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inuhalfdemon · 4 months

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Fanart posted in fic belongs to:

@honestlynotgonnalie (Tumblr)

@honestlygonalie (X/Twitter)

Please stop by and give the artist some love!!!

Everyone was gathered into the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie and Vaggie had set out two large, long tables with some chairs for the residents to use; stacks of paper and cups filled with crayons, pencils and pens all placed throughout. Lucifer was already happily chatting with the two women when Alastor strolled through the door and into the room; a giggling Niffty perched atop his head.

“First off, I want to thank each and every one of you for all of the hard work you’ve been doing to get things ready for…well, for the upcoming extermination day.” Charlie flinched once she said it but then pressed forward. “There’s a lot more to do but I thought it might also be really important to work on some solid team building! You all know each other a little, of course. What I want you to do today is: draw or write something about another person that you find most significant or valuable in them as an individual; what about that person is special to you? I also think it best if we split up into assigned pairs: Vaggie and Cherri can be one…Angel and Husk, Sir Pentious and Niffty; and then Alastor and my dad!”

The groups started forming; Vaggie and Cherri bumped fists while Angel and Husk exchanged smiles. Niffty’s grin widened; showing a row of razor sharp teeth before she excitedly leapt to Alastor’s shoulder, darting down and joining Sir Pentious.

Of course… Lucifer thought to himself, dryly.

Lucifer sighed; moodily going to sit down in a seat at one of the tables. Setting his hat and jacket down, he slipped a piece of paper from one of the stacks, staring at the blank surface.

Vaggie watched him go; then saying something to Cherri, she moved over to Charlie.

“Hey, hun. Can I talk to you for a second?” After pulling Charlie to the side she asked, “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” She pointedly looked to the table where Lucifer was seated.

As they were talking, Alastor smoothly drifted into shadow; slipping down into the floor and lifting up again to rise and materialize at the other side of the table; across from Lucifer. Using one claw; Alastor dragged the blank piece of paper over to him; reaching for a crayon with his free hand. He toppled the cup; ignoring the mess of scattered pens and pencils – he concentrated on his scribbling.

“I mean, we talked about this, Vaggie, and you agreed with me that we should try make sure everyone was involved in the activity.”

“Yes, but I didn’t realize your dad would be coming…” Vaggie told her with concern “Alastor and your dad? They barely stand each other as it is… There’s other pairings we could make.”

Lucifer leaned on one elbow, staring boredly off into space. Curious, he glanced down at what Al was working on but Alastor slid his hand over the doodle; preventing Lucifer from seeing it. Rolling his eyes; he turned away.

Fanart by @honestlynotgonnalie

“I know that Vaggie but…in a few weeks they are going to be fighting with each other…it’s kind of important that they learn to get along. Besides, they’ve been strategizing formational plans together...how much could they really dislike each other?”

Finished with his doodling; Alastor set his crayon down and flipped the page up. Smiling widely with eyes pressed closed; he proudly presented his piece to Lucifer:

Alastor had doodled a goofy looking caricature of Lucifer: depicting Lucifer with a rather large head and a much smaller body. Drawn beside the doodle made was a small arrow – pointing to the messy sketch of Lucifer from the words, scrawled beneath, that read: “WIFELESS”.

Fanart by @honestlynotgonnalie

“I don’t know…maybe strategizing is all the bonding they need.” Vaggie suggested.

Turning his head; Lucifer saw the drawing; taking in its meaning. Without hesitating he glared at Alastor and flipped him the bird. Alastor’s smiled widened; peeking a look at the King’s response narrowly from his left eye.

Fanart by @honestlynotgonnalie

“It’s…important to me that they learn to work it out.” Charlie confessed to Vaggie. “I honestly think they could really get along if they gave each other a chance.”

Vaggie sighed. “You know your dad better than anyone. As for Alastor…” Vaggie leaned past Charlie; watching as Alastor quickly set his drawing down; adding to it with the crayon and flipping it back up for Lucifer to see. He displayed the exact same doodle; only now it had a middle finger added to one of the stick-ish hands. “Well, nobody knows Alastor. Let’s try it your way. See what happens.” Vaggie gave in.

Vaggie went back to where Cherri was and the group activity proceeded.

Later, when it came to present their projects:

“Uh, what am I loo-, oh fuck.” Vaggie.

“Ah, fucking shit!” Cherri – happily laughing.

“Oh, dear…” Sir Pentious, lifting Niffty and covering her eye.

“Whoa…” Angel – eyes wide and a large smile stretching across his face.

Husk stepped away; carefully restraining any response he had to the intricate sketch that Lucifer had made.

Charlie squeezed in beside everyone, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“Wha-“ Charlie gasped and then hissed; “DAD!!!”

Lucifer and Alastor were standing apart from the group. Lucifer was standing with his back straight – chest out, and a wide toothy smile across his beaming face, clearly proud of himself. Alastor stood bent, leering very closely to his face…a dangerously dark look to his insane and smiling face, one eyelid very visibly twitching.

Lucifer had sketched a remarkable rendition to Swiss artist Henry Fuseli’s oil painting: The Nightmare. Only it was Alastor who was depicted lying across the bed in a suggestive manner rather than a woman; his tentacles curled and rising around him in place of the typically symbolic incubus and horse. One tentacle held what looked to be his staff – the end of it aimed and placed directly into a rather obscene bodily location.

Lucifer had titled the intricate sketch: The Dildo

The Nightmare:

Excerpt from my "No One Can Know..." radioapple fanfic.

Taglist: @helluva-simper

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spectralsleuth · 1 year

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You mentioned that the Hamato household in LSoW and LSoE looks like a wizard's house and that it is filled with furniture that Yoshi inherited from his family... Can you imagine how much historians and antique collectors would be just going gaga about all the priceless stuff in the Hamato home. Like every room has original hand-crafted tables, desks, etc. that can be dated back hundreds of years, the walls have scrolls and weapons crafted by famous masters from 300 years ago. I can just imagine that Yoshi agreed to an interview in his home and, never mind his turtle kids, someone points out the furniture and wall art and people go nuts! This aging action star is just casually mentioning how his sons used to teeth on the chair legs and antique collectors around the world die a little, all while he is sitting on an old chair that was made from a rare tree in Japan worth as much as a down payment on the house and just sipping tea like it's nothing.

Yoshi tapped his foot irritably.

"I really don't understand what the problem is- you sound like my Grandfather." Not a flattering comparison.

"You're not even using a coaster." The camera man looked as if he was in pain, and Yoshi could honestly say that he had not had this much chit-chat from any crew member he'd ever had in his home.

The house was still in a slight state of disarray from the move- there were boxes in the master bedroom stacked to the ceiling, and Blue and Purple had not been separated long enough to be convinced of the benefits of their own bedroom. As a result, both of their bedrooms were half unpacked and mixed together.

Yoshi wasn't particularly passionate about separating the two, but considering every single day it seemed they broke into screaming matches and biting, you would think they would enjoy having their own space as much as Orange and Red did.

It was not so. He could barely get them to sleep in their own bed at this point, but since they were only eight he thought it was prudent to take the separation slow. (At least that was what Dr. Harper had said, when he had floated the idea of encouragement via booby traps and spray bottles by her.)

"It is a piece of furniture- it is meant to be used." It wasn't often that Yoshi thought he was mistranslating English- but he thought this might be one of those situations. The confused looks the Vanity Fair reporter was giving him was selling that impression, and he did not much care for it. "I set things on it? I put- items, in the drawers?" What was the other word for items- funny words, like, oh what was it. "Knick knacks." Sounded like a word for underwear if you asked him.

"This is from the Meiji era." The camera man explained, reverently removing Yoshi's coffee mug from the polished wooden surface. A lost cause, since there was already many overlapping rings of differing shades of brown covering the surface.

There were chips and scuffs covering the top, small marks where Red had rolled over the top during chases with his brothers and left shell-shaped divots, and where Blue and Purple had scratched with idle claws while watching the Mr. Nye TV show. There were crayon marks on the sides, where Orange had run off of his paper with his crayons. He was a good boy and did not draw on furniture on purpose, but accidents happened, and Xander often could not keep up.

"Yes, my great great grandfather commissioned it. I believe from the Emperor's carpenters, to celebrate the new constitution and property they bought in- well, I honestly do not recall. Is this relevant?" Yoshi asked wearily, feeling a twinge of displeasure at even starting to sound like his Ojii lecturing on history.

"There's only about fifty pieces made total in this style- there's no nails in the construction, look it's all joinery on the shelves-" The camera-man was saying, and to Yoshi's displeasure the reporter was still recording using the small device in her hand.

