#that’s like a sixth of my dough

[kissagii]

making gingerbread portraits lol

kirishima’s hair made me want to choose violence

[ukulelegodparent]

It's always a wonderful experience to see recipes from another country that are also a cultural dish where you're from BC it has you feeling really anything on the spectrum from 'oh just like we do it here' to 'hm interesting take might try that' to 'excuse me you do WHAT now????' to 'Heathens! Heretics! How dare they! Tasteless folk!!!!' and of course there's also the occasional 'wait that is GENIUS! That sounds like it could make a dish I had to be FORCED to eat as a child edible or even enjoyable!!' and of course also 'why does your culture often have such good takes on food yet you guys also eat this shit that barely qualifies as dog food?'

[dinogoofymutated]

Hello, I love your writing!! And the Kurt taking care of an overworked lover really melted my heart 🫠💕 could I ask for a similar prompt with Logan? He's my #1 X Men man. If this ptompt is too specific no worries, feel free to make it work within your own parameters- but I live with chronic pain/illness, so maybe it could be someone with a condition that flairing up and they refuse to rest/ask for help, making things worse, and Logan finally steps in, maybe scoops them up in his big arms and lovingly forces them to take a break? Logan has such a big protective heart under all his gruffness, and I think we need to see more of it in the Fandom.

💖 Love and Bless You 💖

Wolverine/GN!Reader UGH I love this request!! I hope it's okay that i didn't write about a specific illness, but describe a general chronic pain/mobility difficulty due to it. I need to write soft logan like this more often UGH- also, I was picturing the flirty Logan from Wolverine and the X-men here. He's infected my brain and I need more versions of him like that lol. TWS: Chronic pain/illness. flareups.

If there's one thing anyone knows about Logan, it's that's he's crazy observant, especially with that sniffer of his.

Sure me might not be able to smell when you're in pain, but I 100% thing that he just -knows- when something is off. It's like a sixth sense. Like you move in a particular way or eat your "fuck I hurt" food and he's on you like a goddamn bloodhound.

It doesn't matter how much you protest, or how much you fight him on it, he's not willing to budge when it comes to letting you rest- and if he can sneak in a few extra cuddles, or more time in bed with you, it's just a perk.

    Today has been a rough day since you woke up, and you knew it would most likely get worse. 

    You were having a bit of a flare-up. Well, you say a bit, in all actuality, it was an uphill battle from here. There was just something off the moment you woke up. Your joints were stiff and painful, everyday actions became a chore, and you were hurting much more than normal. But, if there was one thing about you everyone knew, it was that you were certainly stubborn. 

    You’re in the kitchen currently, resting at the table after popping a batch of cookies in the oven. Jubilee had been begging you to make her some sweet treats, and with her coming home from a rather long mission tomorrow, you decided to surprise her. Your body’s timing was… unfortunate, but there was no stopping you now. You were exhausted after making the dough, and rolling it into balls. After you had popped them in the oven you had painstakingly walked to the fridge to put the rest of the dough inside, muscles protesting each and every step. You had collapsed into the nearest chair, leaning your head back with a sigh, which is where you are now. You let your eyes drift closed as you wait for the timer to go off, relaxing into the seat.

    “Hey~” You jump at the sound of the voice, opening your eyes to see a smirking Logan, his arms draped across the back of your chair. You let out a huff, smiling at him. 

    “Hi Logan.” You say sweetly. One of his hands reaches down to run through your hair, and you feel like a cat as you eagerly lean into the touch.

    “How are you feeling?” He asks. You hum, grimacing at the question.

    “Fine?” You respond, an unsure tilt in your voice. Logan raises an eyebrow at you.

    “Don't bullshit me, sweetheart. I know somethings off.” Logan rumbles. You make a face, sitting up from the chair as normally as you can as the timer for the cookies goes off.

    “It's just a minor flare-up. It's fine, I'm fine. I have to finish baking these cookies for tomorrow anyway, so I don't really have a choice.” You say. If he sees the way you stumble a little, he doesn’t comment on it. Logan watches as you take a moment before you open the oven, resting against the counter. You realize that you may have gotten up from the chair just a little too fast as stars spot your eyes. After a minute of rest, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes on you, you go for it. You barely crack the oven door open before Logan grabs you by the waist.

    “Alright, that's enough.” He says. You yelp as Logan drags you away from the oven. He takes the cookies out quickly before he turns around and immediately throws you over his shoulder. Your yelp is more of a screech this time.

    “Logan! Let me go- what are you doing?!” 

    “I'm not gonna stand back and watch you do this to yourself. I'm taking you to bed.” Logan huffs. He’s already walking you out of the kitchen and into the other parts of the mansion as you hit your palms against his back, trying to convince him to put you down.

    “But- I- the cookies!” You cry out. Logan has already gotten to your door opening it as he carries you inside.

    “I got it. Now just- relax.” He says, plopping you down on the bed. The action has you a little dizzy, and Logan leans in to kiss you on the forehead before he tucks you under the covers. 

    “I'm going to go get you some water and vitamins. Stay. Here.” You don’t have time to protest before he’s gone, having shut the door behind him. You want to get up and chase after him, tell him that you don’t need any special treatment and that you were fine on your own, but you’re not sure you can really run right now- and the comfort and warmth of your bed and covers are calling you like a goddamn siren song. 

    You drift in and out of consciousness in bed until Logan is back, with a glass of water and vitamins as promised. He hands you a flintstone gummy as he sits on the bed, and you can’t help but snicker. Logan rolls his eyes, still having delivered vitamins as promised.

    “What did you do about the cookies?” You ask as Logan peels back the covers to lie in the bed with you. He pulls you close as he settles in, rubbing his hands soothingly across the parts of you he knows tend to ache the most. 

    “I put a new batch in the oven. I’ll smell them when they’re ready.” He says. You roll your eyes at him, resting your head against his chest. 

    “Thank you, you know. Not just for the cookies, but… for caring.” You whisper. He huffs a laugh, leaning down to kiss you on the lips this time.

    “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. Just rest.”

[starwrighter]

A prompt because I’ve got writers block.

War Zone amity park lets go!

So you know how terrifying Danny’s attempts at duplication are? Like sprouting tiny heads and fusing his eyes together like some kind of cyclops. Danny morphs himself like play dough and that’s fucking terrifying! Lets intensify that.

Danny with way too much to do starts sending out duplicates while he fights the torrent of ghosts spilling from the portal. These duplicates are as perfect as perfect can be, until they aren’t. The more stressed out Danny gets the more warped the duplicates he sends out become. Some have simple defects like a sixth finger while others have eye sockets filled with teeth and hearts beating in their mouths.

The more he makes the worse it gets. Thin gangly duplicates roam around with empty chest cavities open for the world. Flesh sloughs of their faces to reveal their skull holds all their organs. Limbs sprout wildly from every inch of skin. Eyes form on their hands chest, legs, and feet blinking back at them red and tear filled.

They hardly remember the task they’ve sent out for. Which isn’t good because duplicates are an extension of Danny. (My boy is not doing too well) So these duplicates are just scrambling on instinct. One’s trying to go to school but is getting increasingly frustrated because the school is leveled and ‘how is he supposed to stop hurting if he can’t get his task done?’ One without arms is trying to clean up his house that’s been abandoned for weeks now. Other’s are desperately searching rubble for survivors.

The G.I.W is still trying to kill him despite the ghost they pissed off killing them by the dozens. People are still trying to blame Danny for everything. His parents are dead, his friends and Jazz are nowhere to be seen, the ghosts just won’t stop coming and Vlad’s hiding.

Everything comes to a head when their calls to the justice league finally go through.

(I’ve got no clue where this will go next but I’m imagining Superman helping this vaguely child shaped creature with no arms clean it’s room. It looks at superman like 🥺 but with fifty eyes)

[lousypotatoes]

Song Recommendation:

Singin' In The Rain - Gene Kelly

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Playlist

90 years ago...

Soft jazz music played in the dimly lit club. People all around were dancing, drinking, and laughing. 

At the bar, stood a woman, taking a long drag off her cigarette, waiting for her date. She wore a green flapper dress, white satin gloves, and had the most beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes.

"This gent better hurry up," she muttered, taking another drag off her cigarette. 

"Can I get you anything, miss?" the bartender asked. 

"Just a little martini please," you said, keeping your eyes on the door.

"Right away, miss,"

As the bartender made her martini, she looked around the club, seeing people dance and having her fun with their friends. 

'I wish I had people like that,' she thought. 

"Here's your martini miss," the bartender said, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

"Thank you sir," she said, pulling out some dollar bills out of her purse and placing them on the counter. 

"Apologies for the delay, Gloria," said a voice. She turned her head and saw her date walking towards her. "I hope it didn't cause you any inconvenience, darling."

"It weren't no bother, Edward," she said, a fake smile on her face. "I already ordered from the speakeasy, hope you don't mind." 

"I don't mind one bit, sweetheart," Edward said, looking her up and down. "You're looking mighty fine this evening," 

Her eye twitched. She hated men like this. "Why thank you," she said. "It took me quite a while to get all dolled up like this."

"It surely was worth the effort," he said, licking his lips. "Care for another round, Gloria?"

"No thank you," she said chuckling. "I haven't even polished off my first one yet,"

"Suit yourself, darling," he said. "Hey barkeep, mind pourin' me some whiskey?"

"Care to dance?" Edward slurred, finishing his sixth glass of whiskey. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I promise I won't bite, doll," 

She bit the inside of her cheek. She really hated having to deal with people like this, but it was her job, and she couldn't turn the money it offered. 

"Ain't no harm in it, I suppose," she said, putting down her glass. "I'm a little bit rusty when it comes to dancin'." 

"No worries sugar. As long as I'm tanglin' with you, I'm alright," Edward said, grabbing her arm. "Say, I could show you a thing or two," he said suggestively. 

She had to hold back a laugh. Men like this really were simple creatures. "If you play your cards right, who knows what might unfold," she said, winking at him. 

This caused Edward to smirk. "Alright then, let's see what the night brings us, shall we?" 

"We shall,"

After two hours of dancing, talking, and drinking, all that she learned about Edward was that he was self absorbed asshole. He never asked her about herself, instead just talking about how much sex he'd had. 

"The dough better be worth puttin' up with this jerk," she muttered, as they swayed on the dancefloor, their bodies pressed up against each other. 

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"I reckon it's high time we go back to your place," she got on her tip toes and whispered in his ear seductively. "Don't ya think, Ed?"

"It's about time you asked, darling," he said, squeezing her ass. "You'd be downright stunning with all those threads off."

"Sounds like a plan," she said, removing herself from his grip. "Let's blow this joint,"

"Oh Ed," you panted, your back up against the alley wall. "Shouldn't we wait till we get to your pad?"

"I've been waitin' all night already," he growled, nipping at your neck. "Ain't waiting no more."

"That's what I was hopin' for," she said. 

"What's that supposed to mean, doll?" he said, still nipping at your neck. 

BANG!

With a scream of pain, Edward slumped onto her, but she just pushed him off her and onto the ground. 

"Men like you, they turn my stomach, see," she said, polishing off her gun with her dress. "Ain't that a hoot? You really thought I was into you." 

Edward was writhing in pain. He tried to get up, but she just kicked him back down. 

"Who-" he sputtered, blood coming out of his mouth. "Who- Who the hell are you?" 

"Well, I'm not Gloria, that's for certain," she smirked, putting her finger back on the trigger. "I'd sure love to stick around I chat, but unfortunately, I cannot. 

She aimed the gun at his head. "It's been a real pleasure knowin' ya, Edward."

"Wait! Please don't sho-"

BANG!

Edward's head lolled to the side, his eyes lifeless. 

"Serves ya right, you filthy pervert," she said, putting her gun back into the strap under her dress. 

She moved Edwards body further down the alley. Nobody would find him till morning. 

"Damn! He got blood all over my new shoes," she said, walking out of the alley. "Guess I'll have to get them cleaned proper."

The walk home was uneventful, besides men hitting on her. She felt very calm and at peace.

Everybody in town knew her as the sweetheart who owned the most popular flower shop in New Orleans. "Oh, if only they knew," she said to herself, giggling as she opened the door to the 'Employees Only' room to her flower shop. 

Stepping inside, she heard the barking of her Yorkie. "Honey!" she exclaimed, scooping up the dog in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much, my love!"

She put her back down on the couch and went over and turned on the radio. "We'll go home as soon as finish some work up." she said to the snoring dog, as she carefully took out her blue contact lenses, revealing E/C eyes. 

The phone started to ring, walking over to answer it, she took off her blonde wig and set it on her big, oak desk. 

"This is Y/N, to whom am I speakin' to?" she asked, ruffling her fingers through her H/C hair. 

"This is Winston," a deep voice said. "Did you off him?" 

"Well that all hinges on you, Mr. Winston," she said, sitting down. "You got the dough?"

"Yeah, I got the dough,"

"How much?"

"One thousand,"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Let's rendezvous at Broussard's at noon tomorrow. Does that work for you?"

"I suppose so yes,"

"Marvelous! Till then, Mr. Winston," she said, as she hung up the phone. 

She didn't like the song that was playing on the radio. Picking up the phone once again, she dialed the radio station number. 

"You've reached Alastor Altruist!" said the voice at the other side of the line. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speakin' to at this late hour?" 

"The names Y/N," she said into the phone. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

"What a beautiful name you have, Y/N," he said, making her smile. "The pleasure's all mine, I assure you."

"I was hopin' I could put in a request for a song?" she asked. "If it's no trouble, of course."

"Why it's no trouble at all, my dear!" he exclaimed. "What's on your mind?" 

"Singin' In The Rain by Cliff Edwards," she said, "It's a wonderful song."

"It's a real classic, ain't it?" he said. "You'll be hearin' it right after this song,"

"Thank you so much," she gushed. 

"You're quite welcome, dear," Alastor said. "Have a good night, Y/N."

"You as well, Alastor," she said, hanging up the phone. 

There was something about each other's voice that the both of them enjoyed. They both hoped they would hear it more often. 

I really wish I was in hell with him right now :(

this banner was made by the lovely @al-of-the-stars i'll be usin it for the rest of this fanfic

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[eastons-creations]

My ultimate fic recs

Made a poll and a lot of people said they would want this sooo here we are! These are the best fics I’ve read (: The og post

Top 3

1- To Be Alone With You By Shay_Fae

In the summer of their sixth year, Remus Lupin tried to kill himself.

2- Something Just Like This By shadow_prince

a fake dating modern AU where Sirius has been telling Mrs. Potter he's dating someone for 9 months and she demands his "boyfriend" comes on their family vacation. Queue: shenanigans between wolfstar and jily as they lie their asses off.

3- Text Talk By merlywhirls

Sirius is in boarding school, Remus is in hospital, and they don't know each other until Sirius texts the wrong number.

Other recs bellow break (in no order)

Wading in waist high water By colgatebluemintygel

Remus is a PhD student and hobbyist baker who finds himself adrift following his father’s death. On a whim, he enters the Great British Bake Off and is swept up in a flurry of curdled custard, shrunken souffle, and under-proved dough. Remus expects to be challenged and to embarrass himself on public television. What he doesn’t account for are the friendships he develops with the other contestants and the deep connection he forms with his teenage crush, Sirius Black: charming ex-boy band member and Bake Off host

Beneath a big blue sky by @eyra

The four-by-four heaves its way down long, twisting lanes, little more than dirt tracks scuffed into the surrounding fields and hemmed in by serpentine walls of flat, grey stone. They truly are in the middle of nowhere: the countryside rushes past, all rolling green hills and vast, endless skies, and it's odious. Sirius wants to murder James with his bare hands. Sirius and James accidentally find themselves on a Yorkshire farm during lambing season. The farmer’s son thinks that’s a bit annoying, actually.

A brief history of dragons by @eyra

It's lovely up here; all meadows dotted with wildflowers, wind-beaten tracks criss-crossing this way and that through the fields, weaving inland to the pinewoods. The sun's hot on his back as he passes ramshackle stone walls, long since crumbled to piles of ancient rubble and scree, and then the path winds downwards, still following the line of the coast until Sirius finds himself outside an old white cottage, tucked away behind the hill with a rose garden that faces out to the sea. Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons

Let’s play pretend by MsAlexWP

After James and Lily died, Sirius Black's therapist told him not to date for a year. And that's just as well. He's got a 13-month-old baby now and quite enough to deal with, thanks. But the nosy neighbors in his building keep trying to set him up and won't take no for an answer. Enter Remus Lupin, another single dad who pretends to be Sirius's boyfriend, just to get the old lady brigade off his back and nothing more. Nothing more at all.

Forever in a state of mind by orphan_account

Deaf Dance Choreographer, Remus Lupin, has a simple life. Working, taking care of his son, and running his YouTube sign channel. When he unwittingly becomes involved with Deaf Pride Activist, Fleamont Potter, he doesn't realise how much his life will change. Especially after he meets YouTube star and makeup artist, Sirius Black.

Sugar rush by Stricklymarauders

James, Sirius, Peter, and Dorcas have been best friends for years and are starting their senior year of highschool. To Sirius' dismay he doesn't have any friends in his history class, but after eventually showing up, he finds he sits next to a tall curly hair boy who takes his breath away, Remus Lupin. He decided right then and there that he must make this boy fall in love with him and recruits James to be his wingman, until James is distracted by Remus' best friend with a personality as fiery has her hair, Lily Evans.

Dating Remus lupin by Children_of_the_Shadow

Remus Lupin is a mystery to the whole school; the boy who's quiet, aloof, and cold. He also happens to be queer, which is enough to gain Sirius's interest. What Sirius never realised that dating Remus Lupin wasn't quite as easy as it looked.

Blends by rvltn909

Words got in the way sometimes, but Remus got the sense Sirius knew what he was trying to say. Another coffee shop au.

Camp Casanova by Farquad

All lonely 11 years old Remus Lupin wants is a friend. But when he arrives at Slughorn's summer camp for teenage boys his world turns upside down since he finds himself sharing a cabin with three other boys; James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. As the years pass by Remus finds himself birthing friendships, fighting bullies, but above all battling his own feelings which soon gets out of control. He struggles to keep his biggest secret, and he wonders how he could've fallen so deeply in love.

Turn on my charm by Bethanlovescoffee

Sirius Black is a YouTube phenomenon. A YouTube phenomenon who develops a crush on his video editor.

Those who commented:

@maraudersarecanon @sunflower-vol-9

[jhuzen]

Hey I just love your study habits story and I was wondering if you’ll ever make a part 2? Because god damnnnnnnn that is my shit

hypothesis testing [m.reader]

paaaart 2! of this trainwreck. i had to take my time on this because my brain cells could not for the life of them remember how people get together normally. so… this is not normal lmao. also ft. our dendro daughter because i love her so much.

