, but it goes deeper than simply stealing Persephone and defiling her spirit. Like Hades, she has a Cerberus (Eri) and a helmet that aids her to speak with the dead.

It might not turn her invisible, but she always seems to slip away until its ripped from her head by a bullet.

Another divine figure who I think Prospera is meant to invoke is Hecate. She is associated with witchcraft, the moon, keys, dogs, and thresholds. Specifically the threshold between the living and the dead. It's easy to relate the dog coded Suletta and QZ as the underworld.

It was explicitly mentioned when Suletta is called a Key, and we know she's the twelfth, correlating to the philosopher's stone. It simultaneously relates back to esoteric and mythology.

Hecate is known to wear a mask and to be decaying. When you dig deep, this may be the most on the nose homage honestly. Goddess of witches indeed. Hecate is also inexorably linked to the Eleusinian mysteries along with Demeter and Persephone. The three are often interpreted to be the phases of womanhood: maiden, mother, crone. Considering Hecate's triplicity and the three prominent eyes on Prospera's mask, her design is very interesting. An additional design note, red mullets are Hecate's sacred fish. Prospera/Elnora's hair imo, is a visual pun.

**Tangentially related to the red king point, Helios god of the sun is referred to as Hecate's spear in a Sophocles play. It is a spear, Gungnir, that Odin pierces himself with when hanging in sacrifice. (And Mio throwing herself into Prospera's clutches for her red king could be interpreted as this.) Could be a coincidence, but it works too well I think!

[travelmd]

A Detailed Guide to the France Visa Application Process

France, with its rich history, vibrant culture, and stunning landscapes, beckons travelers, students, professionals, and families from around the globe. However, before embarking on your French journey, it's essential to navigate the intricacies of the visa application process. This comprehensive guide aims to unravel the complexities, offering valuable insights and practical advice to facilitate a smooth and successful visa application experience.

Deciphering Visa Categories:

Understanding the array of visa categories is the first step toward a successful application. France offers various visa types tailored to different purposes, including:

Short-stay Visa (Schengen Visa): Designed for stays of up to 90 days within a 180-day period for tourism, business, or visiting family and friends.

Long-stay Visa: Intended for stays exceeding 90 days, encompassing purposes such as work, study, family reunion, or entrepreneurship.

Work Visa: Targeting individuals seeking employment opportunities in France, contingent upon job offers, skill shortages, or intra-company transfers.

Student Visa: Catering to international students pursuing academic degrees or participating in exchange programs at recognized French institutions.

Family Reunification Visa: Facilitating the reunification of family members residing in France with their non-EU/EEA relatives.

Identifying the most suitable visa category based on your intentions and eligibility is paramount to a successful application.

Preparation and Documentation:

Gathering the requisite documents is a critical aspect of the visa application process. While specific requirements may vary depending on the visa type and individual circumstances, essential documents typically include:

Valid passport with a minimum of six months' validity beyond the intended stay, accompanied by any previous passports showing travel history.

Completed visa application form, accurately filled out and signed, adhering to prescribed guidelines.

Recent passport-sized photographs meeting specifications outlined by the French consulate or embassy.

Travel itinerary, including flight reservations, accommodation details, and a comprehensive outline of planned activities.

Proof of financial means to cover expenses during the stay, such as bank statements, sponsorship letters, or scholarship awards.

Health insurance coverage valid in France, meeting minimum requirements for medical expenses and repatriation.

Additional documents specific to the visa category, such as employment contracts, acceptance letters from educational institutions, or marriage certificates for family reunification.

It's advisable to compile all necessary documents well in advance and ensure they are up-to-date and accurate to avoid delays or complications during the application process.

Visa Application Process:

Navigating the France visa application process entails several steps, each requiring attention to detail and adherence to guidelines:

Schedule an appointment: Depending on the jurisdiction, applicants may need to schedule an appointment at the nearest French consulate, embassy, or visa application center.

Biometric data submission: Some visa categories necessitate the provision of biometric data, including fingerprints and photographs, at a designated appointment.

Submit application and pay fees: Present the completed application form and supporting documents at the designated visa application center or consulate, paying the requisite visa fees.

Await processing: Allow sufficient time for visa processing, which can vary depending on the visa category, jurisdiction, and time of year.

Collect your visa: Once the application is processed, collect your passport with the visa affixed inside, ensuring all details are accurate before departure.

It's essential to monitor the progress of your application and promptly respond to any requests for additional information or clarification from the consulate or visa processing center.

Tips for Success:

Enhance your chances of a successful France visa application by following these tips:

Plan ahead: Initiate the visa application process well in advance of your intended travel dates to account for processing times and unforeseen delays.

Thoroughly review requirements: Familiarize yourself with the specific requirements for your chosen visa category and ensure all documents are complete and compliant.

Maintain transparency: Provide truthful and accurate information in your application and during any interviews or interactions with visa authorities.

Seek assistance if needed: Don't hesitate to seek guidance from visa consultants, immigration lawyers, or relevant authorities if you encounter difficulties or uncertainties during the application process.

Stay organized: Keep track of important dates, appointments, and communications related to your visa application to ensure a smooth and streamlined process.

Navigating the France visa application process can be a complex yet rewarding endeavor, unlocking a world of opportunities for travel, study, work, and reunification. By understanding the visa categories, diligently preparing required documents, and adhering to application procedures, you can embark on your French journey with confidence and anticipation. Remember, meticulous planning, attention to detail, and proactive communication are the keys to a successful France visa application experience. Bon voyage!