"I thought we were discussing my new movie." Yoshi pointed out, not plaintively, because he was a grown man with four children. "I mean, I have older furniture than that in the bathroom."

The camera man paused, and stared at him. "... Sorry?"

"The bathroom." Yoshi pointed out, and (sensing another translation issue possibly), said "It is where you piss."

"Piss!" Orange yelled from the hallway, where he went sprinting by with the tap-tap-tap of feet.

"DO NOT REPEAT THAT!" Yoshi called out. He was drowned out by Blue and Red fast on Oranges tail, screaming with laughter. It was nice to hear Red's laughter for a change, but since his eldest was also chasing his brothers with a stock pot and a spoon, Yoshi thought he should intervene. "Excuse me, one moment."

Red was only willing to trade the stockpot for a yardstick, which he began beating on Blue and Orange's shells respectively. Since his two youngest were giggling wildly, Yoshi left them to it and turned on cartoons in one of the bedrooms for them to watch when they grew tired of hitting each other.

By the time he got back to the Vanity Fair crew, they had gathered in the hallway, and were being shown the bathroom by a very pleased looking Purple.

"Ah Purple, excellent work my son- ah. I was kidding about the furniture-"

"No you weren't." The cameraman accused, looking frantic and pale. "This is a silver backed oriental mirror from under- oh I don't know. Kōmei? Ninkō?

"Kōka." Yoshi corrected, hating himself. "So, both probably."

Purple tugged on the cameraman's sleeve, and (looking hesitant) the camera man bent down to listen as Purple cupped hands around his snout in order to whisper in his ear.

"YOU WRITE ON IT?" The man gasped, looking appalled.

"I have raised a tattle-taler." Yoshi said mournfully, as Purple looked smugly at him from behind the reporter's legs. "Why don't you go help smack your brothers you snitch?"

Purple's tail started thumping against the cabinet at the idea, and he dropped to all fours to put on speed as he darted out between Yosh's legs and down the hall.

"Why are you so obsessed with furniture anyway?" Yoshi asked the cameraman after Purple had disappeared down the stairs, and he heard Blue and Orange start squealing in delight.

"My parents own a museum exhibit." The camera man said idly, pulling the mirror back from the wall enough to peer behind, and make a wounded noise. "It has the manufacturer seal on it still."

"Oh course it does. All Hamato furniture is authentic."

"It has crayon on it." The camera man looked close to tears.

"Yes?" Yoshi didn't understand the question. He looked at the reporter, who was still recording and writing furiously. "You are going to want to put this into the article, aren't you?" Yoshi sighed.

The reporter gave him a winning smile. "I think our readers would enjoy this very much Mr. Hamato."

#LSoW #my writing #anon ask #ask #rottmnt #tmnt #tmntau #snippet #me purposefully not naming the OC's so i don't get attached #send me asks guys i get bored

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oftenwantedafton · 10 months

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Trapped - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Detective Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for blood and violence, sexual content.

Also available on AO3

William Afton is getting bored.

He enjoys the feeling of being in control, of always having the upper hand, of getting away with murder each and every time and yet…he now finds himself longing for more of a challenge. What if there was actually the possibility of being caught? What if, instead of begging for their life, a victim fought back?

He thumbs through the stack of folders on his desk and sighs, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. None of these candidates seem like possibilities. And let’s face it: once he’s done toying with Mike, a loose end from the past, it’s going to go right back to the same mundane routine of fielding individuals who are isolated, with no family or friends to notice they’re missing, the remaining lot getting actual employment in safe environments. This charade is growing tedious. It’s not a new hire he needs.

He needs inspiration.

***

Steve Raglan’s standing by a coffee machine when you first meet him, pressing a fresh filter inside the top of the appliance just as you reach the threshold of his office.

A spoonful of dark grounds fills the ivory paper receptacle, then the carafe of water waiting nearby is emptied into the rear compartment. The tall figure turns and your eyes meet.

“Can I help you?” The voice is a gentle rasp, a rusty drag of sound. His demeanor is warm, inviting even. He doesn’t show any signs of concern when you flash your badge.

You make your introduction as you enter the room when the middle aged man waves you forward, the friendly smile never quite touching those intense pale blue orbs.

“Coffee? It’s fresh, should be ready soon.”

“No thank you.”

Your trained eyes dart about the room, assessing the pair of yellow vinyl padded chairs, the rows of steel filing cabinets, the stack of folders neatly placed on the desk. The phone is a relic from decades gone by, its clunky plastic frame yellowing with age. A blazer hangs on the coat rack tucked into one corner beside a wall covered in framed certificates and accomplishments. It’s all very outdated and exceptionally tidy and you wonder if it’s a reflection of the owner; organized and nostalgic, an existence of order and reminiscence.

He gestures to one of the yellow chairs and you sink into the offering. You hear the machine hiss and spit behind you, the trickle of fluids draining steadily into the sizzling glass pot below. The career counselor settles across from you cradling a cup that looks comically small clutched between his long fingers and large palms, the brown leather office chair creaking as he leans back slightly, appraising his visitor once again. You feel as if he’s dissecting you with that penetrating gaze, every secret laid bare.

“So, what is it that brings you here today? I must warn you I have an appointment with a client in twenty minutes.” He takes a long swallow of the hot beverage he’s just prepared before setting it carefully on a coaster decorated with a yellow rabbit, very like a child’s drawing, crayon scrawled and out of proportion. It’s not the only rabbit themed item in the office, either; there’s a wire rabbit threaded with envelopes of outgoing mail and a keychain with a rabbit’s foot set to one side. He sees you looking and his lips twitch in the faintest smirk, dimpling at the corners, the lines framing his eyes creasing slightly. There’s a brush of gray at the temples and through his beard but there’s something ageless about him, in those eyes that have imprisoned you since you’d first walked into the room. His brows lift and you realize you still haven’t answered his question.

“Yes, Mr. Raglan. I apologize for visiting unannounced. This won’t take long. Earlier this morning I happened to be patrolling past Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. You’re familiar with the place.” It’s more of a statement than a question and he folds his hands and nods, waiting for you to continue. “And I met a young man named Michael Schmidt who said he’s the new night shift security guard. He also said you were the one who found him the position.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Still no sign of nervousness or deceit. Another nonchalant sip of coffee. “Is there a problem? Did something happen?”

“Well no, not exactly.” You clear your throat and shift in your seat. “I specifically asked him, even, and he said it was an uneventful shift. But I don’t think he’s being entirely honest.”

Steve sighs, leaning forward. “Mike is a…special case. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries and get into personal details, but, he has a troubled history. And a lot of issues finding and maintaining employment. This position was kind of last resort, but so far it seems to be working out ok. He’s better off having a job where he’s working independently. He’s had…conflicts when working with others in the past.” He strokes an index finger across the back of one hand, waiting for your reply.

“I see. And how exactly does the hiring process work? Where do you get the job listings from?”

“Various sources. Employers contact us through mail, faxes, phone, email, that sort of thing. Since it’s part of your patrol, I’m sure you’re aware of the issues with break-ins and the like. The owner needed someone on site to keep an eye on things and deter criminal activity. Mike has previous experience in security, so it was just a natural fit.” He traces the rim of the cup, stroking slowly. There’s the look of bemusement again, disarming you. “How long have you been on the force?”

“Uh…five years.”

“So not really a novice.”

“No. I’ve actually been recommended for promotion to detective. Chief says the next case that cracks will be mine.” You can’t quite keep a note of pride out of your voice, shoulders squaring a bit as you regain some confidence.

Steve nods, draining the last of the coffee. “Well I’m sure the owner will appreciate knowing such a capable individual is looking after Freddy’s. Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

You nearly shake your head, but something halts you. “It seems you know the owner pretty well. Do you have a lot of contact with him?”

“Oh, we have contact from time to time. He’s a private person, a veritable recluse after what happened even after his name was cleared, as you can imagine. Destroyed the business, his family...It was a real tragedy.”

“Why doesn’t he just get rid of it? Demolish it to the ground? Why pay the utilities to keep the place running at all?”

He shrugs. “That’s not for me to say. Maybe he still remembers the good times the establishment brought to families, to his own children. Maybe he’s nostalgic. Or maybe he’s just a sentimental fool,” he murmurs. “Have you ever been there? Before it closed, I mean.”

“Yes, when I was younger.”

“So you know what I mean. That’s the problem with society today. It tends to only highlight the negatives. Good deeds are so much more easily forgotten.” His eyes flick toward the clock on the wall. “Any other questions? As much as I’m enjoying the conversation, I’m afraid I’m out of time.”