𖦹 wholesome moments with nahida contrasting your moment with haitham and kissing :) slight traveler x reader if u squint at that one part.

“I think Alhaitham might be avoiding me.”

Nahida looked up from the dough she was kneading, her bright green eyes looking at you with wonder and curiosity. You stifled a laughter at the young archon (not so much in comparison to your age) — with her cheeks dusted with so much flour and bits of the dough stuck in her hair, it’s not everyday someone sees their archon in such a state.

“How do you mean?” Nahida turned her focus back to the dough, her eyebrows knitting in concentration, but it was clear that she was still all ears.

You looked down on the tofu you were cutting — the traveler had gone and dropped by some ingredients fresh from the stores back in Liyue after you and Nahida made a passing remark of wanting to try a different delicacy. Ever the charming outlander they are, they came back a few days later with a recipe and the ingredients on hand, it was only a shame that they couldn’t stay to help or eat, considering that they were currently busy with commissions as well.

You remembered offering housing them in on a stipend out of your own pocket — to rest even without having to worry about commissions and mora for a few days, but the traveler refused with a red face and ran off somewhere.

Now where were you again? Oh, yes. Alhaitham.

Jumping to conclusions, while tempting as a way to cope through unanswered queries, is not a habit slotted into your head. You were a patient man, looking through the lens of observation, testing a few hypotheses you’ve come up before finally drawing out a theory. Deductive reasoning, if you will. It’s how you worked on your research projects after all, especially despite the fact that inductive reasoning was more encouraged in your discipline sometimes.

And throughout the next few weeks, after your little study session that you conducted in Alhaitham’s home, you started seeing less and less of the man. Which, again, wasn’t that much to fuss over. You yourself placed him in a position of power where he’s not exactly allowed to have a much more leisurely schedule than he did as a scribe for an equal pay. But even then, he wasn’t this busy.

You recalled the few times on his first few days as the Acting Grand Sage — he was busy, but he always had enough time to entertain your whims and review your new research material for approval. He had enough time to spare you an hour or two to indulge his company, even more so when you would bring his preferred cup of coffee from Puspa café.

And now, it seems like every time you were planning to head to the Alhaitham’s new place of work, he’s always unavailable. And on the off chance that you catch his silhouette by the door, the moment you start walking up to him, it’s like he has a sixth sense for your presence and suddenly dissipates into nothingness.

It was… annoying. Bothersome. Troubling. It irked at your very core. It provoked something deep within you that even you have yet to figure out.

Nahida noticed your brooding silence and was kind enough to pull you back into the real world before you make the mistake of cutting your finger instead of the tofu, “Is the situation really so troublesome, [Name]?” Her kind eyes were quick to melt away the coldness that slowly gnawed at you. “Maybe it would help if you voiced it out.” She gave you an encouraging smile and truly you were certain that despite being her caretakers, it’s these moments that reverses the situation at hand.

Something you didn’t entirely mind. You appreciated Nahida’s efforts in exercising the application of the knowledge you’d graciously given her as her tutor.

“I would be remiss if I were to refuse a second opinion. Alright,” you resumed into your cutting, “It’s merely a working hypothesis, however… but it feels as though he has been making a conscious effort not to be around me recently.”

Nahida’s tiny hands cupped a dough and slowly shaped it into something that resembles a ball, “Why do you say that? He could be busy with his new responsibilities.”

“I’m not one to exclude the possibility, of course.” You scoffed a little, leaning back to squint at the recipe propped up by a mere empty sack where the crab roe was. You ought to pay the traveler back, they never said, but apparently, such an ingredient costed them quite the mora. “However, there is a different feel. He has an air of forced ignorance around my presence.”

The Dendro Archon crooned quietly at your words, thoughtful and delicate, as always, “Have you tried to confront him about this before?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

“Ah… then your hypothesis might be just right,” Nahida giggled a little as her confirmation sent a pout to your lips that you seemed to be unaware of doing. “Does it upset you?” Her query was no less than damaging, but the defensive part of your logical brain suddenly flared up. Your muscles stiffened at her question, eyebrows furrowing even deeper with a matching scowl.

“…No.”

“So it does then.”

You had half a mind to tell the Archon that she should stop reading your mind when you can barely even process your own feelings, as ironic as it sounds. But then again, she was great at observing you ever since you and her started being seen as a family unit, closer than ever, and no doubt her jabs at your mannerisms would be on point.

“Could it be that the reason this is bothering you is because… you miss his company?”

A shot in the dark, that’s all Nahida did. But the grip you had on your knife was an indication of her keen observations. And suddenly, your rumination was thrown out of the way as you pieced the puzzles together.

She was right, you missed Alhaitham. So deeply that it actually bothered you; that suddenly it evoked an emotion within you that didn’t register positivity.

“Ah. ”

Nahida’s light giggle echoed in your ear, and you finally resumed into functioning, placing the cut tofu on another bowl and turning to her, “I suppose gratitude is in order, huh?” You asked.

“Not really. It was enough for me to see you look so stunted. I never would have thought that you would be one to get stuck on your own feelings despite deciphering so much of it in your pursuit of knowledge in a human’s emotions.” Nahida laughed with light and airy amusement, “It’s very much like an adventurer that went through the highs and lows of nature, entering every domain, seeking out treasure only to completely miss it in the end.”

You resisted the urge to groan at her words. It was stupid, alright. You were stupid. Alas, it’s nothing you can fault her for. With a fond smile, you reached out to cup her face, wiping away the flour that dusted her cheeks with your thumbs, “Of course. Very much like an expert adventurer making the most amateur mistake.”

“So then, do you know what could have caused his sudden aversion?”

You blinked as your mind suddenly blanked out, “I… never really knew.”

“Wouldn’t it be a good time for the expert adventurer to go on another exploit and find the treasure this time?”

“It sure would… right after we make the food.”

The precious smile on Nahida’s face was quick to lift your mood. Quite frankly, your gratitude is endless towards Alhaitham, the traveler, and the rest for even mustering up the courage to rescue the archon. You of all people least expected that she would be the family that softened you up.

And while you were finally able to lay your feelings to a temporary rest after clawing onto the shreds of sanity (courtesy of Nahida), Alhaitham was not all the better.

What happened the moment Kaveh barged in on your study time was nothing short of embarrassing. Alhaitham barely had enough time to process what happened — well, either that or he had the memory permanently blotted out from his brain. It’s like a defense mechanism, to protect what little of his pride remained that day.

It certainly helped however, especially when Kaveh was around to tease him. The fact that he somehow magically forget what happened on that day was enough to get him by to keep a face so muted of expressions. It was the best that he can do to stay grounded in his sanity.

But even that was slowly chipping away the moment he realized just how present you are in his life. He became minutely aware of your presence more than ever, to the point that he thought that you were actively seeking him out. And well, you are. You searched for him everywhere and all he ever did was take three steps out of your peripherals and hide.

Alhaitham could never view the act of confrontation cumbersome. He treats it like an ordinary conversation, but there was a lingering smidge of satisfaction when the person he’s currently grilling with interrogation squirms under his gaze so uncomfortably. It’s especially indicative that he’s succeeded in picking the right person to corner, knowing that they will break and he will get his information not long after.

But it was different with you. A confrontation with you eluded him. It was something that he wanted to actively avoid. Alhaitham never charges into a battlefield without strategies mapped out in his mind. In every plan he conceives, there is a backup, and in every backup he’s created, births another backup for said backup. It’s ridiculous, but convenient most of the time.

However, you were a foe he’s actively aware not to engage in.

Though Alhaitham has to wonder if you were really a foe… or were you an indispensable ally. So indispensable that he can’t even afford to make a move out of fear of losing you. But his mind had to counter that logic — whatever he’s doing right now, surely it’s a way to lose you as well. By now, you’re bound to be aware of his active avoidance of you, and the thought of you realizing he wasn’t worth your while somehow left a bad aftertaste.

His hand flexed, gripping his writing tool tightly as his lips turned down into a scowl. He hated to entertain such an irksome thought, but now it presented itself as an intrusive thought of his. One that would be sure to keep him up from nights on end.

Isn’t he just lucky that you were a researcher? And if there’s something a researcher is, it’s that they’re persistent to get answers.

And isn’t he even luckier that you were already on your way up to his office, with a determined glare settled in your normally neutral gaze?

Alhaitham was all too distracted by his thoughts of you, that he didn’t even consider looking up from the myriad of migraines that manifested in a form of paperwork, completely missing that it was you who now barged inside his temporary office.

You didn’t even expect Alhaitham’s presence in the office. With all his time spent avoiding you, you already mapped out other potential locations that he could be in. But you checked the office in the off chance that he was inside. And maybe it was a blessing from the wise archon whom you just confided to, but Alhaitham was in his seat, signing away, giving approval after approval of every research sent to him as well as handling certain changes in the law of the city as per Nahida’s request.

The Acting Grand Sage never bothered inquiring the business of his unwanted visitor. All he wanted right now is to go home and rest and maybe think rationally about his feelings that were repressed for far too long. It was going nowhere and he had a dislike for things that lead nowhere and make him unproductive all the more.

One can only imagine the surprise when you slammed your hands on the table, the action echoing within this glorified space. Alhaitham looked up abruptly, only then wishing that he had been more prepared.

You came and he had no battle plan.

“What are you…”

“Why are you avoiding me?” You cut him off with little remorse, leaning further in and Alhaitham had to lean away from you, feeling overwhelmed. You didn’t even bother with the pointless small talk that you would indulge yourself in. You just went straight for his throat with no mercy and Alhaitham had no choice but to face the blade of truth.

He reconfigured and answered you with a question instead to buy time, “What makes you think that I—”

Your patience was running thin and that much could be sensed in the tension that wafted between you and him, “Don’t give me that. You’re elusive, but you’ve always given me the time of your day. And suddenly you retracted that privilege and I want to know why, lest I take you to the borders of Fontaine and have you tried in court.”

Alhaitham was dumbfounded for once. You… of all people, thought that his attention was a privilege? He couldn’t push down the feeling that welled up inside him — it was something good. And the fact that you were unhappy from such a ‘privilege’ to be revoked. Alhaitham had to restrain himself from biting on his lip, settling for a quick jaw clench to relieve the tension you suddenly placed on him with your incredibly direct words.

“Tell me,” you urged and swatted the quill away from his hand, shucking away the research paper that he was currently. And true to your eccentric fashion of doing things, you climbed over the pristine wooden desk just to get to him. You really weren’t risking a chance of him sliding out if you take a moment to go around that humongous desk.

Alhaitham had to keep himself still and maintain a strong will as your shoes hit the ground, finally leaving him no room for escape as you caged him in the seat — hands on either of his thighs, squeezing them so tightly.

“Talk and I’ll replace your position as this nation’s Grand Sage.” You bribed and he had to wonder if you were only dangling the bait in front of him, or were you desperate enough to offer and act on it.

“Why do you… even want to know…?” Since when did Alhaitham feel so breathless?

“I’ve been deprived of something I’m looking for, ‘Haitham. It took me just a word from the wise to realize how much I’ve missed your attention,” were you really planning to murder him right then and there? Your words are so cutthroat and merciless that Alhaitham was almost gasping for air.

Even from the comfort of his chair, he was unable to retreat and reconfigure strategies like he intended. He was melting from your gaze, like a candle burning through its fiery wick that was you. At this point, there was even no denying that you wanted answers. And Alhaitham wished he could give them, but to do so would put him in a path where there is a point of no return; a roadblock he can never come back from; a decisive factor that could dictate whatever kind of friendship he has with you.

And there is nothing worrisome with exercising caution as often times he himself would rather lay back down and let all the pawns do their work for him, only letting him reap the seeds he had sown through the tools that he has. But you… you were no pawn, you were a player in this game and he hated it.

You exhaled sharply through your nose — a telltale sign of your resignation. Oh how foolish Alhaitham was to think that you were letting him off just like that.

“…I’m no mind reader so I can’t possibly guess what’s going on with that head of yours,” you said and Alhaitham agreed. “And it’s clear that there’s no drawing out that answer out of you.” He would’ve nodded if he wasn’t too overwhelmed with you.

And suddenly a dangerous glint appeared in your eyes, “Sometimes I forget I’m capable of assessing people’s emotions.” A wry laugh escaped from your lips and Alhaitham was back to keeping his guard up as best as he could. “I hope you’ve read my papers about the physical manifestations of one’s psychological state, Acting Grand Sage, because I’m about to give you a demonstration.”

Regrets and Alhaitham don’t often cross paths in his life. Every action of his is carefully calculated and is conducted with his best interest in mind. And most of the time, everything turns out in his favor. He’s smart and strong (despite his dubious claims of being a feeble scholar, whatever that meant). But at this very moment, he had no choice but to face a mistake of his — that he and his pride refused to tell you that you occupy his mind at a copious amount, unable to sleep without even seeing you, going even worse when you did.

He didn’t tell you that your presence affects him so. That there’s something with the way your headstrong approach contrasted his roundabout and cunning styles, immediately uprooting the millions of plans he’s made with just one word from you.

All of that was all he could think of to keep him sane from this ordeal. But no, it wasn’t enough to numb his senses.

Not enough to block out the feeling of your fingertips lingering on the skin of his bicep, palpating his muscles with little regard to his apparent psychological being. You said you were only assessing him, but right now, all he ever wanted was to go and bury himself to save some skin.

“Tension on muscles — usually indicative of strong emotions… often unease… or…” your voice was quiet, but Alhaitham figured it only lessened from how all he could ever hear is the blood rushing in his ears. “Are you uncomfortable, ‘Haitham? Or are you excited?”

The jaw clench from the man was all you needed to know, “Hm. The latter.” You concluded and Alhaitham almost shot up from his seat, ready to protest but couldn’t even find the energy to do so. He was far into deep. And at the very least, he can just prepare himself from the tragedy that he created.

Easier said than done.

Especially with the way your hand slowly traveled to his chest, your touch shielded by his thin and tight shirt that hugged his figure. You felt your way around and a wail almost spilled out of his mouth, much to his indignation. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if you were chiding him from holding back on you — or was it just his imagination?

“Accelerated heartbeat, rather strong too.”

Alhaitham may not always be right in deciphering you, but he knows that look of yours. That look that you make when you’ve pieced everything together even with what little clues you have in your arsenal.

Before you can even speak, Alhaitham already averted his gaze, the back of his hand shielding his mouth as the final clue made itself known — the heat in his ears spreading to his cheeks, coloring them in a rather endearing bright shade of red.

“…You’re insufferable,” was heard from the Acting Grand Sage, muffled from his hand.

“Am I? When you’re the one who made me go through the assessment? You’re far more troublesome, Alhaitham.” Your hand left his bicep, opting to remove his hand away from his mouth, and yet your oh so devious hand either forget its place as it never left the plush mounds on his chest. “Are you ready to hear your results?”

With a half-hearted glare sent your way, Alhaitham didn’t even bother to stop you.

Didn’t even move when you leaned so close, breath ghosting over his lips, “Your uncertainty in our interactions, the way you always seem to give me enough time of your day yet avoid me at all cost. The idiotic push and pull that you do. It’s a way to cope, isn’t it? A cope from your attraction.” He had to suck in a sharp breath as the final words left your lips.

“You like me, Alhaitham.”

With one last bout of confidence, Alhaitham scoffed, “Aren’t you confident today?”

You grinned, “Confident enough to reciprocate your attraction too, as it seems.”

That quickly threw him off the loop, his lips quivering as he looked at you in pure, unadulterated surprise — but even he was unable to recuperate from the initial shock as you quickly pressed your lips against him, swallowing whatever possible refutation he could make.

His hands flew to your arms this time, clutching tightly as his mind frantically scrambled to kiss back, only to realize that he barely has any experience in the first place. And it was like you were even painfully aware of this fact as you took on the lead, letting him follow you through the movement of your lips. His breathing ran ragged and perhaps it was his slowly depleting oxygen, but he soldiered on even with his labored breaths, wanting to get a taste more of you.

Far too addicting, that’s what you were. You sent him into overdrive as you licked his lips so sensually, leaving him weak in his knees and on the brink of collapse, but you held him there, hiking him up and letting him lean onto you as you vigorously attacked his lips, biting and nipping so mercilessly, glee injecting itself into your bloodstream like a drug as you felt him squirm under your touch.

An uncharacteristic squeal was emitted from Alhaitham as your stubborn hand on his chest gave a gentle squeeze, almost knocking the little wind left out of his lungs. You finally granted him mercy as you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your lips with his as the one piece of evidence that you messed him up in such a way.

Your thumb swiped over Alhaitham’s wet lips, finding it strangely endearing to him so pliant, “You’ve never kissed anyone before. That’s strangely adorable.”

He scoffed, “Like you have.”

“Oh? You don’t know what kind of research methods I’ve done behind the scenes, Acting Grand Sage. You’ve no idea how many men and women I’ve kissed for the sake of research.

Alhaitham frowned. If you were provoking him, then you sure did prove yourself to be far more successful than you thought. Something about the thought of you mingling with others left a sense of dread within Alhaitham and he could not stomach it. He took your coat by the hand and yanked you down, “I’m willing to strike those words from the record if you quit these methods.”

“Bribing the researcher now? That’s rich.” You leaned back in, and gave his nose a peck. “Though I don’t particularly mind. I like you anyway.”

He refused to lose to the likes of you and yet here you are already staking your claim over him with a confident smile, he huffed, “Make it worth my while then.”

You closed the gap between your lips with a hum.

“I certainly will.”

“Hey, Alhaitham you jerk! I need to—!”

For the second time, Kaveh’s inappropriate timing had struck, entering the office as the lift arrived at the very top. He bustled in with a fuming look, only to stop dead in his tracks at such a scandalous sight. And this time, it wasn’t even remotely indicative in nature like the last. Here was his stoic roommate, legs spread wide with you in between them, lips barely leaving each other as you both turned to him.

Kaveh can only hope that this is the last time he catches you two alone in a room… lest he finds an even more unflattering scene on the third time.

Because in this case, the third time is most definitely not the charm.

[lunafoster]

Intrusive thoughts

AN: yes, another one. Again, I’m really sorry but I hope you guys enjoy.

AN2: I really should be studying for my finals but I keep procrastinating. Somebody send help, please.

Warnings: none, honestly, just fluff. I’m gonna say maybe bad English, I’m trying.

Words: 1500+

Bojan Cvjetićanin x fem!reader

BOJAN’S GIRLFRIEND LETTING HER INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS WIN (mostly about Bojan) FOR 3 MINUTES AND 12 SECONDS STRAIGHT

*first clip*

The singer was sitting down in front of the camera next to Kris, talking while filming one of their vlogs, when the girl appeared, sitting down by his side.

He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, as it was warm and he didn’t want to be sweating. You could see the girl staring at his arms, though; it looked like she had just woke up from a nap. Bojan kept talking.

“Ang.” She bit his shoulder.

He didn’t even react, just kept having his conversation with Kris. The latter looked at her and then at his bandmate, mouth agape in shock.

“What is going on?”

*second clip*

Bojan and his girlfriend were being interviewed for the fans, as they wanted to know how their relationship started and how it was going since then.

“Who takes more time to get ready?”

“It’s him! He does!” She said, pointing at him and smirking.

“That’s not- alright maybe it is true,” he gave in, nodding his head and awkwardly smiling, “but it’s mostly because my hair takes a lot of time to be tamed, honestly.”

As if it had a mind of its own, a strand of his hair fell on his face, but he kept making excuses as to why he was the one who spent more time in the bathroom when they had to go out.

The girl kept staring at it, exchanging looks between the camera, the interviewer and her boyfriend. She continued being laser focused on the lock of hair that was slightly covering his left eye.

With one last glance at the camera and the interviewer, she extender her arm and carefully removed the piece of hair, pulling it to a better position so it wouldn’t be on his face.

He looked at her. “Thank you, love.”

She smiled and mused his hair up, laughing loudly. He sighed with a ‘done’ look on his face.

*third clip*

The Joker Out guys were talking during an interview, having sweets to munch on in between questions and topics.

In that moment, Jure was holding part of a KitKat in his hand, talking passionately about ‘Demoni’ and how they had come up with the idea of the music video.

The girl was watching them behind the camera, having a good time making faces at the boys during serious moments so they would crack a smile when they shouldn’t.

However, right in that moment, she was craving chocolate really badly. And that’s when she noticed the KitKat in Jure’s hand.

She quietly approached them, went into view for the camera just behind the boys and snatched the chocolate out of the blond’s hand.

“Aha!” She shouted with an evil laugh, munching on the KitKat and leaving the frame.

Everyone just looked at each other for a few seconds and bursted out laughing. All except for Jure, who tried keeping a pout on his lips while fake sobbing.

“My KitKat!”

*fourth clip*

“This is another video in the series of ‘baking with Jan’! Where I get stressed and he looks like he’s high!”

“What?!”

“What? It rhymes.”

*fifth clip*

Nace was explaining a story about them in the beach, playing with a giant yoga ball.

“So I tried to take it back to the sand but the ball was just too big…” everyone was chuckling, remembering how he had been chasing the ball around in the water.

“That’s what she said,” she whispered while giggling.

“Hey!” Nace pushed her shoulder away from him, “Stop it!”

*sixth clip*

The camera was angled so you could see both the girl, preparing the oven, and Jan, mixing the cookie dough on a bowl.

“Make sure it’s well mixed,” she told him, getting up from her crouched position.

“I know what I’m doing,” he replied, glancing at her briefly.

Jan went to grab the cookie cutters when he deemed it was well mixed enough, making the mistake of leaving the dough alone.

She instantly scooped some of it onto her finger and spread it on his face right when he turned around.

The video cuts and the camera focuses again on the two throwing the mixture at each other, the bowl now empty and cookie dough all over them.

The video cuts again and it comes back to her licking dough from her hand, taking from her face and eating it happily.

“You are disgusting,” Jan let’s out with a breathy laugh, distaste in his face.

“You are definitely not!” She goes towards him with grabby hands, “let me lick it off you, too!”

“No!” He moves away, going off camera.

*seventh clip*

Kris was in the background of Nace and Jure talking in front of the camera in one of their vlogs, mindlessly strumming his guitar.

Bojan and his girlfriend appeared from the right, moving towards the younger with the idea of sitting next to him.

They sat down but you could see the girl watching as Kris played with a fond look in her face and a soft smile.

She took Kris’ hand and, after making sure he left his guitar so it wouldn’t fall, dragged him towards the camera.

“Everyone this is my son,” she stated, making the guys look at her weirdly and Bojan laugh loudly, “if anything happened to him I would kill everyone and then myself.”

“What are you on?” Jan suddenly spoke up from somewhere in the room, not visible to the camera.

“He’s a child, just look at him.” She grabs his face with both hands and smushes his cheeks together, Kris chuckling and trying to pull away, unsuccessfully. “Isn’t he just so cute? I wanna put him in my pocket but he’s really tall and I can’t,” she added with a devastated look, pressing her hand to her chest and feigning being hurt.

“You got yourself a special one, man,” Nace said towards Bojan, who was still laughing obnoxiously.

He stood up and went towards his girlfriend and Kris, putting his arm around his shoulder and leaning on the taller boy.

“I will go for the adoption papers,” he said with a serious face, turning to her and breaking into a smile.

“They’re both coo-coo,” Jure says to the camera, making circle shapes with his finger near his head.

*eighth clip*

Bojan is talking to the camera while in the behind-the-scenes of their latest music video, wearing a big coat, making it clear that it’s really cold outside.

His girlfriend walks into view, with another huge coat, a woolly hat and gloves.

She suddenly squishes him really close to her in a hug, making it possible to hear the air leaving his lungs.

“What is going on?” He asks, strained and confused at the sudden affection, forgetting about the camera.

“You just look so squishable it’s unfair!” She answers, hugging him even tighter if possible.

*ninth clip*

Bojan and Jan are near the swimming pool, but fully clothed, talking about their next tour to his phone, as the comments can be seen going up from the bottom left of the screen.

“Can you get me a glass of water?” Bojan asks his girlfriend, not wanting to stop his conversation with Jan.

She leaves the frame of the camera and the conversation goes on, slowing to a stop when she comes back staring at Bojan.

“What?”

He goes to take the glass from her but she’s faster, moving it over his head and pouring its contents all over him, making him open his mouth in shock.

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, covering her own mouth with her hand.

He stands up and Jan takes his phone, pointing the camera towards them, sensing that something funny is going to happen.

He’s right, of course, Bojan picks her up by her waist and throws himself (with her) in the swimming pool, effectively drenching them both.

“Bojan!” She shouts, both of them laughing loudly and Jan’s chuckling being heard from behind the camera.

*tenth clip*

They’re in the van while Bojan and his girlfriend are answering questions from fans in an Instagram live.

“What do you guys call each other?” She reads, immediately following it up with, “I call him daddy.”

“No, she does not,” he shakes his head profusely, moving towards the camera.

“I would call him daddy if he let me,” she corrects herself, getting closer to the camera to read the comments.

“Stop,” he laughs as he gently pushes her smirking head away.

“Someone said it’s a good nickname!”

“That was me,” says Jure, moving so he can be seen on the screen.

She pouts and looks at Bojan.

“What do I usually call you?”

“I call her love, sweetheart; and she…,” he trails off and turns to her, “I don’t know, what do you like calling me?”

“I know!” She exclaims happily, “waffles, cupcake, pie, pumpkin,… yes.” She nods to herself.

“That’s definitely not it,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow at her, “why are all of them high-calorie foods, anyway?”

“What? Do you want me to call you my little celery stick or something?”

Somebody laughs in the background at that.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t sugarplum,” she smirks again, watching as he’s trying to stop himself from laughing.

“You’re right, I don’t honey bun.”

All of them burst into a loud, chaotic laugh.

*end of the video*

[lulu-recs]

never have I ever written a love letter by wannnabesuper

during a drinking game, remus lets slip that he's written a love letter. sirius (and an increasingly large group of friends) won't rest until they get to the bottom of this!

confessional spaces by thatfilmgraduate

sirius black is trapped in an enclosed space with his best friend and fellow marauder, remus lupin, and some interesting truths come to light.

or: sirius black asks a lot of questions and remus lupin is a moody fucker.

the light that blinds my eyes by aryastark_valarmorghulis

sirius is in love. remus is too, he just doesn't know it yet.

in which sirius is demi and pines a lot, remus is oblivious, and they should move together as soon as possible.

possibly a date by anonymous

basically sirius asks remus to dinner, but remus doesn't realize it's a date.

it's me or the dog by ruarcher (coriesocks)

sirius didn’t realise how much he relied upon his best friend (and took him for granted) until he was replaced. with a dog.

come in from the cold by goodboylupin (somebetterwords)

the first Hogsmeade weekend of sixth year. alternatively: in which sirius frets and works to keep remus warm, james argues it’s not that cold, remus wishes the cold brought something more, and peter just wishes everyone would get their heads out of their asses.

solntse by lumosinlove

sirius, a young russian billionaire hires remus, who is working part time as a call boy to make ends meet. things happen, feelings occur.

that’s the art of getting by by sarewolf ♡

“what do you want me to do?” remus says, tiredly. all he wants is to curl up on his bed. smoke a pack of cigarettes. get drunk. he can’t stop looking at harry. “remus...” dumbledore is gentle. remus hates when he has that tone. hates that he knows it will hurt. “there is no one else left.” a bitter laugh escapes him. “so you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

lonely dancers by anonymous

remus didn't want to go out in the first place, and now lily's gone and his crush is kissing someone else. Nothing can save this from being the worst nightout ever. except maybe another person, who's also by himself... coincidentally

wading in waist-high water by colgatebluemintygel ♡

remus is a phd student and hobbyist baker who finds himself adrift following his father’s death. on a whim, he enters the great british bake off and is swept up in a flurry of curdled custard, shrunken souffle, and under-proved dough. remus expects to be challenged and to embarrass himself on public television. what he doesn’t account for are the friendships he develops with the other contestants and the deep connection he forms with his teenage crush, sirius black: charming ex-boy band member and bake off presenter.

or

sirius groans, dropping his head back into his hands. “it’s the dough,” he mumbles into the skin of his palms. “it’s the kneading. it’s his hands. they’re obscene.” lily laughs. “they are a bit, aren’t they?”

customers only by orphan_account ♡

"dragging her eyes back to sirius, the hostess pointed a perfectly manicured nail to the sign on the podium that read: restroom for customers only." a charming stranger saves sirius black from a sticky situation when little harry's on the verge of wetting himself.

just like the movies by venusjewels

standing off to the side of the red carpet, sirius wasn’t nervous at all. he had a flask of vodka and blind confidence, what more did he need?

sirius is a reluctant red carpet interviewer for the 2023 awards season.

remus is a charming movie star that just so happens to attend a lot of awards shows.

the best by far is you by orphan_account

padfoot and moony meet over mutual follows on tumblr. remus, the blind student, hires sirius, the fallen aristocrat, to be a reader for his classes. they fall in love in separate ways, and fall apart. then fall together. their love is almost as ridiculous as they are.

my jokes are my armour, my kindness is my sword by littleoldrachel ♡

“my mum died last year,” sirius says at last, perhaps more bluntly than he intended – perhaps not given the defiant set of his chin. “and we don’t have a gravestone yet, till the ground settles or whatever, so I want something I can put there to represent her and how toxic she was.” remus blinks. whatever he had expected sirius to say, it hadn’t been that. he had inferred that he and regulus had a complicated relationship with their blood family, but this was a wholly unexpected turn. unfortunately, instead of the empathic response he knows is in there somewhere, what comes out is: “yes, that sounds like a perfectly healthy response to grief.”

you and me, moony by amethystheart2421

prompt 85: ambiguous loyalties during the first war. they’re both using each other to get a piece of sirius they can’t have. au in which remus was in ravenclaw and only became friends with sirius in later years at hogwarts. remus is staying at sirius's flat resting after a full moon when his old boyfriend shows up... his old boyfriend, who happens to be sirius's little brother, and a death eater.

hot library hunk by thefeistyrogue

sirius and james fight over who gets to serve the hot library hunk that comes into their cafe.

to say goodbye is not forever by greywolfandmoon

when remus lupin falls in love, he lets go. when he lets go, he writes. he stores all his letters in a shoebox underneath his bed. one day, to his horror, all his letters are magically sent out ...and James has an idea. inspired by to all the boys I've loved before by jenny han. no prior knowledge needed.

by any other name by under_the_willow ♡

it was chance that brought sirius to moony's new and used books on one cold winter's morning - chance, and james potter. he couldn't tell if it was destiny that put remus lupin behind the front desk.

destiny or not, sirius finds himself visiting the quaint bookstore more and more, until he can't imagine going a day without dropping by to talk to remus, and share a cup of tea.

he finds himself captivated by the amber-eyed man - who seems to have even more secrets than sirius himself. secrets that show themselves in mysterious scars and an unnamed illness, and mingle with the one sirius keeps tucked away in his pocket, in the shape of a wooden wand.

but secrets don't like being shoved to the side, and it's only a matter of time before the truth makes itself known.

scent of summer snow by tracingpatterns

remus had spent seven years watching james potter and sirius black. it was impossible not to the get drawn in by their magnetism, impossible not to watch them when they were together, impossible not to be affected by the way the whole world seemed to centre around them. it wasn't that he was jealous, exactly, but when he lay awake in bed listening to the two of them whisper, unaware that he was still awake, he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be a part of that.

love by the seaside by viwrites

remus is an artist who, after a particularly messy breakup, finds himself drawn to the cornish coast. his fresh start is disrupted, however, when he meets someone who reminds him an awful lot of his ex-boyfriend.

under the glow of neon lights by viwrites

james swallows the last of his drink and takes an ice cube in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and then cracking it between his molars. regulus wants to chase it down his throat – remus leans in close and does just that.

he can’t quite make it out from here, but he knows what it feels like. remus’ fingers digging half-moon marks into the soft flesh of james’ cheeks, holding him there and groaning into his mouth, the tangle of tongues – one ice cold and one blazing fucking hot.

regulus bites down hard on his lip and mumbles something that sounds like “sorry, I have to go.”

as it was by peachyybabe ♡

"you know it's not the same as it was" a story about falling in love with a stranger in a bookstore and learning how to live again.

best gift ever by spookeart ♡

“the sensation of his lover’s hands creeping under his clothes while he’s not even there and regulus is in a room full of people is exhilarating. regulus’ lips part in a silent cry, uncaring when drool leaks out of his mouth and drips on his lap. he can’t even make sense of the pleasure coursing through him that’s not his —and yet is his.”

or, james is devilish, so when he offers matching rings for regulus and him to wear, telling him they’re enchanted to connect their bodies so they can feel what the other feel, regulus expects nothing less from him than to use it at the least appropriate moment. and james doesn’t disappoint.

the thing by realityshowjunky

sirius continued: “I thought this little guy could keep you company while I’m at work.” remus laughed as the puppy planted lick upon lick across his face. “I love you,” he said.

sirius’ felt his own breath hitch. “I lo—”

“I love you,” remus repeated to the puppy, in a high-pitched voice sirius had never heard come out of his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

-

in which Sirius buys Remus a puppy and immediately regrets it.

how remus got his groove back by realityshowjunky ♡

after two years of noncommittal sex : remus tells sirius that he loves him. sirius firmly rejects him. remus tries to move on. sirius is not happy.

or

remus lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, fabian prewett writes a book, gilderoy lockhart is a catfish, and sirius black realizes he's a fucking idiot.

our destiny in the stars by orphan_account ♡

having no luck in the dating field, and insecure about his body, remus checks out a dating website which offers the users the opportunity to get to know a person before seeing what they look like. it's during this time he meets sirius, an enthusiastic teacher--and they immediately click. when they agree to meet, remus sees a photo of sirius and immediately panics. he's too good looking to ever be interested in someone like remus. what the tawny-haired man doesn't know, is sirius has already checked him out online and has fallen head over heels for the adorable editor.

fiery-coloured world by orphan_account

and though remus had a thick jumper and coat, they were still soaked and frozen as they ran across the pavement, laughing with their cold fingers clinging to each other like it was noah’s bloody flood and they were about to be swept away.

then someone—sirius was never sure who, though he often liked to take credit for it—closed the distance and lips met lips. and that was all it took, really. besotted. smitten. twitterpated—the word remus liked most of all.

sirius knew it would be minutes, moments, seconds before his heart told him he was in love and there was no going back from the emotional tidal wave that was remus bloody lupin.

in daylight by essie_cat

after twelve years in azkaban and two years on the run, sirius finally has the chance to settle down. remus does whatever he can to encourage that.

(or, instead of being bitter and depressed at grimmauld place, sirius gets chubby and domestic and grudgingly happy.)

hot child in the city by shes_reckless

sex worker/motel manager au. remus lupin is a motel manager who works the graveyard shift at a motel notoriously frequented by sex workers. sirius black is a regular.

the boy in the bordello by yumenouveau

regency era - london- sirius has spent the last five years starting a new life for himself as a brothel worker until late one night a stranger enters his room wanting only to talk.

the truth in the dare by marie_tomas ♡

remus has no idea why the gryffindors always dare sirius to snog him every time james, peter and sirius play truth or dare. yet for some reason, he can't bring himself to complain about it.

a dance move too complex by dark_owl_records

“he’s trying to find me a girlfriend,” remus admits.

lily immediately snorts at the prospect, but then, when turning to say something, she sees his face. what he looks like he can’t be sure, but it’s bad enough that she stops herself and says, “no, you're serious? He’s really… wow, boys are stupid.”

“lily.”

“right, no, sorry. just. why does he-?”

“it’s a long story.”

shaking things up by noisemakers

bartender!au. in an irritatingly thoughtful plot by serial matchmakers james potter and lily evans, remus lupin winds up at a gay bar in the middle of London. it just so happens that the bartender is a friend of james', and he's taken a special interest in remus.

swipe left for safety by remy_writes5 ♡

his finger hesitated over a picture of someone who absolutely couldn’t be real. he had long, dark hair that fell well past his shoulders and grey eyes that remus thought must have been either contact lenses or photoshopped. high cheekbones and sinful lips the man looked like a model. remus was not about to get catfished by a picture that was probably of someone famous that he just didn’t recognize. besides, what kind of a name was sirius anyway? it was obviously fake.

he swiped left. not today, satan.