“No, that’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll let you get back to work.” You stand and he mirrors your movements, escorting you to the open doorway.

“It was a pleasure meeting you. Feel free to contact me again if you want to talk further.”

“Likewise. If anything comes up, give me a call.” You dig a business card from your pocket, handing it to the older man.

Steve smiles, his fingers lingering perhaps a heartbeat longer than was necessary or proper over yours during the exchange and the hair on the nape of your neck rises. You blush and turn away, feeling his eyes on your body as you walk the length of hallway to the exit.

***

The voices skitter on the edge of William Afton’s mind, warning him there are intruders present at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

They’re amateur criminals at best, breaking and entering in broad daylight through one of the large garage doors. Dividing up is their next mistake, making it easy for them to be picked off one by one. There’s a young man knocking over shelves in the kitchen, delighting at the sound of pots and pans striking the floor until an ominous rattling from the fridge distracts him.

Moments later his face is a ruin.

The man in the security office with his bags of quarters stolen from the change machines fares no better, nor does the other one trapped behind the glass door. His blood paints the frosted surface as William collects the fallen change calmly, waiting for the final intruder to be dealt with.

He hears her voice, the sound of a folding chair scraping across the cement floor and then a brief scream before a large, wet thud. The children grow silent, returning to their dormant state within the animatronics, the mental connection broken. He moves the bodies himself, even though it would be easier to have the mascots assist him. He likes getting his hands dirty. He steps nimbly around broken glass, dragging a mop over bloodstains, arranging the corpses into various poses amidst the scattered remains of broken animatronics and endoskeletons. He checks the security cameras and deletes the footage, deciding Mike can spend his next few shifts cleaning up the rest of this mess.

William returns to the restroom to get washed up and he finds himself thinking of the young female patrol officer.

He remembers her smell, nostrils involuntarily flaring at the recollection of her light vanilla fragrance, the body spray sugary and alluring. The way her neck was exposed above the starched shirt collar makes him hungry. He’d like to lap at it, sink teeth into it, tear and taste. Slice buttons and move fabric out of the way, expose her to him. When she worries her bottom lip after asking a question, it’s maddening.

The murderer touches the springlock scars and feels ignited. Maybe it’s been too long since he’s cleaned his pipes. Maybe a little self pleasure will take the edge off and have him thinking more clearly.

He unfastens his pants and shoves a hand inside, gasping. His skin is on fire. He grasps the edge of the sink with his free hand, imagines wrapping those same fingers around her throat. Stroking slowly, picturing her bound on one of the metal tables normally used for endoskeleton repair. Her nails digging into his skin when he laps at her. Bruising his flesh with the end of her service pistol, maybe she’s even gotten a shot off and fuck, it feels amazing.

He increases his tempo as the fantasy continues. Maybe he’s bleeding onto her, maybe she’s wounded during the struggle and he’s got that taste mingling in his mouth as well, sticky warm and metallic. Binding her wrists with her own handcuffs, letting her press them against his throat, compressing and cutting off air. All of the cat and mouse tension during that interview, she’d known the truth on some subconscious level, he’s certain of it, how can she not? Such a pretty fucking tease, getting him worked up like this, breath sawing in and out, echoing harshly amidst the vacant stalls. He wants her to know everything, mapping the scars on his body while he marks hers, carving until she’s painted ruby and he explodes, spilling onto his fist, leaning against the sink for support.

After William’s finished cleaning up, he decides to take the knife home with him.

Just in case.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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starfacedstudio · 11 months

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Image ID: A detailed digital illustration of a bedroom for Ralsei from Deltarune in a watercolor style. A chandelier lights the scene from above in blue, including a covered 4-poster bed + chair with plenty of books next to it (right / center), a closet filled with clothes (left / center), a bookshelf with a ladder filled with books and crafting supplies (center), a stack of unpacked boxes (left), and a desk cluttered with craft supplies and drawn-on papers (front right). The brick walls are covered with drawings and glow in the dark stars, hearts, and moons, and paper doll garlands line the perimeter. Two tapestries on the rightmost wall frame a large stained glass window. Just middle of left, Ralsei's hat hangs on the back wall. End ID.

Image ID: A page titled "Environment Intensive Packeting: Ralsei's Bedroom. There are 6 called out items from the previous illustration (shown at the top left), which include: 1. Window design, which features the Delta Rune motif / symbol. The bottom part of the window is colorful. 2. Banners (tapestries). They depict two different scenes from Ralsei's prophecies, one shows 3 heroes emerging from the world's edge, and the second depicts a Titan at the world's end. 3. Unused Manual pages, one contains a drawing of Ralsei with the text "Thank you! I'm looking forward to meeting you!" with a heart at the bottom. The second has text that says "Dedicated to the unending pillar of darkness that gives my body form." 4. Desk clutter: pink strings of yarn, dry macaronis, and a green crayon. 5. A string of paper dolls with varying shapes: a darkner, a lightner, a save point, and a heart. 6. Wall decor, including glow in the dark stars and drawings of other characters. End ID.

boy this was meant to be finished like 2 weeks ago but at least im in time for the anniversary babeyyyy!! happy birthday deltarune oh god you're 5 years old now

Here's a bedroom design for Ralsei that I did for class - there's certainly more details hidden in this that I didn't have time to call out, so shout out to anyone who may spot em!

#deltarune #ralsei deltarune #described #fotf #long post #lmao im not tagging everyone else theyre just drawings #finally catching up on work RAHG i had a sudden surgery earlier this month and it set me back quite a bit but its sorted now #this room is moreso catered to fotf ralsei but it can still apply to regular ralsei too #haha. i have some painful plans for him regarding this room. just u wait.#i feel like i should maybe put out a more official announcement for this but i do have to delay FotF's debut more unfortunately. things hav #been really busy this semester (when i thought they wouldn't be) so im now aiming for the end of the year. but i cant promise anything #dont have 2 longass comics in your brain at once man....#anyways. im really happy with this!!! im thankful my professors were really understanding and I wasn't rushed to finish this #it came out pretty much exactly how i imagined it in my head!!!!!!#also this file has far too many layers. i dont know the number i just know its many. oops

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chronicallylatetotheparty · 1 year

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Perfect Paradise

Ch.4 Y se te Para el Tiempo en tu Cara

Bunnyx stared at the fuzzy branches that split from the timeline. None of them good. But none of them world ending either.

Which meant she couldn't, shouldn't rather, interfere.

A change was coming and Alix needed to let it happen.

She waved her hand and the static cleared to show the Celestial Guardian sprinting across the countryside... A deep sigh left her as she swept the timestream back to Paris.

A familiar blue head stood in front of Adrien's mansion. Alix fast forwarded. "Oof that's rough," she winced.

But... This she could do.

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

Going back a few minutes Alix stepped through the Burrow and detransformed. Joining Luka on his way to see Adrien.

"Your interview with Nadja Chamack is set, Adrien."

"Thank you, Gregor." Adrien leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

The paperwork to extricate his assets from the "family business" was long, tedious and complicated further by Adrien's insistence on combing through it himself before approving anything... He wasn't particularly trusting at the moment.

"I've also-" Gregor paused.

"Hmm?" Adrien looked up at his assistant's floating emoticon face.

"Luka Couffaine and Alix Kubdel are at the front gate."

Adrien felt something squeeze his chest.

"I will tell them you are indisposed."

"Yeah... Wait." Adrien took a steadying breath. "I'll see them."

"...Are you sure Adrien?"

Adrien straightened the papers on his desk as the pressure in his chest grew. "Send them in."

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

Luka saw some of the tension leave Alix's shoulders as the spherical camera retracted and the gate opened. "You okay?"

"Yes. No. I just, don't like the whole 'Jabba's Palace' routine. Reminds me of Agreste Manor."

"Oh." Luka wouldn't know. He only visited Adrien there once.

"Welcome." A Kanté-class AI said as they entered. Their holographic face neutral.

"Hey, Gregor," Alix greeted.

Gregor bobbed in a nod. "Alix... Luka. Adrien is in the No Fun Room."

"His office," Alix explained at Luka's confused look.

Luka's lips twitched. "He calls it the No Fun Room?'

"Says it helps his ADHD."

"Ah..."

"Please remove your shoes," Gregor asked as he lead them through Adrien's home.

From what little Luka remembered, Adrien's new mansion was almost the exact opposite of his old one. There was colorful carpet and hardwood floors instead of stark tiles. Faded drawings made in crayon ran along the bottom of the walls. The light filling the space was soft and warm.

But there were also... scars.