“hard pass on that guy, huh?” someone said from above remus. “ouch.”

turn on my charm by bethanlovescoffee ♡

sirius black is a youtube phenomenon. a youtube phenomenon who develops a crush on his video editor.

discards by picascribit ♡

when assistant librarian sirius black develops a crush on a college student at the seattle public library, all he wants to know is whether he's cool about dating trans guys. but remus's life is more complicated than sirius ever could have guessed.

we will fill the cracks together by newskyillusion

remus works in a library and at his parents pub in a small, welsh town.

sirius black is doing his phd on werewolves and comes to a small, welsh town to do some research.

the bark's not always worse by sableunstable

sometimes, the bite's just as bad.

forever by orphan_account

sirius black--coda, outcast, family disappointment, and fairly famous youtuber who runs a sign language channel siriuslysigns with his best mate, james.

remus lupin-- vegan hipster who dropped out of university and lives with his best mate peter, and together run howlingmoon's diy, barmy science experiments, and ukulele tutorials channel.

when sirius becomes enamoured with moony's singing, he dedicates a sign tutorial in hopes he'll be noticed. this leads to exchanging of shout-outs and videos, and what sirius hopes, is a little something more.

[taistelutaide]

"What's cooking big guy?"

"You..."

"I don't follow..."

"Since you like culinary metaphors, let me lay this out for you in terms you'll understand: this is how I'm about to lay you out, nice and slow like a ten course meal, one for each round...

First I'll pepper your body with punches for a quick taste of violence, leaving me wanting more.

Then perhaps an amuse bouche, a bit more trash talk as I bat you around the ring like a cat playing with its food.

Third comes soup, as your legs turn to jelly under my brutal strikes and you beg for mercy... but mercy's not on the menu tonight.

Then comes your last taste of hope as I punch you down over and over like bread dough until it's all you can do just to get back up.

Fifth I'll pin you against the ropes and tenderize you like a piece of meat, softening you up for the main event.

And sixth I'll treat you to my specialty: knuckle sandwich filled with crushed nuts... I hope you weren't planning on reproducing.

Next for the palate cleanser, a series of clean uppercuts that'll send your mouthguard flying across the ring.

And once you're completely out of it I'll hammer you with a barrage searing hooks that'll land so hard it won't even matter that you've bitten off more than you can chew.

Finally for the dessert course, some humble pie as I deliver a knockout blow to your defenseless jaw so powerful it'll send you flying across the ring right along with your mouthguard.

And last, just for you, the finisher: prime sausage topped off with white sauce, if you catch my meaning... it may be a bit hard to swallow, but I like to give back a bit after sating my own appetite by beating, creaming, whipping, and licking you so thoroughly.

So you'd best get ready... you're about to get served."

[hollysoda]

THE PLUSHIE POST PT. 2 (the little guys)

The small but still very important fellas

Tango - Jellycat Bodacious Beak Toucan

Bought January 24 in a closing down sale. I actually wanted him for Christmas but didn’t ask for him in the end, so when I saw him in the sale I was like “hell yeah £5 off”. He’s so silly and cute. Bird plushies go hard

Maple - Wrendale Designs Fox

Bought April 2023. Honestly it was love at first sight with her. She’s really soft and has got a lil pudgy tummy. Also her fur actually looks like the artists, Hannah Dale’s, art style?? If you know who I’m talking about then you’ll know what I mean. My fave fox related item, and I have a lot of fox things lmao (also her name is officially Autumn but like that’s my cats name, it’s gonna get confusing, so I call her maple)

Sebastian - JellyCat Bashful Tiger (Medium)

Bought June 2022 as a reward for finishing my A Levels. He’s usually the plush I take with me on holiday to sleep with, since Cookie Dough is a bit too big. He’s very soft and I love his long tail. A handsome boy :)

BASTARD aka Toon Link Plush (Wind Waker HD edition)

The absolute creature of creatures. A Christmas present from 2022. His peak moment was when I put the tip of my pride flag under his tunic and carried him around at the local Pride Parade. I hate him, I want to cherish him. Also my cat hates him for some reason it’s so funny

And now, for the final plush, the one the only…

KWEEBLY - JellyCat Fabulous Fruit Kiwi

The smallest here, but he’s had the biggest impact on my life. I bought him on a whim around the 28th August 2021 and he proceeded to be the biggest comfort I could have ever asked for. I carried him around in my bag for most of Year 13 when my mental health hit rock bottom. He’s been squeezed, thrown at walls, bitten etc etc but I love him dearly. I don’t need his assistance as much now, as I’m in a better place, but he still sits in my bag just in case. Any of my irls mutuals on here know the absolute icon that is Kweebly, dude was a mini celebrity in the sixth form common room. Also my acnh island is named after him

I love my plushies smh and obviously I have more but these are the ones I usually cuddle or take with me to places

[random-writing-thoughts]

Thought 206 is perfection, I just love the civilian x villain pairing so much. If you ever decide to write another part I'd love to read it

Thank you so much!!! I really like writing that one. 😁😁

Thought #206.2

Previous

Warnings: swearing, talk of abuse, physical abuse

Villain and Civilian walked down the street. Talking about everything they could think of.

Favorite color...

"Blue. You can't have a bad blue." Civilian said with a big smile.

Villain smiled back. "That's my favorite color too."

"Really?" She asked excitedly.

No. Not really. I don't have a favorite color, but I like how blue makes you feel, so now it's mine.

Villain smiled and nodded, grabbing her hand.

She squeezed his hand and started pulling him down the road.

She continued talking, with great excitement, about the paintings they had seen. The techniques. The brush strokes. The artists stories.

She stopped and her eyes widened.

"I'm so sorry. I've been talking your ear off."

Villain watched as she retreated back into herself. Putting up her walls again.

Villain pulled her closer. "I love hearing you talk about art. Don't ever feel bad about talking about things you love."

She smiled and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. "Thank you."

"Of course." He pulled her next to him and draped his arm over her shoulder. "Now let's get you home. You've had a long day."

She sighed. "I have. I need a big bottle of wine and some ice cream."

They started walking down the road. "Done and done. Do you want to stop on the way or do you want me to grab you some after I drop you off."

She bobbled her head. "Am I being too needy if I ask you to go after you drop me off?"

He stopped walking. "No. Did your ex make you feel like you were being too needy for asking for a small thing like that?"

Her eyes darted down to the sidewalk. "Yes. He didn't even get me birthday presents. Said I was being too needy when I asked him to get me something. Even got phys..." her voice trailed off.

Villain placed a finger under her chin and lifted it up until her tear filled eyes met his.

He smiled. "That's it. I'm not leaving your side until you realize that you are worthy of love."

Civilian wiped her eyes. "Are you sure..."

"If you say 'are you sure you want to spend time with me?' I'm going to move in with you."

She laughed.

"Don't tempt me." He said pulling her into a hug.

She buried her face in his chest.

He ran a hand through her hair. "I know it's so hard to believe it, but you are worthy of love. To at least be treated with respect."

She pulled her head back and smiled up at him.

"Thank you." She pointed across the street. "We were so close to my place. I should have waited to talk about Ex till then."

She laughed and pulled away from him.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the building. "Well let's hurry in case it happens again."

They both laughed as they ran up to the building.

She let go of his hand. "I'm on the 6th floor. Bet I can beat you up there."

She turned and took off up the staircase. He chuckled and took off after her.

He caught up to her. She squealed and tried to block him from getting in front of her. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist throwing her over his shoulder.

She kicked and hit at his back playfully. He laughed and got to the sixth floor landing putting her down on her feet.

"I call that a tie." She said laughing and walking towards her apartment.

He followed her to her place and pushed the door open when she unlocked it.

It was cute. House plants in every corner. Prints of art and every kind of yarn art hung on the wall. It was cozy.

She walked in and threw her shoes and purse in the corner as she collapsed on the fluffy bean bag in the corner.

Villain looked around and found a soft blanket draped over the sofa. He threw it over her and tucked her in. Kissing her on the forehead.

"I'll be right back with your wine and ice cream. Preferences?"

She snuggled under the blankets, closing her eyes. "Moscato and cookie dough."

He nodded. "Don't fall asleep before I get back. If you do I'm going to be locked out."

She pointed at her purse. "Take the keys. Wake me up when you get back."

He smiled and looked at her small frame engulfed by the bean bag and blanket.

You deserve to be loved. I would steal the world for you Civilian.

He chuckled softly and shook his head, grabbing the keys from her purse.

A couple hours was all it took. And to think I was there to steal a painting. He paused. Which I still need to do.

He left quietly and locked her door behind him.

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

Civilian heard the door close and smiled.

Who knew? Art museums for the win.

She got out from under the blankets and went to the bathroom. She took a look at herself in the mirror.

Oof girl we've had a day.

She sighed and turned on the shower. She checked her phone as she waited for the water to warm up.

She scrolled through all the missed calls, voice mails, and text messages from Best Friend and Ex.

Ex mostly switched from blaming her to yelling at her to know her place. He kept threatening terrible things and then switching to promising to be a better person.

And Best Friend was telling her she wasn't being supportive. Telling her she was supposed to be happy for her instead of being angry. Pretty much calling her a terrible person. A bitch.

She sighed.

Once steam filled the room she got undressed and hopped into the shower humming her favorite song.

She washed her face, shampooed her hair, and shaved her legs.

A loud knock sounded through out her apartment.

Didn't he take my keys?

She turned off the water and got dressed.

She finger combed through her hair as she unlocked her door.

Wait he does have the keys. How could he have...

Someone pushed the door open knocking her to the ground.

Ex stormed into her apartment with Best Friend following closely behind.

She closed the door and locked it.

"What..."

Ex bent down and grabbed her hair roughly pulling her head up until they met eyes with each other.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Think you can just ignore my calls and texts? Last I checked you're still my girlfriend."

He pulled her head back sharply.

"I didn't break up with you and you sure as hell didn't break up with me. So that means you have to follow the rules still."

Civilian grabbed at his hand weakly as tears streamed down her face.

"I also heard that you were walking around with another guy at the museum." Best Friend said walking to Ex's side.

She tapped Civilian on the nose with a clicking noise. "That makes you a cheater too. You can drop the holier than thou act bitch."

Ex's face reddened. "Who's the guy?"

Next

[quotidian-oblivion]

Wasn't tagged but decided to do this.

Repost and tell me how you draft as you write. Do you write in order? Do you start with something particular? How fully formed does your writing come out the first try? How many drafts do you go through? Tell me about your process because I’m curious!

*takes deep breath* o k a y.

First off, I rant. Don't know when, don't know where, once it was on a family trip on a ferry. But I rant. I rant about the plot. Sometimes, it's an excited rant, sometimes, it's an angry rant. My fics are always born out of some type of emotion. I rant pages and pages. If there isn't enough ranting on a doc, the fic doesn't work out (unless it's a oneshot), simple as that. Most times, I rant in one go. I cannot go back to ranting if I get interrupted for an extended period of time. So if I'm ranting about a possible fic, and someone interrupts me, they'll probably dead (/j). But occasionally, for some fics (it's random), i manage to go back and rant out more of a plot for them. The ranting nearly always happens at night.

Secondly, I let the rants stew for a long long time. Like wine in the basement. I don't know how alcohol works, I'm Muslim. But you get the idea. Oh! Another comparison, I let my rant-fics stew for a while like bread dough before you put it in the oven. Yk? To let the yeast to its thing. Yeah, okay, I'm gonna stop now. Sometimes, I go back and read the rants. Just for fun. Cuz those rants are fics made just for me and I enjoy them to the fullest extent.

Third, I come back if I'm in that fic's mood and decide to flesh it out and add chapters. And so I create the first chapter, copy+paste the part of the rant which will fit that chapter, and then I add more details to flesh the rants out a little more and make it into a more substantial and understandable plot. I add some missed details, close some holes, this is the most crucial part of my editing because this is the only time where major editing happens. If I need to make a major edit when I'm later on in the fic-writing process, I abandon it (most of the time). So yeah, this is the most crucial part. Sometimes, the chapter notes (I call it chapter notes), get so lengthy and detailed that they're good enough to be first drafts. So I consider them first drafts most of the time rather than chapter notes.

Fourth step, I do the extra bits. Which is generally the spontaneous stuff and whatever comes in mind. Like tags, ao3 notes, research etc.

The fifth step is actually writing it out. Or well, turning the first draft into a second draft, more comprehensible for other people reading. This is best done when I'm sleep-deprived and at night while I'm in bed with my sisters beside me, dozing off as my phone repeatedly falls and hits my face.

Sixth and last step is just editing. Grammar, little plot holes, adding or deleting a line here and there. Usually, this happens over a course of weeks cuz the bigger the gap I visit the document, the better I edit and think more objectively and clearly about this. But if the gap is too big, I get insecure and think the fic is cringe and delete the whole document. Just kidding, I stopped deleting my writing a while ago, but I abandon the story and shove it to the deepest depths of my head and docs. While writing, because I don't want the flow to break, I leave notes for future me [like this] (bolded and underlined in square brackets) and most of the time, they tell future-me about why the character has done a certain action, or what they will need to do next, and more commonly, telling future-me to find synonyms for words or the meaning of words I know, but am unsure about.

Aaaaaaand, then I post!

Obviously, this is different for one shots. One shots, are spontaneous and are generally written in one-sitting, but not all the time.

Oh! Also, I write chapters in order, but I don't plan it in order (which includes ranting and chapter notes). Sometimes, I get visions of cute moments or just stuff I want in fics and they're almost always actually comprehensibly written out scenes rather than babble only I can fully understand, and they go at the bottom of the document under 'Extracts'. The extracts can happen at any time as long as it is before the last step. If it comes when the sixth step is in place, I don't write it down or transfer it to another fic.

Anyway, yeah, I like rambling about things. This was really long. Ig I go through a total of... 6 or 7 drafts? Including the ranting as a draft. But this is only for multi-chaps. Oneshots vary.

No pressure tags: @wakkoroni @sardonic-sprite @tristicorde @cygnusdoesthings @pevensiechase @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego @uncertainwallflower

[codename-mom]

A day at work

Summary: JJ arrived early in Hotch’s office to discover that he was not alone. A surprise guest was with him for the day.

Characters: BAU team

Contents: it’s supposed to be a cute fanfic but there are mention of dead people and anxiety (and as we’re still in CM universe, they are talking about murders sometimes of course).

This text was written for the CM Family Challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

               Jennifer Jareau, usually referred as JJ, even by those closest to her, left her office two cardboard sleeves under her arms. She walked up the sixth floor hallway, deserted at this early hour of the day, and pushed the glass doors stamped with the FBI emblem to enter the bullpen. Two agents were hunched on their keyboards, eyes fixed on their screens, too absorbed to notice the arrival of the slim blond woman who was walking with a determined step toward one of the two offices that overlooked the others.

               A familiar smell of coffee wafted through the large, quiet place, a sign that the coffee pot had been running for several hours already, even though the sun had only been up for a couple of hours. Quantico never really slept, and the Behavioral Analysis Unit certainly slept less than the other units in the Bureau. Since the BAU operated throughout all the United States, its agents’ schedules were more stretchy than pizza dough. JJ, like her fellow partners, has long ago given up on a regular sleep schedule. And the recent birth of her son, Henry, hadn’t helped matters. Fortunately, William, her spouse, took over whenever the unit chief ordered the team to takeoff on a new case.

               It was towards him she was moving energetically. As she had expected, light was shining through the bay that opened on the bullpen, indicating to her that the master of the house was indeed in the place. This was not a surprise at all, since Aaron Hotchner, aka “Hotch”, seemed to have made the decision to never sleep again since he had been given the position of unit leader. JJ could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him doze off in the jet after returning from a mission, and she couldn’t remember ever getting to the office before he did. The only time he’d been noticeably absent, the team had found him in the hospital, his torso pierced of nine deep wounds that some sociopath had made in the middle of the night.

               A shiver went through JJ’s rib cage at the memory, but the dizziness that had briefly seized her disappeared as soon as she stepped into the office. Her eyelids were wide open, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the scene that was playing out before her eyes.

-        “Hello, JJ,” greeted her direct supervisor, with a discreet smile on his lips.

The dark brown-haired giant with the impeccable tailor-made suit was typing on his keyboard, using only one hand since the other one was wrapped around the bust of a small sleeping creature. A little boy, blond as wheat, was sleeping deeply, sitting on his father’s legs, his head resting against his shoulder, his little mouth slightly ajar. Jack, five years old, was Aaron’s only offspring and, in a way, all he had left of a failed marriage that had ended in the worst possible way. JJ had to mentally kick herself out of her catatonic state and ask the only question that needed to be asked in this situation.

-        “… Uh, hello, Hotch. What’s up with…?”

-        “Jessica is on the road today for a family reunion and the baby-sitter is not available.”

Jessica was the sister of Haley Brooks, Jack’s mother, who had died less than a year earlier under particularly horrific circumstances. Because his schedule was totally incompatible with the management of a young child, Hotch often entrusted the young boy to his aunt, who was happy to help him. She was very close to her older sister and didn’t consider taking care of her nephew a chore, far from it. A chance for Aaron for whom fatherhood was still a mysterious land full of dangers and in which he had landed brutally, pushed from the top of a cliff.

               JJ knew that the BAU director would gouge out both eyes without batting an eyelid if that was the condition for saving his son, but she knew that he had serious doubts about his ability to be a good father. The fault of a patriarch more interested by his one-night conquests than by the education of his children, for what she knew of it. In fact, the young woman was pleasantly surprised to discover the kid serenely asleep in the arms of his breeder; a scene all the more happy that the binomial started from very far, Aaron having essentially been an extra during the first three years of existence of the boy. But, there were obviously still some holes in the racket.

-        “… Her aunt left for a family reunion without telling you?” she underlined, finally getting back to reality.

-        “No. But I forgot,” he confessed with a pout.

JJ smiled in spite of herself, almost immediately regretting that burst of amusement. But Hotch didn’t look up, suppressing his own smile. A year earlier, this blunder would have sent him into a depressive state at light speed, his mind consumed by a pervasive sense of guilt. This day, he simply felt like an idiot, but ready to assume the consequences of this missed act.

-        “Okay. So I guess you won’t be coming with us,” JJ surmised, reassured by her chief’s calmed reaction.

-        “No, confirmed the latter. Although I’m sure Jack would have loved to take the jet.”

The female agent was convinced of that as well, as her own son looked at her with stars in his eyes whenever she mentioned the private plane that the BAU owned. In his little child’s head, he must have seen her as an astronaut exploring distant planets. It was only a short step to think that Jack would dream of even setting foot on one.

-        “Okay. Here are the two cases that could potentially interest us.”

-        “Put them down there. I’ll look at it as soon as I’m done,” he told her, pointing with his chin to an unoccupied corner of his desk.

-        “You know that it would be more convenient if he was on the couch,” remarked her subordinate after offloading her packages.

-        “Yes, but he wakes up when I lay him down on it. Whereas here, at least, he sleeps. And since he didn’t sleep much this night…”

Fact was that the boy seemed perfectly at ease in this acrobatic position, unaware of the encumbrance that his only presence induced. To have already experimented the thing with her offspring two years younger, she did not dare to imagine the dead weight that Jack represented for his father at this moment. A dead weight that was also as hot as a water bottle, which must have been all the more uncomfortable when one was dressed in a thick two-piece suit, shirt and a T-shirt. However, thanks to a secret method that he alone possessed, Hotch looked completely at ease too with this seventy-seven-pound heater slumped over his chest and close to drooling on this expensive jacket.

-        “I see. But maybe it’s not such a good idea to type a report with him in your arms.”

-        “JJ, this is accounting. The only person it will scare is Strauss.”

A burst of laughter passed JJ’s lips and she left the room smiling, surprisingly relieved to have witnessed this scene. A year ago, the ambiance on the floor was completely different. A heavy, sticky atmosphere of anger, disappointment, despair and pain. A year earlier, Hotch was nothing more than an empty shell in a suit that was too big for him; a broken man, threaten with jail, trying to interact with a tiny human being he knew nothing about, except that he was responsible for the death of the woman who had taken care of him until then. That he was once again able to joke and smile was a small miracle in itself. That he was so close to his son was unexpected.

               An hour and a half later, when Reid finally deigned to appear with a boyish smile on his face, the team gathered in the meeting room. Everyone took their seats around the round table and Hotch encouraged JJ to begin her presentation. As promised, he has chosen one of the two cases she had brought to him, and it was time for her to expose her arguments to justify why the BAU was more involved in this case than any other FBI agency. One by one, the agents debated the most salient points, making initial assumptions that would be supported or rejected later, when they had more evidence. Finally, it was determined that the case did fall under their jurisdiction, and Hotch ordered the team to join the airport in the next thirty minutes, with Iowa for destination. He immediately added:

-        “You’ll go without me, but I’ll be in touch.”

A surprised silence crossed the room, the agents frowning in unison.

-        “Why you don’t come with us?” asked David Rossi, his longest-serving collaborator.

“Dave” had created the BAU with another profiler, Jason Gideon, years earlier. The duo, holed up in a tiny, unnamed FBI office, had recruited a young prosecutor from the side of the road, recognizing in him an innate ability for profiling. Then, when it was time for the two grunts to make their way for more capable people, their cadet had stepped up and kicked the can down the road to build a brand new BAU. This team that was watching him with a puzzled eye was his own. Rossi had come back to deal with an unsolved case that was keeping him awake at night, and stayed because the adrenaline of the investigation was making his heart beat again, dried up from his lonely life. Because of his special status, Dave was the only one, with JJ, to felt perfectly legitimate in calling Hotch by name. The others were reluctant to do so, even though – JJ was sure – the giant wouldn’t have paid any attention to.

-        “I have several meetings to attend during the day. Strauss would like me to be there, he explained before adding. For once.“

Erin Strauss was Aaron’s supervisor and to say she had a temper would have been an understatement. For some reason, she seemed to have made it her mission to make the BAU director’s life as miserable as possible. Hotch, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate being dictated to by anyone, and tried to avoid their face-to-face confrontation as much as possible. But, from time to time, his high functions obliged him to face up to the situation and it was up to him to avoid provoking another diplomatic incident between bureaucratic rigidity and the reality of the field.

-        “But can we still call you?” inquired Morgan, concerned.

-        “More than ever.”

The team smiled at the humor and left the room, following in the footsteps of their leader. But while the agents scattered in the bullpen to recover their luggage prepared for the occasion, the latter joined his office to find a well awake Jack there. Sat on the bench where his father had lengthened him to go to reach his men, he rubbed his eyes of his small fist observing the surroundings of a curious eye.

-        “Dad. Where are we?” he asked without leaving his seat.

A year ago, he had come all the way to enjoy his father’s potential last moments of freedom, but he had not set foot in his workspace. At that time, he had only seen the meeting room, quickly the large room where the vast majority of the agents were grouped, the men’s room and the vending machines for sweets and other soft drinks. Therefore, the room he was in was completely unfamiliar to him.

-        “At the office.”

-        “At the FBI?” he got going again, widening his eyes.

-        “Yes,” Hotch confirmed placing the file back on his desk.

-        “So cool! exclaimed Jack with a blissful smile. Can we visit?”

-        “No.”

The little boy’s expression of intense joy disappeared in the microsecond that followed this negative answer. Disappointed, he nevertheless dared to question his breeder:

-        “Oh. Why?”

-        “Because you’re not supposed to be here.”

-        “Really?” he raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

Hotch could easily saw the little cogs in his brain kicking in to try to figure out what was going on.

-        “No. I managed to get you in because it was early and there weren’t many people there, but you’ll have to stay here with me,” he said, a slight sneer creasing his clean-shaved cheeks.

-        “Aren’t you going to capture the bad guys?”

Aaron’s smile widened despite himself. Jack was very proud to have a father who was an FBI agent although he didn’t know what that really meant. To him, his father’s role was limited to handcuffing rude peoples and then coming home at night reading him a bedtime story. Of course, that was just the tip of the iceberg, as the child was far too young to hear and understand what Hotch’s job actually consisted of. But the little Jack knew was enough for now to forgive all his absences by now, which was a significant plus for the director whose anxiety easily rocketed when it came to how he managed his family. However, since this was the only aspect of his professional life that the boy knew about, Aaron hastened to reassure him:

-        “The rest of the team is off to. They will call when they need me.”

 Several miles away, far above the clouds, the team had not started debriefing the case they were in charge of. Because they had something else to worry about.

-        “It doesn’t make sense, hammered Prentiss, confused. If he really wanted to avoid Strauss, why didn’t he leave with us?”

Emily Prentiss was the second-to-last member of the team – Rossi had returned after she joined – and was the least familiar with Hotch’s sometimes nebulous behavior, but she was well aware of his avoidance of the section chief. So, like the others, she guessed there was something fishy going on.

-        “He can’t,” JJ replied, biting her lip.

-        “Why?, retorted Morgan, turning to her. Emily is right. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

JJ scratched the back of her left hand nervously. She had noted that Aaron had not mentioned his son’s presence in his office when he had barged into the meeting room and had interpreted his omission as a tacit request to her intention. No one was to know that the child was within the walls of the FBI. However, it was difficult to keep a secret when surrounded by profilers trained to pick up on every micro-expression a human might produce when he opened his mouth. And it was even harder to divert these particular agents when the mystery of the day involved their leader. Usually indifferent to gossip and stingy with details of his private life, the smallest crumb he let slip was the object of a thorough analysis by his subordinates. So she opted for abdication, reassuring herself that they would not be able to spill the beans once they landed in another state.

-        “He can’t because Jack is with him.”

-        “Seriously?” hiccupped Emily, all her annoyance gone.

-        “He had no one to look after him.”

-        “Why didn’t he tell us?” the younger member of the group wanted to know, his thin eyebrows wrinkled with incomprehension.

Spencer Reid had the fewest candles blown out of the team, but his uncanny ability to remember everything he read and be able to pull out that information at any time had opened the doors to the BAU. Nevertheless, his immaturity made him very easily prone to anxiety, and Hotch’s protective attitude toward him reassured him. The immense trust that this father figure gave him daily allowed this caterpillar to gradually transform into a sublime butterfly. As long as this trust remained.

-        “Because he shouldn’t be here,” Dave realized with a sigh.

-        “You mean Hotch smuggled his son into an FBI building?” squeaked Derek, an inquisitive eyebrow raised above his dark eye.

Derek Morgan was, along with Reid and Penelope Garcia, one of the first officers to join the new BAU under Aaron.  A former police officer, he had quickly learned the ropes and his natural authority meant that his counterparts turned to him when the director was lacking. Ten years apart, the two men had a similar temper in many ways they didn’t seem to notice, and they regularly clashed. Their cooperation was based solely on the mutual respect they had for each other, which they would probably never admit to, even under torture. Two alpha males roaming the same territory, as the two women of the group had logically deciphered; walking shoulder by shoulder and watching for the slightest weakness of the other.

-        “It looks like it, anyway,” replied Rossi, indifferent to this underground power struggle.

-        “If Strauss finds out, she’ll tear him apart,” Emily announced, shaking her head.

 In Virginia, Hotch walked into his office his arms full of bags and a plastic cup in his hand. He placed his haul on the coffee table as Jack, whose hair was still in mess, looked on.

-        “Here. I got you an orange juice.”

-        “Can I eat it all?” the boy asked, drooling.

-        “No. You pick one or two, and we’ll see about the rest later,” said his father as he went to sit behind his keyboard.

-        “Why not three?”

Aaron held back a circular motion into his eyes sockets and replied:

-        “No, Jack. Two will be fine.”

-        “But it’s so small!” underlined the child, waving a candy bar in front of his eyes.

-        “Jack,” sighed Hotch as he was trying to remember his password.

-        “Come on!”

-        “No. Stop negotiating and eat your breakfast.”

Jack frowned and sank into the seat before opening the package in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, his breeder noted his frustration. He could even see his anger in his brown eyes staring straight ahead. He thought he was going to have a great day with his often absent father but found out that the ride wasn’t going to be as fun as he had imagined. His aunt Jessica was surely much more gentle and accommodating than he was, and the difference in tone traced the boundaries he shouldn’t cross abruptly. A knot wove itself in Aaron’s guts. A year had almost passed and he still didn’t know where to place the cursor to keep any kind of firmness without sounding like a horrible bully.  

-        “Can I watch a cartoon?” Jack asked shyly half an hour later when Hotch had finally managed to focus enough to begin his day’s tasks.

-        “Uh… wait,” he stammered, caught off guard.

Closing the windows of the software he had open, he ran a query in the Bureau’s search engine to access an online video platform, but the FBI’s firewall turned him down. As he expected, the internal network was walled off and it was impossible to access anything that had not been approved by IT department at headquarters. In other words, no entertainment services for a five-year-old child was within his reach. His gaze turned briefly to his phone before returning to his screen and that negative response. All he had to do was to press a single button to reach the only person in this building capable of fulfilling his son’s request, but he also knew that it was double-edged sword. No one was to know Jack was there – as few people as possible, anyway – and it couldn’t be said that the agent in question had put discretion among her highest priorities. Giving up on this unquestionable support with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he redirected his attention to the little head that was staring at him with hopeful eyes.

-        “Look, it’s not going to be possible.”

-        “Why?” replied the boy, who was obviously going from one disappointment to another.

-        “Because it’s a work computer and I can’t use it to watch cartoons.”

Knowing that children are far more susceptible to deception than many parents realize, Aaron preferred to play it straight with his son as long as it didn’t offend his naive mind. He spared his offspring from wondering about what he was hiding from him without shattering his still-pure world, but he couldn’t guard against the irreparable backlash. As the morning progressed and the child suffered setbacks against his father, the latter had the sensation of losing his superbness in his eyes by bigger and bigger pieces.

-        “What am I going to do then?” sighed Jack, looking sad.

-        “There’s… There’s coloring in your bag, Hotch remembered, having had that presence of mind as he closed the apartment door. Just try not to get marker everywhere.”

-        “I never do that,” the artist grinned, biting his lip to hold back the smile that would have broken his lie.

-        “We’ll look at the couch at home.”

Before the miniature vandal had time to open his mouth, his father’s phone rang. Hotch picked up, recognizing Morgan’s cell phone number. Glancing at the clock at the bottom of his screen, he calculated that the team must have landed by now. Not having attended the rest of the briefing on the plane, he couldn’t have known that the former cop and Spencer, a tall Vegas native, had just come out of the local medical examiner’s office and had checked in with Rossi and Prentiss, who had been snooping around the crime scene.

-        “I’m listening, Morgan.”

-        “Don’t put it on speaker,” were Derek’s first words.

-        “What?” said Hotch, confused.

-        “We know Jack is with you,” said Reid’s teenage voice.

Aaron opened his mouth to deny it, but then changed his mind.

-        “… Who told you that?”

-        “JJ,” Morgan admitted without the slightest hesitation.

The agent with the bulging muscles and the devastating smile was not a snitch, far from it. But he knew that his colleague was safe. He’d already done the math in his head in the few hours since the conversation he’d had on the jet with her and had no doubt about the outcome of the equation. JJ had betrayed Hotch’s secret knowing full well that she was talking to agents who were admittedly very curious and gossipy, but unwaveringly loyal to their superior. And secondly, the BAU director may have been a six-foot-tall ice chest whose frowns made even the most hardened of men faint, but his rare outbursts were mostly directed at those who put his men’s lives at risk, rather than at them, even though they went out of their way to test the limits of his patience on a daily basis.

-        “… I’m not on speaker, you can go.”

-        “The coroner’s report says we’re looking at a novice, Reid began. The wounds show hesitation marks. The first ones are less deep than the last ones.”

-        “As if he didn’t know how much force to put into his actions,” Hotch analyzed, weighing his words, aware that Jack’s ears were pricked in his direction.

-        “But the crime scene says otherwise, Morgan continued. He entered the house quietly, at an hour when the victim was unlikely to be asleep. The neighbors were awake and some were even still up.”

-        “But not one was suspicious of his presence in the area. Perhaps a teenager who regularly renders services to the inhabitants.”

-        “I’m calling Garcia,” Derek announced, ready to hang up.

-        “It is possible that he is doing his chores under the table, paid in cash, so ask the neighbors instead. But present him as a potential witness to avoid panic.”

-        “If he’s really a teenager – which would fit with the arrogance he showed in breaking into the victim’s house – he must surely be out of school,” Spencer added.

-        “Have Garcia look into this direction.”

-        “Okay. We’ll call back if we need to,” Morgan finished.

The tone flooded the receiver and Hotch hung up. As if on cue, Jack jumped up from the bench and rushed to the desk. With his tongue hanging out of his mouth, he climbed into the chair opposite his father’s and leaned in front of the plaque that bore his name.

-        “Did you finish your orange juice?” the director asked him, checking his screen to make sure that nothing compromising was displayed.

-        “Yes. And my candy bars,” he says proudly.

Aaron glanced toward the coffee table and the trash his son had left there.

-        “Including the third one I didn’t want you to eat.”

-        “… I was hungry,” he defended himself to sitting normally on the chair.

-        “But you won’t be hungry by lunch.”

-        “That’s okay. We’ll eat later.”

As usual, Jack had an answer for everything. His logical mind was firing on all cylinders, ignoring the constraints of adult life to offer him a range of solutions to counter his father’s thoughts. While Hotch was constantly amazed by this quick thinking, he had no choice but to remind his son that reality was far more complex than it appeared.

-        “Except I have a meeting at one o’clock. So I’ll have to eat before.”

-        “Is this a meeting to catch a bad guy?” skirted the boy as he leaned back on the desk, a smile on his face.

-        “No. This is a meeting to see if I could put gas in the jet.”

As director of the BAU, Aaron’s primary mission was to defend the interests of his department tooth and nail, and this often involved endless meetings where he had to justify the usefulness of the private plane reserved exclusively for his team. The management committee saw it as a gaping pit into which they were throwing astronomical amounts of money, while he considered this means of transportation – admitted very demanding economically speaking – as an indispensable tool to quickly cross the United States and thus reach the local authorities in order to help them catch the serial killers rampant on their territory.

-        “Are you the one who puts the gas in it?” said Jack, his wide eyes looking at his father warily, after he had walked around the desk to sit on his lap.

-        “No. But I pay for the gas and the technician who fills the tank, he explained as he helped him up, before adding. And the pilots. And all the people in the office next door and the ones who left earlier to find the bad guy.”

-        “You’re actually rich!”

Hotch could clearly imagine the thoughts that were going through his son’s mind at that moment. He was probably already imagining himself surrounded by a mountain of presents for his birthday and all the upcoming holidays. Unfortunately, this enchanting vision had to be rectified for a much more dull truth.

-        “Not so much. The money is not mine. I have a boss above me who gives me an envelope with a lot of money in it and it’s up to me to distribute that money among everyone, trying to be equitable.”

-        “What does “etiquable” mean?”

-        “Equitable, he corrected gently. It means fair. It means that everyone should be paid properly. Without one getting all the money and the others getting nothing or very little.”

-        “Why?”

Jack had entered that period of human life when absolutely everything was a source of questioning. Every question, even the most trivial one, now concealed a whole string of other questions, which made any conversations much longer. The giant had nothing against the fact of discussing at length with his offspring, but could not ignore the shiver of anguish which ran through him as soon as he heard the inevitable “Why?”. For it was one thing to explain to an adult who was aware of the ins and outs of life in society, it was quite another to make a five-year-old child understand all the complexities of it, as he had only a superficial view of reality. And the task was even more complicated when one had to preserve his innocence as long as possible.

-        “Because if they don’t, people aren’t happy, Hotch summarized. Then they get upset and they can get nasty. To the one who has everything, but also to the one who made the decision to distribute the money any way.”

-        “Like you.”

-        “Yes, that’s right,” he confirmed, proud to see that his son had followed his reasoning perfectly.

-        “But you, do people like you?” asked Jack, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed with concern.

-        “I hope so.”

The truth was, he didn’t really know what his men thought of him. The one time he had dared to ask how some of the team felt about him, he had been dressed for winter in no time. And these were the impressions of his closest collaborators, with whom he worked hand in hand daily. All the others must have had a very different view of him, probably biased by his impressive appearance, his demands and his lack of expressiveness.

-        “I like you,” confessed the little boy with a benevolent smile grafted on his round face.

-        “Oh, well, that’s okay then. I can tell Santa to come over.”

Jack’s look of delight grew in intensity and Aaron kissed him on the top of the head before ruffling his hair. He was about to suggest an activity when a window opened in the corner of his screen. It was the team calling him on video conference.

-        “Go back and sit on the couch and put your headphones on.”

-        “Okay.”

Jack got off his knees without making a fuss and returned to the bench. He stuck his head between the earpieces of the noise-canceling headphones his father had bought specifically so he wouldn’t hear the conversations he was having with his team and plunged back into his drawing. Hotch finally pressed the button to accept the call.

-        “You are free to go.”

-        “We followed the trail of the teenage killer,” Spencer said with some pride.

-        “And?”

-        “Actually, there is not one, but several,” continued Prentiss, with much less enthusiasm.

-        “Boy Scouts, said Dave. They’re very active in the area and provide a lot of service to the neighborhood.”

-        “It doesn’t fit the profile. Our suspect is rather solitary, he would never get involved in an organization based on solidarity and esprit de corps.”

-        “But he can pass himself off as one of them, said Morgan. With the right clothes and a few badges, he’s an illusion.”