Empty spaces that obviously used to hold framed portraits were next to pictures of Adrien and his family. Emma in her fencing gear. Hugo playing the piano. Little Louis surrounded by fabrics.

And, just over there, was a family portrait. Marinette and Adrien and the three kids all laughing in a candid photo. It was off center. Like it'd been removed from it's place of prominence.

"Now this is a surprise," Adrien said from behind a desk stacked with papers. "The prodigal son back in town to pay me a visit."

"Hey, I'm here too!" Alix spoke up.

"Alix we saw each other last month."

"And you kept tight lipped about something important dincha?"

Adrien's eyes wandered back to the paperwork on his desk. "I don't see how my personal life is any of your business."

Alix bit her tongue. Reminding herself that she was there to smooth things over not rock the boat even more.

"That's actually why I'm here." Luka walked up to the desk but kept on the opposite side of it. "It's not great to hear but... The relationship between the Ladybug and Black Cat does concern us. As wielders of the Miraculous."

The mask of polite neutrality on Adrien's face was pulled taunt. "I'm surprised you came to me and not Marinette."

Alix coughed.

"... She was busy," Luka admitted.

"Of course."

"Adrien-

"I'm sorry."

Luka blinked. "Sorry?"

"I know it's, heh, twenty-six years overdue but... I'm sorry I went to you for advice about your ex-girlfriend."

"Oh." Luka's confusion didn't diminished but now he knew where Adrien was coming from. "I mean, I don't hold it against you."

Adrien shook his head. "Still. I shouldn't have done that. And I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Luka said because it felt like the answer Adrien was looking for.

The mask slipped a little as Adrien gave a tentative smile... And stared at Luka... Waiting...

Alix cleared her throat drawing Luka's attention. She gave the slightest jerk in Adrien's direction. Eyes practically bulging as she pointed at him with just her irises.

Luka glanced from her to Adrien. Eyes widening. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you I knew your identity before leaving."

Adrien twisted the rings on his fingers. Over and over and over. "...Is that it?"

"I'm... sorry I wasn't honest with you-"

Adrien shot to his feet. Rolling chair shooting back and papers sliding off their piles. Mask gone as Adrien stared at him with disdain. "Honest with me? Honest with me. Is that all you did, Luka? You weren't honest with me?"

Alix stepped forward. "Adrien-"

"Stay out of this, Doctor Who!" he snapped.

Luka scrambled for the right notes as Adrien's song went into a minor key. "I know we haven't harmonized for a while Adrien but just-"

"Our songs have never been in harmony."

Luka flinched.

"...You don't even remember do you?" Adrien deflated as whatever rage he held onto was replaced with sorrow. "I think you should leave."

"Please, just tell me-"

"You sold me out." Adrien whispered.

"... What?"

Adrien took a deep breath. "You. And my ex-wife. Sold. Me. Out."

Luka shook his head. "No. I would never do that to..." A memory came back to him.

Marinette. Panicked and small. The Celestial Guardian. Loud and angry. Adrien. Hopeful and oh so trusting.

Luka staggered back. "I..."

"Gregor."

The AI materialized. "Yes, Adrien?"

"See him out."

"Of course. Come now. Back the way we came."

"She was trying to protect you!" Luka blurted out.

Adrien's expression hardened further. "I have nothing more to say to you. Good day, M. Couffaine."

"If this is why you-"

"M. Couffaine. You may have seen our faces but you never saw past our masks."

With a nod at Gregor a robotic chair zoomed in and pushed behind Luka's knees. Who fell into the seat. A seatbelt zipping into place before hurrying away with it's charge.

As Luka was ushered out he saw that there were also photos of Kitty Section playing together.

None of them included him.

Alix pinched the bridge of her nose. That could've gone better. She definitely should've bent the rules a bit and told him... Something.

"Not turning out the way you hoped?" Adrien asked, straightening the papers on his desk. "Join the club."

"Luka didn't deserve that from you, Cinderella."

"You're right. He deserved worse."

"That's not- Mm, no. Not getting into this. I'm just gonna go."

Adrien pressed a button and the door to his study closed.

"...Well that's not creepy at all. Do all your doors do that?"

"It's just for this room. The kids overhearing business dealings would be... Legally messy."

"Uh-huh," Alix said, eyeing the window and gripping her Miraculous. "Sure."

"I have a question. For Bunnyx."

Alix sighed. "If it's about the future..."

"I get that we're not friends but you still owe me answers."

She bristled at the allusion to her "owing" him. Remembering the times he posted her bail and asked nothing in return... Her grip on the pocket watch loosened. "Since when aren't we friends?"

"Since you found out about 'something important' and said jack shit. So, y'know, however many years that is."

"..."

Alix looked at Adrien. Laugh lines overshadowed by the eye bags he sported. Tall, muscular frame weighed down by truths made heavier with time.

He was looking at her the same way he looked at Luka. Like she was a stranger... "What do you wanna know?"

Adrien stared into her eyes. "What is Chat Blanc?"

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

Adrien looked at the security feed as Luka and Alix left him.

"Gregor?"

"Yes, Adrien?"

"Luka Couffaine, Alix Kubdel, Viperion and Bunnyx are no longer welcome in my home."

Gregor bobbed in midair as a nod. Eyes sad but understanding. "Of course, Adrien. I will-" His eyes became three dots pulsing in sequence. Before snapping back into focus.

"Gregor? What is it? You okay?"

"... Emilie Agreste has filed for custody of Emma, Hugo and Louis."

#adrien agreste #luka couffaine #alix kubdel #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml au #divorce au #Perfect Paradise #ml ephermeral

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smallghostcorner · 1 year

Note

Cg argyle taking care of little Jonathan & little Will

Summary: lil play date

CW: mentions of weed and diapers

Will had always wanted to be a big brother, sure being the baby of the family had it's perks and it could be fun but Will was always being protected and never the protector.

Maybe that's why he was so excited to play with Jonathan when they were both little. Even though technically Jonathan was older he regressed to quite a young age, around 0-1 whereas Will was about 4-6 when little.

When Argyle had arrived for their playdate Will was already half regressed and making angel milk for Jonathan.

"Hi Buba! John is in the living room!"

"Hey little man, are you making him a bottle?" Argyle asked and received a nod "You're such a good big brother! I'll go help him get changed ok?"

Jonathan was sitting on the couch watching sesame street with his big bird stuffie next to him, He was in an oversized t shirt and pajama pants with fuzzy socks. When he saw Argyle he smiled behind his "Lil stoner" paci. He reached his arms up and did grabby hands.

"'apa!" He babbled, his paci making it difficult to speak.

"Hey baby! And hi big bird! How are you two today!" Argyle smiled warmly when Jonathan giggled, he loved when his papa said hello to his stuffies.

"Is it ok if I help you change sunshine?" Argyle always asked just to be sure, he didn't wanna hurt his little man.

__________

Will finished up making Jonathan his bottle and set up the play space in the living room. A soft blanket down on the ground with toys and stuffies around it, lots of pillows and cushions to sit on and Johnathans baby toys next to Wills "big kid" toys.

Stacking rings, sensory cube and rattles next to toy trucks, crayons and paper.

Will had just set it up and plopped down when Argyle carried Jonathan into the living room. He had on a big bird t shirt, light green shorts and his yellow fuzzy socks. His paci was still in his mouth and the waistband of his diaper was sticking out a bit over the top of his shorts.

"Ok sunshine play with your big brother while i get your bottle and some snacks for you two" Argyle set Jonathan down on the blanket next to Will and made his way to the kitchen, he filled a dragon print sippy cup with juice for Will and grabbed the bottle for Jonathan. He also grabbed the brownies he had made from the diaper bag he almost always carries.

When he was back in the living room Will was drawing something for Jonathan to color and the younger regressor was playing with a rattle stuffie.

Argyle fed Jonathan his bottle while he listened to Will talk about different kinds of dragons until it was nap time.

When Argyle put Will down for his nap, Will was half asleep and drooling onto a teddy bear when he said "thank you papa" to Argyle.

Argyle was glad they had moved to California, he couldn't imagine not being able to take care of these two boys and keep them safe.

He might've almost cried from happiness when Will called him papa but that's between him and the cast of sesame street.

thank u for reading!!!!

(Jonathans paci :) found on Pinterest)

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teleportationmagic · 1 year

Text

There is a dead boy in the Batcave.

Not literally, of course, but the glass cage marks the place where blood and bone would be too gory to leave behind. Too unsanitary. Father’s not the type to abide by that – at least not from what mother’s told him, and what his surveillance has revealed. But the suit is clean enough, so they sit next to a ghost and let it take up space in the room, a physical weight demarcating it’s territory. The rest of them – Oracle and Nightwing and Drake all float around it, like fish splitting around a rock in a river.