-        “Did you interview any of them?”

-        “They’re all off on an orienteering trip in the woods,” Emily replied, her tone showing no sign of her irritation.

If he had to rank his team members from most impatient to least annoying, the ambassador’s daughter was easily in first place. She hated being on a stakeout and a stalled investigation was a constant source of exasperation. Morgan and JJ took second and third place respectively, closely followed by Spencer, who failed to climb to their side only because of his fearful nature which held him back in his impulsive impulses. His weak constitution, of which he was perfectly aware, caught up with him in time to prevent him from jumping into the fray. For Dave, impatience seemed to be a word that was not part of his vocabulary.

-        “How long has it been?”

-        “This morning, said the latter. And they are supposed to come back tomorrow at dawn.”

-        “If he really is posing as one of them, he won’t be able to act tonight. I imagine that the residents know how the Scouts operated. They would find it strange for one of them to be walking around the neighborhood alone. And with what’s going on, they’d be suspicious right away.”

-        “And, at the same time, if he holds back tonight, then we’ll know that he knows how they work too,” argued Derek, whose tone suddenly became more optimistic.

-        “A former Boy Scout?” suggested Reid, whose frown Hotch guessed.

-        “Garcia?”

-        “I’m here,” replied the bubbly analyst, who had listened so far without a word.

Penelope Garcia was probably the agent on the team who fit the least into the FBI mold. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage. An advantage because her undeniable computer skills offered the department exceptional possibilities of action and speed of reaction, making her a formidable weapon that was, fortunately, undetectable to anyone outside the BAU. But there was a downside, as her mannerisms meant that she didn’t fit into any of the Bureau’s boxes, forcing Hotch to keep an eye on her every move in order to anticipate potential disasters or to mop up after her so that his best asset didn’t end up in an ejector seat.

-        “Can you make a list of all the teenagers who have done a stint in the scouts. He couldn’t hide his unsociability for long, so he probably got kicked out after two or three months.”

-        “He can’t be more than twenty, twenty-five years old, but must look younger than his age to make an illusion. Maybe small,” Morgan added to help her narrow down her search.

-        “Garcia, Spencer interjected, he must be from another state or the local scouts would have spotted him by now.”

-        “Okay. I’ll get this out to you as soon as I can.”

-        “DAD!”

In a surprising reflex, Hotch immediately cut the connection as his son screamed in his office. On the same floor, but beyond the glass doors of the open space and down an angled hallway, another blonde, this one with rhinestone glasses, squinted:

-        “Is that Jack I just heard?”

The team on the field responded with a long silence that spoke volumes. A wave of fire rolled through her veins.

-        “Tiny-Hotch is in the office, and you didn’t tell me!”

Garcia didn’t have any children herself but interacting with these miniature humans was always a pleasure for her, who, with her colorful outfits, frilly jewelry, and toys scattered all around her monitors and keyboards, could easily claim to have kept a childlike spirit even after seeing and hearing more horrors than she would have liked. Jack was the firstborn of the unit, so he had a special place in her heart, and she was always happy to see him. It was an affection she never hid from anyone, so she was offended to learn that they had killed his presence.

-        “Penelope, he’s not supposed to be here,” JJ pointed out, embarrassed.

-        “Say right away that I’m not discreet.”

-        “Strauss really can’t know,” Dave added, saving his colleagues from having to figure out how to get out of this mess.

-        “Roger, said the computer expert, momentarily calmed. I’ll send you what you want right away.”

-        “Thank you, beautiful,” Derek responded with a reassuring smile.

Quickly, the luscious blonde fluttered her fingers across her keyboard and saw a list of names appear on her main screen that matched the search criteria the profilers had given her. She herself had not been trained to profile serial killers or victims, because she had not been hired for that purpose. This was rather convenient for her because her heightened sensitivity did not allow her to deal with sociopaths and bereaved relatives as her colleagues did on daily basis. She sent her findings to the team and jumped out of her chair to leave her lair. In no time, she reached the desk of her supervisor, who happened to be on all fours near the bench, his arm fumbling more or less randomly underneath. Jack was standing next to him, watching the scene so intently that he hadn’t noticed the newcomer’s irruption.

-        “So, my ears had not deceived me.”

The little blond head swiveled around, and a wide smile lit up the boy’s face.

-        “Penelope!” he cried, running towards her with his arms spread wide.

-        “Boo! My little gummy bear!” she said as she hugged him, her pink lips placing a long kiss on his fine hair.

-        “The door, Garcia, please,” Hotch grumbled, his head still turned between the four legs of the sofa.

-        “Oh yes, sorry.”

She released Jack for a moment to close the door and returned to hug the boy, who gladly accepted this new embrace. His father was not a tactile man, so Garcia wondered if he ever hugged his son, other than to move him from point A to point B.

-        “How is my favorite candy cane?” she questioned him as she released him again.

-        “I’m on a secret mission,” Jack replied with a serious look.

-        “Oh, yeah? And what is this mission?”

-        “It’s a secret.”

-        “Ah, yes. Of course, she reacted by repressing the giggle that tickled her stomach. You need a hand?”

-        “No, it’s okay,” said the director, still kneeling on the carpet.

He suddenly pulled his arm out from under the sofa and straightened up to place a felt cap on the coffee table. Jack rushed over to this treasure and hurried to put the cap back in its proper place.

-        “Otherwise, they dry up,” he says with undeniable pride.

At his back, his breeder was climbing out of the space between the table and the cushions, and, rubbing his hands to remove the dust, made his way to his desk.

-        “Why didn’t you tell me he was there?” Garcia questioned him, however, with a frown.

-        “No one was to know. At least, as few people as possible,” he asserted as he froze to face her.

-        “Did you really hope it wouldn’t be noticed?”

-        “If at all possible, I would like to avoid Strauss finding out.”

-        “I won’t tell her,” she promised in the firmest tone she could muster.

The two agents were as dissimilar as they were oddly inseparable. She was short, curvaceous, platinum blonde, always improbably dressed and flashy, and expressed her feelings loudly and openly when the cruelty of the suspects hit the limits of what she could endure. He was tall, square, dark-haired, adorned in dark, austere suits and ties, and cloistered his emotions behind impenetrable reinforced concrete walls. She was an unstoppable will-o’-the-wisp, he was an unbreakable monolith. But if she had managed to get out of the bad situation in which she had been stuck after the death of her parents, it was thanks to the hand he had held out to her while the prison box was looming in front of her. In spite of her exactions, he had made her a member of the team without an ounce of hesitation. Despite her propensity not to follow the established protocols and her inaptitude to the physical tests, he stood systematically against her detractors without doubting for a moment her good faith. So she had at heart to be faithful to him and, on occasion, to return the favor.

-        “I know, he said, a fleeting smile stretching his thin lips. But you’re just in time, actually.”

-        “I listen to you,” she announced, standing at attention.

-        “I need to do an evaluation. I was thinking of doing it on video, but with Jack, it’s complicated. Is there any way you could…?”

-        “You won’t find a better babysitter around, sir,” she exclaimed, delighted.

Hotch’s smile widened at the young woman’s ecstatic joy. He knew that the reason she was still at her job after all these years was more because she felt indebted to him and had a strong sense of justice than because she loved it. So, being entrusted with the task of looking after a five-year-old boy was just right for her.

-        “Take him to your office. He should find plenty of stuff to play with.”

-        “Could I have a cartoon?” asked Jack, who had been casually following the conversation.

-        “I didn’t find out how to bypass the firewall, but I guess that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

If many men were reluctant to admit their weaknesses, the giant had no qualms about revealing his limited computer knowledge to Garcia, because it was obvious.

-        “The gentleman’s cartoon is advanced,” she said with a pompous air.

-        “Yeah!” the little boy exulted, raising his fists to the sky.

He was about to leave the office, excited to visit the analyst’s nest, when his father called out of him.

-        “Jack, wait, he ordered before kneeling in front of him. You’re going to go into Penelope’s office for a little while. Promise me you won’t touch anything, okay?”

-        “Okay,” nodded Jack, his spirits momentarily dampened.

-        “It’s her work tool, it’s very expensive and it’s fragile. So, you only touch what she gives you the right to touch.”

-        “Yes, Daddy.”

Aaron stood up with his gigantic stature and turned to his subordinate.

-        “Of course, no video, no photo, no audio tracks related to the case.”

-        “It goes without saying, she agreed before asking. Can he read?”

-        “No. But he is smart.”

This meant that she couldn’t afford to post an autopsy report in the boy’s presence – the words wouldn’t tell him anything, but the drawings would be explicit enough for him – and that she would have to be careful with her own words when she came to discuss with the other team members.

-        “Like his daddy,” she teased the interested party.

-        “Go ahead, smiled this one. See you later, buddy.”

-        “See you later, Dad.”

After observing the surroundings, Garcia took the boy’s hand, led him across the open space and through the long hallway to her office, which was protected from prying eyes. But she didn’t let him in right away.

-        “Close your eyes for a moment.”

-        “Why?”

-        “You’ll see. Close your eyes. And don’t cheat, right!”

-        “Okay.”

Obediently, Jack closed his eyelids and even placed his hands over his eyes to make sure he wasn’t cheating. Penelope rushed into her den to close all the photographs of corpses related to the current case. In some expert movements, she isolated the screen farthest from hers from the elements of the case and from any sensitive file to frighten or traumatize the child. She typed again a little and, a victorious smile running from one ear to the other, made appear a platform of online video for young public on the aforementioned screen. Proud of her work, she opened the door and let in her guest of the day, who had been waiting patiently without saying a word. She pushed the door behind them.

-        “You can watch.”

Jack lowered his hands and opened his eyes wide. Garcia was pleased to see the expression of a child let loose in Santa’s workshop on his face.

-        “Wow, that’s great!” he exclaimed, his brown eyes lingering on all the toys in the room.

And there were plenty of them, the luscious blonde diverting the anxiety that seized her at each affair by focusing her attention on an object or snapshot expressing only positive and warm emotions. She had started by redecorating the place – a narrow room with cold, dull walls – in a discreet way, taking back her belongings as soon as she got home. Then, when she noticed that none of the members of the BAU had made the slightest remark on the subject when they had appeared in her office during the day for X or Y reason, she had opted for a more relaxed reorganization. In fact, now every empty space was occupied by a bright or funny knick-knack, and the dark paint that surrounded her was hidden under smiling portraits, friendly group photos, and funny or cute pictures from the Internet. For Jack, who could no longer keep his mouth shut, it was like stepping into the cave of wonders.

-        “Go, install you, small prince,” she enjoined him by pointing out to him the screen she had reserved for him.

He climbed onto the rolling chair and put on his headset, which Garcia connected to the screen.

-        “What do you want to see?”

-        “That,” he replied without thinking.

His index finger was pointed at a box with colorful heroes with big tires and a benevolent windshield.

-        “I knew it, she said, winking at him. I have to work, but if you need anything, you let me know. Okay?”

-        “Okay.”

-        “Check?”

She presented him the palm of her open hand facing him and he immediately placed his against hers. The telephone rang at this moment and Garcia kissed the forehead of her small neighbor before going to settle in her place. She started the child’s video and picked up the phone to take the conversation.

-        “Cinderella speaking. I’m listening, my dear Javotte.”

-        “… Isn’t that one of the two snipes who gets her foot cut off?” retorted Prentiss, a little offended.

-        “Wrong example. What can I do for you, princess?”

The ambassador’s daughter immediately moved on, forgetting about the inappropriate nickname she had received to dive back into the investigation. Garcia listened carefully, took notes and then hung up. For the next twenty-fives minutes, she never took her eyes off the screen, typing at breakneck speed to get the information the rest of the team wanted. Concentrating one hundred percent on her task for as long as it took, she turned around to check on her tenant the second she hit the enter key.

-        “Are you all right, little angel? ...”

The chair was empty.

-        “Blast! Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Where are you hiding, little wizard?”

Her heart pounding in her temples, she turned back to her main screen and in a quarter of a second connected to the building’s remote monitoring network. A multitude of small screens took up the entire space, displaying different areas of Quantico in shades of gray. Agents walked around in front of her, unaware that they were now being watched by someone who was not in the business. But Penelope was not interested in them, her brown irises swirling from right to left in search of an individual smaller than the others crisscrossing the corridors of the building. In vain. On the verge of a heart attack, she jumped when her phone chimed again.

-        “Garcia, my goddess, I need your help again,” Morgan said, light years away from realizing the drama she was experiencing.

-        “It will have to wait a little. I’m in trouble,” she confessed, tears in the eyes.

-        “Why?” immediately worried her colleague and friend.

-        “Hotch gave me custody of Jack for an hour, I turned my head for five minutes, and he disappeared. I checked all the surveillance cameras, he’s nowhere to be seen.”

-        “He may be where there is no camera.”

The analyst frowned and straightened up, pondering the former policeman’s suggestion. The gears of her brain brought her the answer to this riddle after a blink of an eye, and she felt her heart rate calm down immediately.

-        “… Ooooh! Well done! She said, smiling again. What did you need?”

-        “An address.”

Her left hand scribbled the request on a multi-colored pad of paper and then cut off the conversation. She jumped out of her chair after answering Derek’s request and emerged from her lair to stand in front of the upstairs men’s room door. Impressed in spite of her, Garcia took a breath, grabbed the handle of the door then closed her eyes and covered the top of her face of her free hand. She thus invested the places without seeing anything of her environment and by ignoring completely if somebody was there. Her overflowing imagination made her see the space crowded, a score of pairs of angry and surprised eyes pointed at the intruder.

-        “Jack? Jack, are you there, darling?”

No answer came.

-        “No? Well, I’m going out then. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Pivoting on herself, she groped in the emptiness in search of the exit and reopened the door while narrowly missing to hurt herself in the passage. Obliged to throw herself into the gaping chasm of the open corridor in front of her, she staggered for a moment in order to be sure she was no longer where she should never have been before looking around again. Her arms fluttered around her in search of any wall that might have told her that she had made a mistake and ended up in one of the toilets instead.

-        “Garcia, what are you doing?”

-        “Oh, my God! She cried, leaping up. Hotch! I… I didn’t see anything.”

-        “Open your eyes, you’re in the hallway.”

Obediently, she saw that he was telling the truth.

-        “Ah? Ah, yes.”

-        “What were you doing in the men’s room?” he frowned as the door slowly closed behind her back.

-        “I… I’m sorry. I’m looking for J-A-C-K, she spelled out in a low voice as she looked around them. I just turned my head for a second and…”

-        “He’s in my office,” interrupted the director, with an Olympian calm.

-        “Oh. Sorry, she felt compelled to add. Still, he was in front of Cars. I thought that…”

-        “He just came to get one of his figurines, he was going to go back to your office afterwards.”

-        “Ah. Okay. Indeed, he’s a smart boy,” remarked Garcia, whose body was invaded by an incredible feeling of relief.

If there was one thing she cared about most, it was not betraying the trust her friends had in her. And, strange as it may seem to those outside the Bureau, Penelope considered her BAU partners to be close friends, including her supervisor. She respected him – betrayed by her inability to call him anything but “sir” when everyone else called him by that diminutive last name – but her relationship with him was nothing like what one would expect from an employer-employee relationship. To tell the truth, her affection for him was matched only by his affection for her, but the devotion of one and the shyness of the other kept them from tipping over into a familiarity that would have been more than inappropriate. Mortified by the disappearance of the son of her boss, she felt revived to know him in full form.

-        “I’ll bring him back to you,” Hotch said with a quiet smile.

-        “Thank you. And sorry.”

Aaron quickly retraced his steps and returned to his office where his son was waiting. When he saw Jack come in a few minutes earlier, he knew that he’d gone off the deep end with his impromptu babysitter and that she must be in a stated. He had therefore immediately interrupted what he was doing to intercept Penelope and thus reassure her. He knew that under this avalanche of spangles and frills particularly showy hid in reality a personality quickly prone to anxiety and stress, and which had in heart to make well. Even if he didn’t realize how much his team members made a point of not disappointing him, he was aware that they were always working hard to accomplish their mission and that Garcia, more than the others, wanted to prove that she had a place in the Department despite her great sensitivity. Fortunately, he had not had to look very long to put his hand on her and reassure her.

               A few moments later, after driving Jack to safety, he sat back down behind his desk and reactivated the window on his screen. Focused on his task, he didn’t see the next hour pass and didn’t realize that time had flown until his eyes fell on his watch. It was time for him to go and get his descendant, whom he could not decently leave all day in the hands of his colleague. Not because he didn’t trust her, but simply because it was his duty to be more present for the boy. Since Haley’s death, he had been consumed by an oppressive feeling of guilt whenever he abandoned his son to his aunt. And it became even more intense when he and his agents flew to another state for an investigation that would last several days.

               He kept feeling that the child’s mother was looking at him from where she was standing and shaking her head reproachfully, as she had done when he picked up the phone at home. He had been absent for her, and clearly, he wasn’t much more present for him. Luckily, Jack didn’t blame him yet, fascinated by this father who put bad guys behind bars and not taking offense that he saws his aunt more often that the man without whom he wouldn’t even exist. Hotch knew, however, that this situation was temporary and that one day the child would be old enough to point out that he should be paying more attention to his family than to the bad guys that others could catch instead of him. So, whenever he could, and despite the stress that systematically seized him on these occasions, he made a point of spending as much of his free time as possible at his son’s side. He always felt extremely clumsy and incompetent in front of this small being who observed him with admiration, even after one year to have him under his whole guard, but he had to face his fear to make badly in order to attenuate the rain of reproaches which threatened to fall to him soon.

               Walking up the hallway to Garcia’s office, he pushed the door open without knocking and stopped when he saw the two heads side by side, focused on the screen where shimmering cars were speeding through a grandiose CGI setting. With their headphones on, they had not heard him enter and he closed the door as gently as possible with a smile. Without a sound, he walked towards them and said:

-        “I see that research is progressing well.”

-        “Hotch! The analyst shuddered, pirouetting in her chair. Oh. The team didn’t need me anymore, and I had finished all my research.”

She stuttered and tried to tidy up the knick-knacks she had knocked over with a start, all the while dodging the dark look on her face. Jack’s attention was alternately on her and his father. He had noticed the discreet sneer at the corner of his lips, not her.

-        “Sorry. This is the first time these screens have seen anything other than C-O-R-P-S-E-S, so I wanted to enjoy a little.”

-        “If your work is done, I don’t have a problem with it, he said calmly before questioning Jack. And you, wouldn’t you be a little hungry?”

-        “What’s for lunch?” asked the little boy, forgetting about the cartoon in progress.