He'd think it’s weakness to grieve this hard, this long, but allowances are made for strong men, and his father is a strong man. The gravemarker sits, silent in the heart of their operations, next to the giant penny and the t-rex.

And still, some small part of him cannot wonder who it was who left this imprint on every single person in that room, the faint outline of his cape twirling through their upright backs.

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

Months later, he finds another gravemarker.

This one isn’t in the Batcave, rather it’s tucked away in the clocktower. He hadn’t spotted it at first, hadn’t been able to put a name to it, but Oracle was the immaculate sort. It was expected, for someone of her pedigree, and the deviation was shocking in its presence.

The paper is laminated. Letters scrawl across the page, constructed incorrectly and ungracefully, weaving backwards and forwards with little rhyme or reason. And yet still, it is clear pages are missing – the transition in how the letters are written is subtle, page to page, but jumps every now and again.

Underneath is black fabric. It’s flexible – tight and form fitting, but still stretchy in the way that Grayson’s suits are. He pulls it forward and it unfurls to reveal a yellow bat.

Batgirl, then. The second. His fingers trace the stark lines, a glossy sort of shine over the black fabric, even under all the dust. Something flips, uncomfortably – he knew this girl. His mother had told him about her pedigree. And yet here she was, dust gathering on evidence of her failures – paper stacked up that showed him nothing.

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

He finds the third gravemarker on accident.

The purple fabric is so much unlike Timothy that he can’t help but pull it out. It’s poorly made, compared to the others – the most present comparison he can come to is a bedsheet, too thin to be any good in their line of work. The place he’d found it in is equally puzzling, a blue shoebox that he’d forgotten to throw away, in the back of his closet. He wonders if he’d simply lost it, as buried as it was.

It’s not all that’s in the box, of course. They’d rolled out when he’d lifted the suit – all spilling sideways. There’s a few ticket stubs, a set of keys, a slip of paper with a hasty sketch, and two photo. A blond girl, with a gap-toothed grin and bright green eyes, and an older woman with the same blonde hair, cropped short. It was the only thing that wasn’t caked with years of grime, the pictures clearly digital, then printed out. There’s a name on the back that he doesn’t recognize, not on either of them.

He picks up a sketch – Timothy, he recognizes, in his Robin suit, stylized into a cartoon. A purple figure flits next to him, a streak of blonde pencil crayon following her. Something bounces in the art, young and joyful and wild, wrapped up and kept in old, yellow paper.

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

Cold sweeps the house. They’ve done this enough times that Dick is half-certain he should be accustomed to it, but it still feels like a bulldozer through his heart.

The worst part is the forgetting. Every now and again, he looks up and expects Damian to be there – expects to see a dark, short flash of hair. But the hallways are empty, and the walls echo, and he’s done this time after time but he wants the kid back.

He wants him back.

It’s Dick in the end that goes through his things. There are pieces – notebooks and sketchpads filled with drawing. Some more stylized, a round feminine face smiling, sparks flying around her. Pink shaded flowers in the corner. Pencil shavings leaving dark marks where his eraser couldn’t pick up quite enough.

Underneath is an canvas, big and bright – the colours nearly make him gasp when he turns it over, blue and orange and purple spilling out, the sun at dawn. In the front, a bird, the details intelligible in the contrast. Deliberately so. Its wings leave visible trails of smoke behind it.

He can see the brush strokes, underneath. See the smudging, see the small places where he’d set his hand down and left a mark on the bright colours of the background. The trees had been done on top in pencil crayon, tiny and spindly needles reaching out for sun.

He catches tears before they hit the piece, his head bowed low.

Alfred says nothing when he finds him later, perched on a step stool. He hangs it up, loud and proud, lets the light hit it.

In the evening light it glows.

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montauk-koolaid · 1 month

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Here is the second poem. First draft don't feel like going over it. It feels worse than the first one I made. And this one didn't turn out as I wanted/followed the instructor's requests. Was meant to express feeling of an event in detail. I did not do that and I think it would make this already four page poem even longer.

Prompt was Family so I did something with SCP 999 thinking about his family before and after a crayon family portrait. Well is more of a mural of paper with crayon drawings of everyone that they know of. That I headcanon them having in their chamber.

~~~

A Two-face Drawing

Made of crayon and color pencil I’d filled my family portrait Digging through olden stacks of papers Asking things I shouldn’t Reading things I shouldn’t But I can out unscathed

My eye glued to a task To just see my family as a whole. Has led me stray to a madman's curse

Once viewing my family as a scattered butch Hurt, confused, afraid. Good people that had just lost their way

With two mothers and two fathers Of humans and Gods. Thirteen siblings and counting Sibling aunts wandering about A grandmother larger than what tombs could hold The past and the unknown so comforting

My patience and strong human mother Who wishes me well Before returning to her family she originally lost

My Godly mother determined and rebellious Raising children to over achieve To protect the masses Lying in wait to end a was of despair

My godly father, a man of fear and might A wandering soul that a prophecy foretold That I would save them From their own demise

My human father, a boisterous man Mysterious from the outset A brood caretaker at the very least Just doing their best to protect us

My brood mates, by name my sisters and my brothers A sister lively and trickster Living in a garden of her own creation Twins living in darkness Making the most of it A brother of a fiery flame, Glutton for wood and wicks A brother consumed by hatred and sadness Just lashing out from the hurt they may have felt A brother of military might But kind at heart A sibling vibrant in marks Quiet said in forgotten whispers

Believing my family could be stitched back together like every one else's Drawn together with waxy sticks And pencil color of the rainbow But now I realize something dire I’m apart of the Family of Lies

My human mother young Born to be under the knife A lie born here As all she lived by was to hear the sweet tongue of words at night Her age said to never change Another lie She lived prosper-fulling into their twenty My birth lead to her death A stab to her heart of the table My home said she lived But I always knew the truth

My God mother broke my heart She commanded a warrior A soldier to be sent to death Like all my other siblings from the same mother For a goal I could never achieve If she even ever existed

My Godly father was something I could not understand Now my eye can see A monster that was just a boogie man Doesn’t exist My family hierarchy a complete lie My destiny, to save, a lie

My human father; hurt, broken, and cowardly Running from his past and running from their family Left us to abandonment In the Foundation labyrinth His tongue taints by untruth Locked in a prison of their own making Lying to protect a single selfish person

My brood mates, fractured people A group that should be unbreakable Was never glued together in the first place. My sister, a goddess of nature Isolated and stunted The twin, double people of the shadows Deprived of human interaction My bother, a man of fire Limited movement and starved for food My brother constantly hurt through out their whole life Trust eroded and left the hole with anger My brother cursed with diseased skin Crumbles everyone to dust Forbidden from touch and unbearable itch

What is a family picture mean After you painstakingly build one from your mind And It all crumbles down to dust Until your left with the dirty truth.

#.txt #scp #scp 999 #Scarlet King Family #poem

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sebpfmpp2 · 6 months

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Maya modelling: Basic elements

The basic elements of the room refer to elements that are not used in gameplay and are made either for visual density or environmental storytelling. Throughout the process of modelling these, there was little to no problems, except for things that were modelled using physics, for example the bed's bedsheets colliding into themselves or the clothes not retaining their shape when exported, however these were easy fixes like changing collision settings or duplicating the clothes through a different method.

Here is a list of all the non-gameplay models and their purpose;

Glow in the dark stars - Navigation in the dark

Toy gun and bullets type 1 and type 2, dart board, sticky hand, blocks: type 1 type 2 type 3 type 4 type 5 type 6 type 1S type 2S - Visual density, environmental storytelling (blocks are used to spell out some character's names)

Stools - functionality (allows me to line up the player's camera at the correct height to keep the player's height consistent), environmental storytelling (there are two of them, showing two children live there)

Corkboard decor - visual density, environmental storytelling/lore (the papers and post it notes would contain drawings/messages from both the characters giving an insight into the story and their personality/relationship, the post it notes are in different colors according to what character used them and the papers are stuck up using differently colored pins, if these were textured, they'd be signed by whoever made them for purposes of accessibility)

Stockings, pants, dress, sweater, trash, trashcans, crayon type one, type two and type three - visual density, environmental storytelling (mostly used to show the disorganized nature of the characters)

lamp, bed, curtains, extension plug, coat hanger, shoe rack, - Visual density, logical set pieces AKA. things you would expect in an occupied room

laptop, roomba and its dock, Suitcase, speaker, Wi-Fi router, - Visual density, environmental storytelling (Pieces of equipment you usually wouldn't find in a child's bedroom, used to show off that their family is likely more well off than average financially.

shelf stack - Visual density (would be filled with other minor objects like toys or figures)

0 notes

helloparent · 10 months

Text

How to Make DIY Preschool Activities at Home.

Are you looking for engaging and educational ways to keep your preschooler busy at home? With the right DIY preschool activities, you can provide fun learning experiences while spending quality time together. In this article, we'll explore creative ideas for preschool activities that you can easily create at home.

Preschool Activities: The Building Blocks of Early Learning

Preschool activities play a vital role in a child's early development. They stimulate cognitive, motor, and social skills, setting a strong foundation for future learning. These activities are not only fun but also enhance your child's creativity, problem-solving abilities, and confidence.

Here are some DIY preschool activities you can try at home:

1. Color Recognition and Sorting

Materials needed: Colored paper, crayons, colored toys.

Activity: Teach your child to recognize and sort colors. Create colorful cards or use toys of different colors. Encourage your child to match items or drawings to the corresponding colors.

2. Alphabet Scavenger Hunt

Materials needed: Alphabet cards or printed letters.

Activity: Hide alphabet cards or letters around the house and have your child find them. As they find each letter, discuss words that start with that letter.

3. Shape Puzzles

Materials needed: Cardboard, scissors, colored paper.

Activity: Teach shape recognition and problem-solving by creating shape puzzles with your child.

4. Counting with Household Objects

Materials needed: Everyday objects like buttons, coins, or toys.

Activity: Use everyday items for counting practice. Ask your child to count how many buttons they have or how many toys are on the table. This helps with early math skills.

5. Storytime with Homemade Books

Materials needed: Blank paper, markers, and stickers.

Activity: Create a simple storybook with your child. Let them draw pictures and add stickers to illustrate a story. This encourages creativity and storytelling.

6. Nature Scavenger Hunt

Materials needed: A checklist of items found in nature.

Activity: Explore your backyard or a nearby park for a nature scavenger hunt. List items like leaves, rocks, or flowers for your child to find and learn about.

Also Read: Top 15 Little Millennium Preschools in Gurugram

7. DIY Art and Craft

Materials needed: Craft supplies like colored paper, glue, scissors, and safe art materials.

Activity: Encourage your child to unleash their creativity through art. Whether it's making greeting cards, finger painting, or creating paper crafts, art fosters self-expression.

8. Cooking and Baking

Materials needed: Simple recipes and child-safe kitchen utensils.

Activity: Involve your child in age-appropriate cooking or baking tasks. It's a hands-on way to teach measurements, following instructions, and patience.

9. Interactive Learning Apps and Parent Apps

Materials needed: Tablets or smartphones.

Activity: Supplement hands-on activities with educational apps designed for preschoolers. Many of these apps have parent app that allow you to track your child's progress and customize their learning journey.

10. Sensory Play

Materials needed: Sensory bins with rice, pasta, or beans, along with small toys or objects.

Activity: Sensory play engages your child's senses. Fill a bin with a sensory material and hide objects for your child to discover. It's a great way to enhance sensory development.

11. Building with Blocks

Materials needed: Building blocks or LEGO sets.

Activity: Building and stacking with blocks enhances fine motor skills and spatial awareness. Encourage your child to create structures and tell stories about them.

12. Music and Movement

Materials needed: Musical instruments or simple DIY instruments.

Activity: Music and movement help develop rhythm and coordination. Sing songs, dance, or make your own instruments like shakers from household items.

13. Storytelling and Puppet Shows

Materials needed: Puppets or stuffed animals.

Activity: Encourage your child to create their stories and act them out with puppets. This fosters creativity and language development.

14. Gardening and Planting

Materials needed: Small pots, soil, and seeds.

Activity: Gardening teaches responsibility and patience. Let your child plant seeds, water them, and watch as plants grow.

15. Shape and Pattern Recognition

Materials needed: Colored paper, scissors, and shapes templates.

Activity: Create patterns with colored shapes or objects. Ask your child to continue the pattern or create their own.

16. DIY Science Experiments

Materials needed: Simple science experiment kits or ingredients for home experiments.

Activity: Engage in easy and safe science experiments that pique your child's curiosity and teach basic scientific concepts.

Also Read: Kidzee Preschool Branches in Delhi

17. Treasure Hunt

Materials needed: Hidden objects, clues, and a treasure map (drawn by you).

Activity: Plan a treasure hunt with clues for your child to follow. It's an exciting way to promote problem-solving skills.

18. Puzzles and Brain Games

Materials needed: Age-appropriate puzzles and brain-teaser games.

Activity: Solving puzzles and playing brain games enhances critical thinking and cognitive abilities.

19. Virtual Tours and Learning Apps

Materials needed: Computer or tablet with internet access.

Activity: Explore virtual museums, zoos, and educational websites. Many institutions offer online tours and educational content.

20. Outdoor Adventures

Materials needed: A backyard or outdoor space.

Activity: Encourage outdoor play and exploration. Activities like hide and seek, nature walks, and picnics provide fresh air and physical activity.

Parent Apps for Tracking Progress

Materials needed: A smartphone or tablet.

Activity: Use parent apps provided by educational platforms to track your child's progress, set goals, and personalize their learning journey.

Conclusion: Nurturing Your Child's Development at Home

Creating DIY preschool activities at home can be both enjoyable and beneficial for your child's development. By incorporating these activities into your daily routine, you provide your child with valuable learning experiences while building a strong parent, find the best preschools in India and also search nearest preschool to me or play school near me for finding preschool near you for your child's safety.

People Also Ask:

1. What are some fun activities for preschoolers?"

Fun activities for preschoolers include:

Arts and crafts, such as finger painting and making collages.