-        “Garcia. Show him the menu for the canteen and we’ll get the food upstairs.”

-        “Right away,” punctuated the bespectacled blonde as she rolled to her keyboard.

-        “Hotch?”

The voice that had just called out to the department head tensed his muscles. Recognizable among a thousand, it put all his senses on alert, activating a warning signal in the back of his mind. Determined to not reveal Jack’s presence on the floor, he wiped all traces of panic from his face and left the room, careful not to open the door too far. Strauss was waiting for him behind it, fists on hips. His supervisor glared at him, eyebrows furrowed, eyelids creased. She was clearly in a bad mood and had surely not appreciated to discover his office deserted. In Garcia’s workspace, she told the boy that it was crucial that he not make any more noise.

-        “Chief Strauss?”

-        “I’ve just read your evaluation, she said, dodging all the politeness. Are you one hundred percent sure of your judgement?”

-        “As I’ve always said, a second opinion is necessary. You will ask Rossi when he returns before you do anything.”

-        “Do you think they’ll be around much longer?” she grumbled after letting out a frustrated sigh.

-        “As far as I know, they are making progress.”

-        “As far as you know? Choked the fifty-year-old, outraged. You are not aware of the progress of the investigation led by your team?”

Hotch was aware of the immense power Erin possessed compared to him, but he couldn’t help but retort with some irony:

-        “As you may have noticed, I am here. Therefore, I only know what’s going on there when they call me.”

An atheist, he thanked the heavens, however, that his cell phone rang just as Strauss was about to make him swallow that line she hadn’t enjoyed at all.

-        “Yes, Morgan?”

-        “There’s nothing working, Hotch,” lamented Derek on the other side of the line.

-        “What do you mean by that?”

-        “Garcia did find several teenagers who didn’t fit the scouting mold, Dave interjected, but they’re either still in their home state, in a state other than Iowa, or in jail.”

-        “And the locals know about the local scouts, says Emily. They know they always come in pairs.”

-        “We also checked for other teenagers who could provide services in the area – paperboys, babysitters, dog sitters, Spence scratched before stopping abruptly, probably because of a glare from one of the team members, and none of them fit the profile.”

-        “And they all have an alibi with a witness,” Morgan finished, in a dejected tone.

Here was indeed problematic, thought the giant whose brain was grinding at full speed, indifferent to the attention that the woman next to him was paying.

-        “Okay. Let’s go back to the beginning. We started with the adolescent hypothesis because of the hesitation marks in the wounds.”

-        “And the fact that the rest of his MO emphasized a great assurance,” recalled Rossi, surely the calmest of the bunch.

-        “What if it’s the other way around, Aaron suggested. Maybe we’re dealing with an old serial killer. He’s confident because he’s experienced and he doesn’t hesitate, he’s shaky.”

-        “It’s true that no one is suspicious of a retiree walking his dog,” bounced Prentiss to interrupt the silence that had settled after this proposal.

-        “I’m calling Garcia,” announced the ex-policeman.

-        “I’ll take care of it, she’s next to me.”

The BAU director hung up and, still ignoring Strauss’ presence, presented his back to her to reopen Penelope’s door. Knowing that the section chief had her attention focused entirely on him, he used his tall stature to hide the interior of the room from her sharp gaze.

-        “Garcia. Headphones.”

Penelope shielded Jack’s ears in a second, turning on the cartoon sound to prevent him from hearing clearly what was coming next. The little boy made no comment.

-        “I’m listening.”

-        “Look for a man over sixty with recently diagnosed Parkinson’s or early senile dementia. He probably had a long stay either in the hospital or in a nursing home, he ranted, pouring out the search criteria as his neurons chained synapses and spun deductions under his skull. Perhaps as a result of an accident.”

-        “Perimeter?”

-        “He must not be a native of the area, but he has lived in the vicinity for several years. Enough for him to know the locals and for them not to pay attention to him anymore.”

-        “So, at least, ten years,” Garcia said.

Aaron nodded imperceptibly to validate this assertion and went on:

-        “Cross-references his moves with other unsolved murders with similarities. He had to change his MO to adapt it to his new physical condition, but not completely.”

-        “Okay.”

-        “Ah, and he must be tall. In any case, enough for his victims to be afraid of him despite his tremors.”

-        “Work on it. I send the result to my little elves.”

-        “Thank you.”

Satisfied with this exchange, he closed the door immediately afterwards to face Strauss who had heard everything, fortunately without seeing Jack. But despite the obvious progress in the investigation, she didn’t seem to share Hotch’s contentment.

-        “Her little elves?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in disdain.

-        “It could have been worse.”

Indeed, the analyst of the unit had the habit of calling the members of the team more eccentric nicknames than the others, without worrying about the difference of age or status between her and them. He was probably the most spared of the lot – probably because of the deference she expressed to him – but he was always wary of what she might say wen he called her and she was on speakerphone. Not that there was anything insulting about what she was saying – far from it, since it was mostly affectionate – but he was often embarrassed to meet the surprised, suspicious or outraged looks of the policemen, marshals and rangers who heard the over-vitamin logorrhea against their will. Usually, he reacted by feigning indifference, which cut short any remark about the unmistakable discrepancy between the young woman’s speech and the strict image of the FBI.

-        “… Don’t forget the one o’clock meeting,” Strauss grumbled, suppressing a sigh.

-        “I will be there.”

The director turned around and walked quickly down the hallway until she reached the elevators. She flipped a switch, waited for a car to arrive, and then disappeared inside. Hotch didn’t breathe again until he heard the motor drive the metal box to the upper floors. He then returned to Garcia’s office.

-        “Jack,” he called to his son as he was absorbed in the images on the screen.

-        “Yes, Daddy,” he answered, turning his head in his direction.

-        “Come with me, we’ll order food from my office. We need to let Penelope work a little.”

-        “Okay.”

The boy took the headphones out of his ears, unplugged the cable, and rushed into his father’s arms. He waved to his temporary hostess, and she smiled mischievously.

-        “Garcia.”

-        “Yes?” she hiccupped, regaining her seriousness.

-        “You are welcome.”

-        “Anytime.”

So Hotch went out into the hallway for the umpteenth time and went into his own office. Jack, holding his headphones in one small hand and his toy in the other, watched his father with a puzzled expression.

-        “Why do you call her Garcia if her name is Penelope? he asked as they passed the elevators. Is that her code name?”

-        “No, it’s her last name,” Aaron replied as he opened the heavy glass door to the bullpen.

-        “Why do you call her by her last name?”

-        “It’s a habit. And it’s more professional,” the director pointed out as he put his son back down before closing the door behind him.

As he uttered this answer, he realized that it would not speak at all to the five-year-old boy who was staring at him. His thin, circumflex eyebrows expressed the confusion he felt. The question that followed was obvious:

-        “What does that mean?”

-        “Usually, the people you call by their first name are family or very close friends,” he began to explain as he settled back into his chair and motioned for Jack to join him.

-        “She is not your friend?” worried immediately this one after having climbed his legs.

Hotch knew that his descendant was very fond of the members of his team, and that he even had a soft spot for the analyst, whose radiant personality and amusing expressions suited his childlike spirit. His father sometimes wondered if he wasn’t even more attached to her because she reminded him of his mother, whose joyful and colorful humor spoke to him much more than the cold austerity and outdated vocabulary that he offered him daily. With Haley gone, he only found this cheerful tone in the company of his aunt – to a lesser extent – and Garcia. Logically, he was thus saddened to discover that his father did not share his attachment to the bubbly, bespectacled blonde from Quantico. The question now was, could he really consider Penelope a friend in the strictest sense? The answer was so obvious that he didn’t really have time to think about it.

-        “Yes, but she is also a co-worker, and I am her supervisor.”

-        “What does that mean?”

-        “That I am her boss. I give her orders and she’s supposed to follow them. And friends don’t normally do that with each other.”

-        “So, you can’t be friends.”

The FBI’s rules of engagement would have dictated that he should have strictly professional relationships with his subordinates, but the reality of the field was quite different. In truth, outside the BAU, the fingers of one hand were enough to count the number of people he could consider friends. He had countless acquaintances, but he didn’t have the closeness and attachment to them that he had with his team members. Nevertheless, if he knew that he could count on them, he could not totally ignore the fact that he was still their leader and that at any moment, he was able to sanction them for having defied the laws or endangered the life of one of them or of a civilian. And then, nothing attested that the reciprocal was true. Just because he had friendly feelings towards his group did not mean that they felt the same way. Maybe they only saw him as what he was on paper: the unit manager. His heart wished it wasn’t so, but his reason sowed doubt in his mind.

-        “It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said, settling Jack on his lap properly so he can see his screen.

-        “Why? Don’t you like her?”

-        “Yes, I do. A lot, he confessed with a smile. She’s a very important person to me. So are the other members of the team. But when we work, we have to keep a certain distance between us all. And calling Penelope, Garcia, helps to… to make everyone understand that I’m the boss and she’s my employee. You see what I mean?”

-        “No.”

-        “Okay. It’s a little bit complicated to explain, it’s true. Basically, when we’re not working on a case, I call her Penelope. But when we’re working together and there are people around who are not FBI, I call her Garcia.”

-        “In fact, you pretend not to be friends,” his son summarized, reassured.

The simplicity of the boy’s reasoning amused his father. By dint of developing convoluted thoughts on daily basis, he forgot that the straight line was sometimes much more explicit than a jumble of loops and detours, especially when speaking to a child of barely five years.

-        “… Yes, that’s it. You’ll understand better when you’re working, he concludes before pointing to the page of the day’s menu. What do you want to eat?”

-        “Can I have an ice cream?”

-        “I was talking about the dish, not the dessert.”

-        “Yes, but if I don’t have ice cream, I won’t eat the same thing.”

Among the information he had gathered about his son during the past year, the main one was that he was a born negotiator. Everything was a pretext for long deliberations so that he could get what he wanted, and the fact was that he had a certain repartee that regularly caught his father off guard. And the meals were certainly the most important part of the discussions between them. Jack already had strong tastes in many foods – tastes that stemmed mainly from the dishes his mother used to make for him – and Aaron had several rules in this area that he insisted on adhering to. Problem: the giant was an absolute sucker behind the stove. Even with the best concentration in the world, it invariably resulted in an indeterminate pile of food with a more than questionable flavor. At best, it was barely edible. At worst, he had to order out to prevent them from poisoning themselves. A weakness that Jack regularly took advantage of to get his way. For this bunch, however, the father’s objective was to make sure that the little guy on his haunches did not end the day full of glucose.

-        “… If you take an ice cream, you don’t eat the other chocolate bars,” he suggested in order to please him without giving up too much ground.

-        “Why?”

-        “Because it’s way too much sugar and I know someone who won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

In the past, he had twice made the mistake of lowering his barriers to delight his son, but the disastrous consequences that had followed had dissuaded him from repeating the experience. Now he also understood better why so many parents denied their children so many treats: they were preserving their sanity.

-        “I can have both, but not the dish,” counteracted Jack, a greedy gleam in his eyes.

-        “No. You get a dish and dessert, or a dish and a snack later. But not dessert and a snack.”

-        “Please!”

-        “No. You have to choose.”

Jack frowned, his mouth twisted into a disappointed pout, but Hotch did not blink. His gaze returned to the screen where pictures of the dishes were displayed, and he seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, he looked up and questioned him:

-        “… What are you going to take?”

-        “It depends on what you take.”

Anticipating the fact that he would probably have to finish some of his plate, Aaron preferred to avoid unfortunate mixes or double portions of rich food as much as possible. He still had to fit into his mostly tailored suits, not having the means to renew his entire wardrobe.

-        “… Can I have the burger and the fries?”

-        “Dessert or snack?”

-        “… Dessert,” opted his offspring after an interminable silence.

-        “Okay. I call them.”

 About thirty minutes later, father and son were gathered around the coffee table and their dishes. Penelope was with them, sitting in one of the available chairs.

-        “The bad guy was captured?” inquired Jack as he swallowed a pair of fries stuck to the end of his fork.

He had tried to negotiate to eat them by hand, but his breeder had refused to do so in order to preserve the office furniture and the spotless carpeting that lined the floor. Strauss was so quick to jump on his bandwagon whenever one of his team members incurred an unexpected expense that he was convinced she would be able to pick up the dry-cleaning bill from his salary if the slightest grease stain appeared.

-        “Yes. Emily called me before I came here to tell me that the case was closed.”

-        “Thanks to Penelope, who found the villain’s address in no time,” the director pointed out.

-        “You’re so great!” exclaimed Jack, as the analyst lowered her nose to hide her blush.

-        “It’s a team effort, she said, stammering. I found the address and the others went to get it, all thanks to your daddy who had the idea of looking for a bad old man.”

-        “I know. My dad is the best.”

The two agents exchanged glances and smiled in unison. Though dissimilar in many ways, Hotch and Garcia were similar in the importance they place on their loved ones. Both cherished their friends and family members in their own way – she in an obvious way, he in a more discreet way – and made a point of having their qualities noticed by those around them. Perhaps because, more than the other profilers of the team, they could not hide their flaws because they were too obvious, even to neophytes in the analysis of human behavior. But it was clear that their tactics to try to raise the esteem of the other were useless with the child who was standing next to them: he was already fully committed to their cause.

-        “Can I have the ice cream?” he asked, fidgeting on the cushion of the bench.

-        “You didn’t finish your fries,” his father noted, pointing with his chin to the handful of forgotten potatoes.

-        “I don’t want more.”

-        “You don’t want it because you’re not hungry anymore or you don’t want it because you want the ice cream?”

The boy’s brown irises swung to the side. He was thinking about what to say, sensing that one of the two proposals hid a trap that would force him to finish his meal before attacking the dessert. But he was much more interested in the glazed stick than in the soggy potato slices that were lying around on his plate. His racing brain breathed a first response, which was chased away by a small voice reminding him that his father detected lies from miles away. In the end, it was greed that made him say:

-        “… I want the ice cream.”

-        “And who’s going to eat your fries? Aaron immediately objected, in that strange tone of voice that mixes sweetness and firmness. It’s not nice to waste food, you know.”

-        “You can eat them,” Jack replied, pushing the dish in his direction.

-        “I’d rather eat your ice cream.”

-        “NO! It’s mine!”

-        “I’m the one who paid for it,” the giant reminded him, repressing his urge to laugh at the boy’s upset look.

-        “No! Please!”

He had climbed down from his seat to grab the director’s sleeve, his wide eyes shining with dread at the thought of his objective passing him by. As Hotch remained stoic, he turned his gaze to his only potential ally, who was biting her lip to keep from blurting out her superior’s plan. Jack redirected his attention back to him, his little fingers firmly gripping the thick fabric of the jacket.

-        “Go eat your ice cream,” Aaron agreed, grinning from ear to ear.

-        “Yeah! the kid exploded, arms raised to the ceiling. Can I sit in your chair?”

-        “Yes, but don’t put chocolate everywhere. You tell me if you need a napkin.”

-        “Yes, Daddy!”

Grabbing the frosted bag, the boy ran to the big desk, disappeared behind it for a moment and then gradually reappeared as he climbed onto the chair. Then he tore the paper off without any delicacy and bit into the milk chocolate shell. Hotch and Garcia watched him with the same happy expression.

-        “He’s tough on business,” she finally remarked, turning back to the man sitting next to her.

-        “And again, you didn’t see anything.”

Penelope looked again at the kiddie who was playing with one of his figurines while sucking on the frozen block of caramel. A thick beige trail beaded down his chin, running straight down to his still clean shirt. Seeing him so still, it was hard for her to realize what he had been through a year before. Children who experienced this kind of trauma sometimes developed such disorders that they became a danger to society, if not a danger to themselves. But Jack seemed to have come through the ordeal with ease, and if she didn’t know what had happened, she might have thought he’d had a perfectly peaceful life until then. It seemed that Hotch was a magician.

-        “He is adorable.”

-        “Yes, it’s a good thing he takes after his mother,” admitted Aaron, aware that if his son had had his temper, the relationship would have been much more difficult.

-        “It’s true that he looks a lot like her. Is it not too hard, by the way?”

Jack’s mother had been as blonde as his father was dark brown-haired. So, the child’s light hair was a constant reminder of the appearance to the woman who had given him life. Penelope knew how strong his boss’s love for her had been – and probably still was – and so she worried about what it would mean for him to be around this constant reminder of the one he had lost.

-        “It depends on the day,” he said, lowering his head.

Garcia felt her throat tighten and so she hurried to change the subject.

-        “… I didn’t know you had to take an assessment again.”

-        “It wasn’t for me, but for a prisoner seeking parole.”

-        “Ah, phew!” she breathed, relieved.

-        “But I should probably go through one again in a few weeks.”

The anniversary date was now approaching fast, and this information was becoming more and more obsessive in everyone’s head as the days went by. Everyone knew that this fateful moment was a difficult milestone to pass, and in spite of themselves, they watched the giant’s reactions out of the corner of their eyes for the slightest hint of a possible crisis. But until that moment, Hotch was as good as new. He would, however, have to face an FBI psychologist who would judge whether or not he could handle his job.

-        “Oh. And… you’ll be okay?”

-        “I’m not too worried about the evaluation. I helped write the questions and answers, he says with a fleeting smile. It’s more…”

His irises rolled instinctively towards his feet. A wave of anxiety had just overwhelmed his chest, strangling his windpipe and knotting his entrails. Unconsciously, he had repressed this perspective not to suffer the backlash, but he could not deny the obvious any longer. In a short time, he would have no choice but to speak again about what had engraved an incurable wound in his heart. While it was true that he knew exactly what to say to pretend that everything was fine, he didn’t know how he would actually react on the D-day. Just as he couldn’t predict how Jack would behave either. Would he even know how to do and say the right thing to appease him if necessary and, above all, not to make things worse?

-        “If you ever need to talk to someone, I’ll be there,” Penelope said, placing a hand on Aaron’s wrist.

He looked up in her direction and she gave him her most confident smile. She was ready to help him if necessary, as compensation for all the times he had stood by her side to get her back on her feet and restore all the confidence that had eluded her.

-        “Thank you.”

-        “Daddy!”

Both adults looked up at the desk to see Jack waving his chocolate hands in the air. Without waiting, Hotch left his seat and joined him to stop him from spreading the leather seat he was perched on. With the child washed up, the director retrieved his laptop and phone, kissed his son on the forehead, saluted Garcia and left the floor to attend the budget meeting to which he had been urged. His employee returned briefly to her den and came back to the boy with her arms full of toys and games of all kinds. The duo did not see the time pass until the child indicated his desire to go to the bathroom. She willingly led him to the door, which he already knew, but did not enter the reserved space this time. And whereas she waited in the corridor, Lynch emerged from the elevators and, seeing her, went straight towards her. An icy shiver went down the spine of Penelope who concentrated not to look in the direction of the door of the WC.