Outdoor play like running, jumping, and playing on swings.

Storytime with colorful picture books.

Building with blocks or LEGO sets.

Singing and dancing to children's songs.

Simple science experiments like making volcanoes with baking soda and vinegar.

Playdates with other children for social interaction.

2. What activities are appropriate for preschool children?

Appropriate activities for preschoolers focus on their developmental needs. These include:

Fine motor skill activities like drawing, coloring, and threading beads.

Gross motor activities like climbing, jumping, and riding tricycles.

Cognitive activities like puzzles and shape sorting games.

Social activities that encourage sharing and cooperation.

Sensory activities like playdough or sensory bins with sand or rice.

Language development activities such as reading, storytelling, and rhyming games.

3. What is a lesson plan for preschool?

A preschool lesson plan typically includes:

Learning objectives for the day or week.

Age-appropriate activities related to a central theme (e.g., colors, animals).

Materials needed for each activity.

Time allocated for each activity.

Assessment or evaluation methods to gauge learning progress.

Adaptations for different learning styles and abilities.

A schedule that includes transitions, snack time, and outdoor play.

Originally Published By HelloParent.

#parent app #preschool activities #preschool activities at home #preschools in india

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kawia-renka · 3 years

Note

Could you do all Doki girls (if you can’t do all four then it’s Sayori and Natsuki then) with an s/o who has an 8 year old energetic, curious little sister who likes to draw, play games, and having fun. Their s/o is going to work or going away for awhile and they have babysit her for a moment.

The DDLC Girls Taking Care Of Their S/O's Younger Sister

❝ I am very sorry about how long it took me to finish this. I don't have any excuses for it, so I'm sorry.

Ohmygoshh,I finished writing this but Tumblr didn't save my draft? And now I have to rewrite it from memory 😭 ❞

No beta read, was too tired after having to deal with Tumblr not working

• She was very understanding of the situation, and assured it'd be no problem for her to look after your sister.

• Monika planned out a bunch of fun activities she could do with your sibling. Those ranged from more 'educational' ones, like learning piano, to simple fun ones like watching cartoons.

• Honestly, she was pretty happy about it! She enjoyed spending time with your sister, and maybe taking care of her could help her get closer to you?

• Well it didn't matter, since both you and your sibling have arrived. Monika took the time to show your sister around the house. During the end of their little tour, Monika asked her what would she like to do. Your sister thought about it, and with a smile, pointed to the fountain pen and stack of paper laying on her caretaker's desk.

"Ah, that's what I use for writing poems." Monika answered. After a short pause she added: "Would you like to try it?"

• Your sister responded with an even wider grin as they were now both writing on colorful paper. Coming up with rhymes together.

• The end result is what you'd expect. Monika's writing used more advanced vocabulary and phrases. While your sister's work was more childish and very imaginative.

• Despite those and a few other differences, they were actually a few similarities between their works. Like the topic: their poems were centered around you or referenced you at some point. But with each of their work, doing it in a different perspective.

• Monika's point of view, described your various traits. It was written with the feeling of the narrator admiring said person.

• Your sister's description of you, was more about viewing you as a role model. A figure of a 'cool older sibling' that she could look up to.

• Both descriptions were endearing, both in their own different ways.

• Ever since you first mentioned needing to find someone who could take care of your sis while you were away, Natsuki was not very enthusiastic about the idea. Well, actually, the thought of her watching over your sister didn't even cross her mind. It wasn't until you asked if she was free on that day.

• And now, she was in her room, staring right into your sister's eyes (who was also staring at Natsuki). It was like a staring contest where neither of them seemed to have been losing...

• What do kids even like doing? She thought about it for a minute, when she finally got an idea. Natsuki looked over at some of her manga and scanned through it. She pulled out a few different mangas. Kids like reading mangas, right?

• She placed the mangas on the table in front of your sister. She walked to the living room to grab her phone, in order to ask you what your sister likes to do.

• When she came back, she saw your sister coloring the manga. Where did she even get these crayons from? Whatever, that's not the important part here. The important part, is the fact she was drawing on her manga!

• The typical black and white pages were now filled with color. It actually looked pretty nice... That doesn't really change how Natsuki feels about this.

• She took a deep breath, wanting to approach this situation more rationally and calmly. Before she even opened her mouth, your sister asked:

"Are there more books like this? I wanna know what happens next." She looked at Natsuki, who wasn't sure how to feel. So she just nodded and showed her more mangas.

• In just a matter of minutes, the two of them were talking about the story and it's characters. Sharing similar ideas and theories regarding it.

• At the end of the day, you came to Natsuki's home and was greeted by them both enthusiastically discussing the manga.

• It's not that she was against the idea of looking after your sister while you were away, but she was definitely nervous about it, if not slightly panicked.

• What if something happens? What if your sister gets hurt? Those thoughts had crossed her mind several times, but you reassured Yuri she'd do a good job.

• So, when the day rolled around, Yuri was feeling (somewhat) ready. Thanks to your reassurance.

• Your sister seemed like the opposite of Yuri. She was energetic unlike Yuri, who was more calm. At first, your sister was the one doing most of the talking, while Yuri only nodded and agreed with what she's saying.

• It wasn't long before your sister grew tired of carrying the conversation and decided to do something else. So she dragged Yuri to outside to play with her.

• At times, Yuri had a bit of a problem of catching up with your energetic little sister. But she was actually enjoying herself. Though by the end of the day, she was completely exhausted.

• When the day ended and the night has started, Yuri and your sister laid on the couch in the living room. Yuri read your sister a bedtime story, and they both fell asleep right there.

• You told Sayori that you'd be going away for a while and needed someone to take care of your sister, and she immediately offered to do it.

• Sayori didn't have much experience in taking care of children, but it couldn't have been *that* bad. Sometimes she would babysit your sister with you, and it all went smoothly. So, what's the worst that could happen?

• This whole time, she kept that positive attitude and even looked forward to that day! Of course, she was happy about taking care of your sister, not about you leaving for a while.

• So on the day of your departure she.was.prepared. Tons of crayons and coloring books laid neatly on the table. A jumping rope, football and some tennis rackets were in a bag next to the coffee table.

• When greeting you and your sister, she crouched down to be on the same height level as her.

• They seemed to have been getting along quite well, but unfortunately, you didn't get to see more of their bonding since it was time for you to leave.

• Soon after you had left, your little sister pulled out an uno reverse card from her pocket. That card actually belonged to a box full of other uno cards, which she brought along.

• An hour and a half later, 5 victories for your sister, 1 win for Sayori. How could she have known that your sis was so good at this game??

• After another round of Sayori getting close to winning but losing at the last moment, they were both slightly bored by this and found themselves another activity instead. Jumping ropes.

• Now this was something Sayori was a pro at. Her skills versus your sister's energy, they could actually compete! But it was just innocent fun. They both enjoyed it.

• Maybe not so innocent fun, 'cause when you arrived back, they challenged you to a jumping rope competition. Oh dear...

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comfy-whumpee · 3 years

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Small Comforts

A Month Of Whump Mafia Madness: Rite of passage/Initiation.

@iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @suspicious-whumping-egg

Bennett Kennedy was a traitor.

He sat at the desk in his little room, a white-walled, thin-carpeted square broken only by the locked door and the small, thickly-barred window. He was below ground, as best he could tell through the clouded glass, in a converted basement. He was delivered a tray of food each day good enough for three meals, and there was even an en suite with drinkable water in the tap. It was obvious that he wasn’t the first to live here. The bathroom had scratches in the doorframe from someone keeping count of the days. The mattress had a dip in the centre. In the middle of a sleepless night, it was like he could feel the ghosts of previous abductees breathing in the same air.

Most of his nights were sleepless now.

The desk was had recently been sanded down. It was obvious by the fresh, unblemished grain of the wood. Perhaps the person in here before him had left a message he wasn’t allowed to read.

On the desk was a stack of plain paper, and two wax crayons. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t obviously done to make sure he had nothing sharp to use as a weapon. Not that Bennett was stupid enough to try and stab Alfonse Dechart’s guards with a ballpoint pen, but there was no accounting for desperation.

Each day, he sat at the desk with the Crayola Black Stars in his hand and wrote as much as he could think of about work. They weren’t selective. On the first day he wrote about the layout of the headquarters. By the sixth day he was writing about what everyone ate for lunch and where they went if they wanted coffee.

All of it was treated the same. The more he wrote, the better things got.

The first sheath of pages on the first day had gained him the mattress. He’d been ready to sleep on the floor, but two people, still masked, had hauled it in and left it on the ground. Bennett had pushed it into a corner.

He’d stopped for a few hours. He’d doodled. Stared at the window and its gradient of blue and white that could have been clouds. Lay on his back on the mattress and drifted.

Eventually, he’d gone back and written another page. Then another. It was good to think of home. He had let the memories flood back: the desks, the paperwork, the bickering, the procedures. He had spent four lines on the way the staff room door stuck unless you twisted it just right.

He had pushed the papers under the door, just as instructed. A while later, it opened again, and someone tossed in a blanket.

He traded stories about work socials for a pillow. His account of the repairs done to the plumbing was good enough to get a toothbrush.

It was all everyday detail, nothing important. Nothing that would get him fired if he told a friend about it over a few drinks. A slap on the wrist, maybe, for mentioning so many names, but it wasn’t game-changing.

It wasn’t dangerous.

Of course it’s dangerous, the thought slipped in, and he ignored it.

What could anyone, even Alfonse Dechart, do with the knowledge that Detective Kim’s first coffee break was always at quarter past nine, barely ten minutes after he’d sat down at his desk?

That was a week ago, by the count of the tally he was drawing in crayon underneath his mattress.

He had been here for twelve days.

The desk had a chair, now. The meal was three portions big, and varied: Bennett got fruit, cereal, bread, crisps and cake. He got cold coffee. He had a toothbrush and toothpaste, a washcloth, a bar of soap and a thin hand towel.