-        “Hey, hi baby.”

-        “Oh, Kevin. Uh… hi,” she stammered, panicked that Jack would come out right then and there.

-        “What’s with the scared look?” the computer scientist frowned as he stared at her through his thick-framed glasses.

-        “Scared? Me? Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that…”

-        “What were you doing in the hallway without moving?”

Penelope’s brain was racing to come up with a good excuse for her boyfriend to justify her presence here. Not that she wasn’t allowed out of her den, far from it, but when the team was on the field, she really only left it to get a coffee or go to the bathroom herself. Now, the glass door behind her offered an obvious view of the absence of the BAU agents and she had no cup in her hands.

-        “Uh… I was waiting for… a colleague. But she’ll find the way on her own, she said, speaking much too quickly. Let’s go to my office before Strauss sees us.”

-        “No worries. She’s two floors up, in a meeting room. And it looked pretty tense.”

-        “Is that so?”

-        “Something tells me that the BAU has blown up her credit card again.”

-        “As if it were our type.”

Grabbing Kevin by the arm, Garcia managed to subtly lead him to her office without him suspecting anything, but felt terribly bad for Jack who was going to discover the empty hallway when he came out of the amenities. And indeed, a few minutes later, the little boy was saddened to see his nanny of the day gone. He rushed to his father’s office, hoping to find the young woman, but had to face the facts: she had abandoned him.

               About thirty minutes later, a phone call brought Lynch back to his quarters and Garcia then crossed the entire floor like a rocket.

-        “Oh, boy! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! » she repeated as she realized there was no sign of the toddler in Hotch’s workspace.

Stressed and terrified, she retraced her steps and nearly collided with her colleagues who were spilling upstairs through the elevator.

-        “Oh, thank goodness! You guys are back.”

-        “Is everything okay?” worried Emily, intrigued.

-        “What’s going on, baby girl?” asked Derek, noticing his friend’s tremors.

-        “I lost Jack. Again.”

-        “… What do you mean?” inquired Prentiss, her eyebrows furrowed.

-        “Again?” stressed Spencer, confused.

Garcia then quickly summarized the situation so that everyone was aware of what had happened in the last few hours.

-        “I love Kevin, but I couldn’t let him see Jack.”

-        “Did you look at the surveillance cameras? Dave asked calmly. Just like the first time.”

-        “That’s just what I was about to do when you arrived.”

Less than a minute later, the entire group crowded into the analyst’s office, and they watched as she tapped away at her keyboard to bring up the multiple boxes on the video surveillance system.

-        “It looks so simple,” Rossi noted behind her back in admiration.

-        “It’s because she’s so good,” JJ explained, smiling despite the gravity of the situation.

It was essential that the child be found before the leader returned upstairs. If Aaron were to realize that his offspring was left to fend for himself in a building where he had no right to be, his anxiety would spike so quickly that it would not be surprising if he were to have an attack. Which neither of them wanted to witness.

-        “There. He’s leaving the men’s room,” Emily pointed, a finger pressed to the miniature screen in question.

-        “Went into Hotch’s office and got one of his toys,” Morgan reported, following the boy’s actions with his eyes.

-        “He wants to reassure himself, Reid analyzed. Logic would dictate that he is now looking for his father.”

-        “Except Hotch is in a budget meeting and he has no idea where it’s being held.”

-        “Let’s see where he comes out,” Derek said as the team watched Jack enter the elevator they hadn’t used.

The twelve eyes carefully scanned the images that flashed before their eyes, looking for the little blonde head that interested them. They mentally reviewed the different floors, crossing them off their list as soon as it became clear that the child was not there. Inwardly, they crossed their fingers that he had not gone through the lobby, where he would have been spotted immediately by the guards, who would have alerted Strauss.

-        “Is this… the parking lot?” remarked Emily warily.

She wasn’t wrong. A grayscale version of Jack was now walking between the columns of the underground parking lot and striding purposefully toward the manager’s assigned spot. Pressing one of the buttons on the key he’d stolen before leaving, he unlocked the vehicle, opened the rear door and climbed into his booster seat, where he sat, clutching his toy.

-        “Isn’t that weird?”

-        “No, JJ said. He’s afraid Hotch will leave without him. As he settles into the car, he’s sure his father won’t forget him at the office.”

-        “Smart kid,” Dave hissed, grinning.

-        “He has someone to hold on to”, argued Prentiss, also relieved.

-        “Let’s go get him before he gets cold,” Morgan suggested, already starting to turn around.

Following the same path as the boy before them, the agents reached their superior’s personal car and retrieved its occupant to take him up to the sixth floor. By a happy coincidence, Hotch did not return to them until everyone was out of the elevator, giving the illusion that nothing of note had happened in his absence.

-        “Back already?”

-        “We took the first flight,” joked the former BAU director.

-        “Daddy!”

The kid threw himself into his father’s arms, nearly poking his eye out with his toy. But Aaron didn’t care and lift him up from the ground before apologizing:

-        “Sorry, Jack. It took longer than I expected. Everything went well?”

-        “Wonderful. Perfect. Of course. Absolutely.”

This outpouring of positive expressions from the entire group aroused the giant’s suspicion, but a benevolent spirit diverted his attention through his descendant.

-        “When do we go home?”

-        “Not yet, Jack. I’ve still got some works to do, he explained, before showing him the face of his watch. You see, we’ll have to wait for the hands to move a little more.”

-        “Oh! Exclaimed Emily suddenly. How about we all go dinner together afterwards?”

-        “With me?” Jack immediately asked.

-        “Of course, with you, JJ reassured him, stroking his cheek. You will be our very special guest.”

-        “When were you going to tell me that your son was here?”

In a general gasp, the entire team turned to find Strauss standing at the entrance to the bullpen. Jack shrivelled in his father’s arms, trying to make himself as small as possible.

-        “Chief Strauss, I can explain everything,” Aaron began, putting the child back on the ground, who immediately ducked behind his legs.

-        “Oh, I imagine, indeed, that you have a good reason for bringing your five-years-old son to the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the most deranged criminals in the United States,” spat the headmistress, her blue eyes flashing.

-        “He saw nothing, heard nothing that could shock him.”

-        “I hope so. But that’s not really my point, she countered, her fists on her hips. The point is why didn’t you tell me? Why did other agents come and tell me that a little blond boy of four, fives years old was walking around the corridors?”

Penelope and JJ exchanged a look. As they thought, it was highly unlikely that anyone but them could have missed Jack’s presence at Quantico. Whoever had warned the fifty-year-old surely meant no harm, but the result was there. Hotch, usually so quick to verbally dismiss his opponents, didn’t know what to say to excuse his behavior. Probably because he knew he was wrong.

-        “… I’m sorry. I should have…”

-        “Yes, you should have, shouted Strauss. Do you realize that if anything had happened to him, our entire security protocol would have been compromised?”

-        “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, without any irony this time.

-        “Good. Next time, have him register as a visitor.”

-        “Yes, ma’am.”

-        “And don’t forget your reports, ladies and gentlemen,” she continued, glaring at the rest of the team.

After this final salvo, she left the open space and then the floor. The silence lasted for a moment, and then Jack dared to come out of his hiding place and his reserve:

-        “She is scary.”

-        “Yes, a little, conceded his father as he knelt down beside him. Are you okay?”

-        “Is it because of me?”

-        “No, it’s not. It’s me. I didn’t follow the rules.”

-        “It’s not right, Dad.”

-        “No, it’s not,” confirmed this one with an embarrassed expression.

Hotch kissed his son to reassure him and then took him back into his arms. With his package clutched to his chest, he turned to his unit who came over to greet the little boy they hadn’t time to see in the morning before leaving. Very sociable, Jack gave them all an ecstatic smile that completely dispelled the effects of Strauss’s outburst.

-        “When are we going to the diner?” he asked once the greetings were over.

-        “As soon as we finish our homework,” grumbled Emily, rolling her eyes.

Like most of the team, Prentiss enjoyed the practical side of her job more than the administrative side – Spencer was probably the only one who loved writing his mission report, often adding information that was dispensable to the bureaucrats who read it, but undeniably important to him – and so she dragged her feet when it came time to sit down behind her keyboard.

-        “Where would you like to go?” asked JJ, all too happy to be able to put off the moment when she would have to get down to work herself.

-        “I want to eat pizza.”

-        “Ah, that’s my department, said Dave, the Italian-American in the group. I’ve got a few good places you might like.”

-        “Cool!”

Cheerful smiles lit up the faces of the adults around him. Rossi being a gourmet and a chef in his spare time, they all knew that the dinner was going to be the perfect end of this disjointed but refreshing day in their routine. And all this thanks to this little blonde head who looked at his father with unbounded admiration. Proof if it were needed that a family could gather much more than individuals sharing the same DNA.    

[marinerainbow]

//To piggy back off your reply

Psycho: Look what IIIIIIII found!

Greasy: ...a baby?

Smartass: Yeeeesh! Get it outta here!

Stupid: Daw, can't we keep it?

Wheezy: It's not ours Stupid, somebody probably left it in there.

Stupid: Golly, who would forget a whole baby?

Smartass: Those meat-bags can't never control what dey create. How are you 'reposin' we's all here? Thrown out like the trash.

Psycho: *still holding the infant like a ragdoll* Baby going to sleep!

Smartass: Hmm...okay Psycho you hang on to it. We can use dis rugrat for ransom. I'll make a few calls. "Helpless Baby found on the street, come collect it at the Toon Town tunnel if ya ever wanna see him again." But if it cries it goes back out dere.

Wheezy: Where are it's...those...people that usually have the babies?

Smartass: The parents? Who cares, we'll be rollin' in dough.

Greasy: Looks small enough to fit in a bank vent, eh boss?

Baby: *grabs his nose*

Greasy: Ay! Hijo del diablo!

Smartass: Ok boys how does "Give us da money or we feed him to alligators" sound?

And then Poppy bursts in and puts a stop to the whole thing 😂

I was reading this, nodding along to everything, until I got to the end and burst out laughing 😂😂😂 I love how this implies that Poppy just has a sixth 'my crime friends are doing something bad again' and she cane in just in time XD

Poppy is taking the baby from Psycho's arms, and she is scolding the heeeeell out of Smartass before insisting they try to find the baby's parents. Or figure out a way to deal with the child that doesn't involve unlawful antics XD she's gonna adopt the baby

[myreygn]

Flour Magic

summary: Nagisa helps Aiichiro baking for the Samezuka christmas party and to say that things get a little out of hand would be an understatement.

an: this is my @squealing-santa​ gift for @theatregaymer​. on the last possible day, as usual, and the title is kinda weird, but i really hope you like it! i also hope you had fun on the holidays and have a good new year’s eve! ^^ thank you to @hypahticklish​ for hosting, this was my first time participating and i had a lot of fun <3

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

Baking with Rin was a challenge. There was always some miscalculated amount, some forgotten ingredient, or, even better, some random ingredient which had nothing to do with the thing they were trying to bake whatsoever. Of course, it was never Rin’s fault. No no, always something wrong with the recipe, or the measurements. And the worst part about the whole baking thing was that they had to do it every time there was a team event coming up; graduation parties, New Year’s… while Aiichiro loved baking and always gladly took over the preparations, the captain’s help was expected as it was a Samezuka tradition at this point. Captain Seijuro had caused an indescribable amount of chaos every time and Aiichiro had almost been relieved when Rin took over, but… well. Yeah.

To say that he had expected anything else would have been a lie, but to deal with his senpai’s absolute incapability of admitting any wrongdoing was… exhausting, to say the least. Which was why he was very contemptuous with Rin being sick when the time to bake for the team’s christmas party rolled around. Not thrilled of course, because that would just be malicious, but sometimes sickness really came in handy. Up until now, he had also managed to keep Momotarou from the kitchen and even though Sousuke was unfortunately unavailable, he had found a substitute that was actually competent.

“Oops!”

Well, mostly.

“Nagisa!” Aiichiro let out a long sigh, the sixth one within the last five minutes, and put his hands on his hips, trying his very best to give the blonde boy a reproachful stare. “How many times have I told you, be more careful!”

“I know, I know. Sorry?”

Screw it, he couldn’t stay mad at Nagisa. Not when he had that sheepish little smile on his face and his entire hair was covered in flour. How did it get up there? Who knew? Aiichiro for sure had no idea. Sigh number seven.

“Come here, let’s clean you up.”

“Oh, don’t bother.”

Aiichiro barely had time to get concerned about what would happen before Nagisa let his head hang down and began to shake it. The floor and his face turned equally white as he watched the flour trickle downwards in horror; mentally he made a note to sweep through later. This was the dorm’s kitchen after all and he couldn’t possibly leave all of this flour on the floor in good conscience, handing all the work over to the cleaning staff.

“You look like youʼve seen a ghost!” Nagisa laughed. “Don't worry, we're gonna clean that up. Well, me. I'm gonna clean that up.” He tilted his head, chuckling softly. “You need to relax a little, Ai. Making cookies is supposed to be fun and you’ve been stressed out ever since we started.”

Aiichiro felt his cheeks grow warm. “Y-yeah, well, I just don’t want them to be ruined, just because we’re fooling around and not paying attention to the ingredients or anything!”

Nagisa smirked, then he shrugged and turned back to the dough. “I’m sure they’re ruined already.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, you made the frosting with milk and you know that when you’re in a sour mood, the milk goes sour too, right?”

His pulse, having gone from zero to a hundred real quick, dropped again and Aiichiro couldn’t help the growl escaping his throat. “That was so silly.”

“No, but this is.”

Nagisa was fast, Aiichiro had to hand him that. The flour was all over his face before he could even blink. Not to mention, in his mouth. Ew.

“Watch out!”

“NaGAH! Alright, that’s it!”

Nagisa dodged the flour Aiichiro threw at him, laughing. “Finally you’re ready to have some fun! Now eat- umphf!”

Aiiricho grinned, already gathering as many flour packages as he could get his hands on. He had to stuff himself with more ammunition and, even more important, prevent Nagisa from doing the same!

Now, there were two very important things to know about Nitori Aiichiro. One, he was a strategist. Not very skilled when it came to open face to face combat, but chess was exactly his cup of tea and he had led his lasertag teams to victory more than just once. And two, he was determined. He didn’t like giving up - and he wouldn’t!

However, there was also one very important thing to know about Hazuki Nagisa, something which Aiichiro was about to find out the hard way: he did not care for any of that.

For the third or fourth time already, Aiichiro found himself not having any time to make a battle plan or even think for a second. Nagisa didn’t have a lot of flour left, but he sure was making the most of it, rapidly opening fire and not letting him breathe at all.

He spluttered when he got hit in the face, blinking and trying to regain his vision, taking more shots in the process. This was brutal. This was war. There was nothing he could do except for waiting until Nagisa would run out of flour, which, if his estimations were correct, should happen right around… now!

Aiichiro took a deep breath as soon as the attacks stopped (and regretted it immediately, that goddamn flour was everywhere) and got the vast majority out of his face before looking at the now unarmed Nagisa and allowing himself a tiny smirk. “My turn.”

Or so he thought. Because there was a second very important thing to know about Hazuki Nagisa. In retrospect, Aiichiro would smack himself in the head, because it was something he already knew about and yet he was still caught off guard; Nagisa was very fast.

“H-hey, what are you- EEK!”

Aiichiro felt his legs go weak and he dropped to his knees, Nagisa following him to the floor with a satisfied grin and his hands latched to his sides, squeezing. “What is it, Ai? A little sensitive?”

“Yohou know thahat!”

“You’re right, I know that.” Aiichiro shrieked when Nagisa pulled his arm to the side and wiggled his fingers into his armpit. “And I’m really happy I know that.”

“Nohoho- Nahagisa! Nahat thehere!” Gosh, this was unbearable. Did the Christmas spirit make him more ticklish? Or was Nagisa just ridiculously good at this? Probably the latter.

“Not there? But that’s not even your most ticklish spot. Do you really want me to go there?”

Panic rose in Aiichiro’s chest as more frantic laughter spilled out of his mouth; panic, but also a kind of excitement. “Nahagisa, plehehease…”

“Please go there? As you wish.”

Nagisa let go of his wrist and Aiichiro immediately clamped his arm to his side, taking a moment to breathe through. A moment too long, apparently. An arm wrapped around his ankles and his heart dropped to his stomach. “Nonono, wait, Nagisa, wahait-”

“Yes?” Nagisa smirked down at him, one single index finger ghosting over his sole and Aiichiro couldn’t stop a panicked giggle from slipping out. “I’m waiting?”

“U-uhm… don’t tickle me…”

“Tickle you? With pleasure!”

“Noho! I said dohon’t!”

“Don’t what?”

“Tihickle me- WAIT!”

“Too late.” Nagisa let out a cackle in his best super villain manner and started to scribble all five fingers of his free hand over the two feet he was keeping in a headlock. 

Aiichiro screamed.

“NAHAHAGISAHAHA!” The assault at his armpit had been nothing in comparison to this. Somehow Nagisa found all the right spots that made him go insane. The middle of his sole, his heel, and even bending back his toes to scratch beneath them. Aiichiro distantly registered Nagisa’s voice, probably teasing him, but he was too lost in the absolute madness of a sensation that was the tickling. Tears were running down his cheeks and his stomach hurt from laughing so hard, and Nagisa was relentless, changing his finger movements between scratching, scribbling and even kneading softly. At last, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“AHALRIGHT, STAHAHAP! I GIHIHIHIVE, I GIHIVE! PLEHEHEASE!”

Nagisa chuckled, slowing down and letting go of his legs, then he handed him a bottle of water he pulled out of his backpack and softly patted his knee. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah…” Aiichiro rubbed his tummy, trying to calm down from the after-giggles. “All good… jeez, what was that?!”

Nagisa shrugged, a sheepish smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I was out of ammo. And you were so tense all day, I wanted you to laugh and loosen up a little.”

A slight wave of guilt washed over Aiichiro’s features. “Was I that bad? I’m sorry….”

“I mean… a little. Don’t worry about it.” Nagisa held his hand up, grinning. “I had fun!”

Aiichiro couldn’t help but smile softly, then he gave his friend the high five he was waiting for. “Yeah, me too. Come on, let’s clean up and get back to work.”

“That doesn’t mean getting back to moping though, right?”

“I said I was sorry!”