Every page he filled made him feel dirtier. It stopped being about the cases and witnesses, about keeping confidential information out. What fucking right did he have to tell the fucking mafia about Haydari’s flu, the way the guys in witpro talked about him, the workplace bullying he knew was going on when the usual team was in?

He was doing nothing but airing dirty laundry. But, slowly, that began to feel worse than talking about the work. Those are your colleagues’ personal lives, their habits, their secrets, you coward.

When they brought in the hand towel, they said, “Change of clothes, next.”

Bennett had looked down at the undershirt and boxers he’d been left in after his interrogation, creased and greasy with how long he had been wearing them, and he had felt like an animal.

It was a parking ticket. She was late back from the shops and looked harried. He had just turned away from placing it under her wiper. She swore, but she sounded like she was about to burst into tears.

A simple story, though a true one. He stared at it after recording it. There weren’t even any parts that could identify her. He didn’t date it. It was as mundane as you could get.

They brought him a pair of jeans.

He had cried.

Over fucking jeans. Traitor. Filth.

But when he had calmed down, he sat and wrote out the entire process of the Mannington family’s witness protection allocation, and when he had forced the eight pages underneath the crack of the door, the response had been almost instant. The door opened, the guard gestured him out, and took him through to a chilly wet room, where the tiles sloped inward to a shower. The water ran hot, and soap stood on the side, and Bennett sobbed like a child under the spray. They let him stay in there for what must have been half an hour, before they knocked, and he turned off the water and dressed in the clean clothes they had given him.

The Mannington family were already dead, he was sure. But it was still a betrayal.

Coward. You don’t deserve to call yourself an officer. You’re only serving yourself.

He curled up on his mattress with his blanket and pillow, and tried to feel guilty enough for what he’d done.

You can’t go back now. You’ll never be let back on the force. People will die because of you, because you couldn’t cope without your cold coffee and your fucking jeans.

When the next day came, Bennett wrote twenty pages about their investigation of Alfonse’s Silkrunner mafia.

#amow mafia madness #whump #psychological whump #dehumanisation #captivity whump #my fic #initiation #mafia whump #betrayal #captivity #alfonse #bennett

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heavenunderthemoon · 4 years

Note

could we get another jj and daughter fic, maybe one where she has to protect herself and Henry from the unsub and is in jj and will wedding. (set in 7x24)

Per your request! Hope you like it!

“Cheers”- JJ x DAUGHTER! READER

WARNINGS: themes of violence, major fluff at the end

WORDS: 5,671

"Y/n?"

Henry's head shot up from his spot on the floor, his stack of legos momentarily forgotten as he bolted to meet his father at the door, the childlike pitter-patter of his feet enough to make you follow suit.

You followed the sound of his voice, a bit confused as to why Will was home so early. It was one of the rare days he was at work while your mother stayed home- well, she was supposed to stay home. Its had been all of an hour and a half that she had been home before she got called in, leaving you with the responsibility of watching your younger half-brother.

"Will?" You rounded the corner, footsteps immediately coming to a halt as your eyes settled upon a new face, their own eyes lighting up when you came into sight. Their demeanor made you tense. The way Will stood, slightly favoring one side, shoulder dipping as if there was a gravitational pull that only he could feel, a magnet dragging one side of his body to the ground. His eyes flickered between you and Henry and the woman. His orbs were boring into yours, as if sending you a silent message, trying to exude a wave of calmness but there was something underneath that you could see as well, a layer of alarm that made your mouth dry. One of his feet were slightly in front of the other, placing himself before her as if to serve as a barrier between you three.

And the woman. Well, she looked...dangerous. That was the first word you had thought to describe her. Her eyes were sharp, focused, and fixed you with a predatory stare. Her hair was raven black, almost like Emily's, but the comparison stopped there because Emily had never looked so feral. Your hand clamped onto Henry's shoulder, preventing him from going any closer to the woman.

"Oh, she's so beautiful, you never did say how pretty she was." Her voice was just as predatory as the rest of her. It sent shivers down your spine and you could see Will react in the same way. Her body moved, as if to take a step forward and the Lamontagne man matched her steps, earning an amused glance from the woman. Her eyes glided off of you, coming to rest on the small blonde boy by your side and her lips twisted into one of irritation.

"Is he still in diapers? I don't really do those."

Will's face contorted with an emotion you had never quite seen on the man. Unbridled rage. A horrible twisting feeling in your stomach began to settle, one that you normally faked to get out of your algebra tests, but this one was real. Incredibly real, and when the man turned to you, eyes connecting with your own, you listened when he spoke. "Take Henry to the kitchen, I'll be with you in just a second."

Your mouth opened and closed, about to protest, but when you looked back at the woman, that hungry look still in her eyes, you were turning on your heel, ushering the boy out. - "No."

"Y/n-"

"You're leaving us with her?" Your eyes flickered to the woman standing in the kitchen doorway. You had known something was wrong the minute Will had walked through the door, his voice shakily calling out your name and now you knew you had been right. Will had slunk back into the kitchen, his side still pulling him to the ground, before attempting to tell you goodbye. Henry sat on the counter where you had placed him, happily munching on a granola bar you had opened for him.

"No, Will, what the hell is going on? Something is..." You looked to the woman again, lowering your voice another octave and turning it into a hushed whisper. "Something is wrong, I can tell, okay? You're lying to me." Perhaps it was because your mother was a profiler or maybe it was the vast amount of time you spent with the man on a daily basis, but you knew it was true. The man was hiding something.

"I can't." And when he said it you knew that was true as well. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, chin turned downwards and you realized you had never seen him look so...afraid. So tired. "I need you two to behave, okay? Do whatever she says and wait for Mom to come home." His eyes were staring into yours again, pleading you, begging you, to listen and that twisting feeling in your stomach hit once more.

"I-I don't understand." Your voice was breathy, hands beginning to shake, but for the sake of Henry you were keeping it together, holding yourself together with tape and glue because he was a child and while you were still a child too, you didn't get to be one. Not right now. Not with the woman standing in the doorway, that sinister smile dancing upon her lips.

Will nodded, eyes downtrodden. A hand reached out to squeeze your shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry." He took another moment before shaking once more. "I love you, you know? I know I'm not your real father-"

"Will." You tried, tears beginning to threaten to leave your eyes.

"But you're my daughter. You're just as much mine as Henry is." He continued.

And now the tears were spilling over. You remembered when you had first met the man, how JJ had teased him about how nervous he had been. He had shaken your hand, his large hand practically consuming yours. How he had laughed when you had fixed him with narrowed eyes and a stern scowl, something that had looked ridiculous on a child so small, but he had listened all the same when you asked him 'What are your intentions with my mother?'. How, after that initial meeting, he had started to come around more often, burrowing himself into you and your mother's daily routines. Suddenly, he was pouring you cereal in the mornings, or appearing at soccer games, rowdily yelling whenever you received a yellow card. How his things began to appear in the small house your mother and you had lived in at the time, small things at first- like, a razor, or a toothbrush- and then big things- like, his old boombox that he used whenever he was in the garage, or the horde of healthy food he brought with him (because your mother and you would sustain yourself on junk if you could and you had until he showed up.).

You remembered all those things and now they were flashing before your eyes because what he was saying, how he was looking at you, made it feel like he was saying goodbye and you while you had lived in a world without William Lamontagne Jr. before, you couldn't quite picture doing it again.

"Please, don't leave us." And the words that you were pleading him with had a double meaning because god be damned if he left that threshold let alone the world.

Will didn't say anything, pulling you into a warm embrace, and you melted into it. "I love you too." You murmured against his shoulder, and he nodded, pulling back to place a hand on your cheek, staring into your face as if to blaze it into his mind, before he was turning to Henry.

"Daddy, let's play!" The boy's arms extended and his father took the cue to lift him off the counter's ledge, placing him gently on the floor.

"Daddy can't play right now, I gotta go to work. But, this is, um-"

"Izzy." The woman readily provided, stalking into the kitchen. She came to a halt next to you, her hand coming to rest on the small on your back and you fought back a repulsed snarl.

"Izzy. Can you say hi to Izzy?"

The boy didn't seem to understand the tension, something you were grateful for. "Hi, Izzy!"

"She's going to stay with you both until Mama comes home, okay?"

Henry's blonde hair moved as his head nodded. "Okay."

"Hey. I love you." Will's voice broke a little as the exchanged their goodbyes, ending in an embrace all too similar to the one you had received and you but your lip, steeling your face. You didn't know what the situation was or what the future held, but you knew one thing. You knew that every time Will's eyes filled with hurt, the woman's lips quirked in satisfaction. She took pleasure in other people's pain, and you weren't going to fuel her anymore than she needed. He told you to wait for your mother to come home.

And that was exactly what you were going to do.

Your fingers twirled a crayon between them, leg shaking underneath the dining room table you and your brother were stationed at. His eyebrows were furrowed, concentrating on the scribbles before him. You looked down to your own paper.

Blank.

How were you supposed to concentrate when Will was out there doing God knows what? Or with this woman- Izzy, if that was her real name- under the same roof. You didn't trust her, choosing not to turn your back on her the minute Will had left the house.

It was strange, you observed, to feel so unsafe in your own house. You hadn't lived there for long, only moving once Henry was born. That tiny little house your mother and you had lived in for so long hadn't been enough, and once news of her pregnancy had broke, the two parents had searched for a new house. You remembered saying goodbye to that house, all the movie nights with just the two Jareau girls, the notches on the wall to indicate height (you would insist to take your mother's height as well even if she had stopped growing long ago), the chips in the paint from when the two of you decided to move furniture by yourself, or the glow in the dark stars that used to hang from your ceiling. It hadn't been a sad goodbye, of course, because now there was a new house.

A new house that held pictures of the three of you- now four, with Henry. A house filled with toys strewn about the living room because the boy always forgot to pick them up, or his drawings strung up on the fridge. A house with a backyard (a cool one, with a tree and everything that you had tried to climb once and never had again because you got stuck and Will had to help you down). A house that was a home.

And all of that was gone in an instant because now it didn't feel like a home. It felt like a lion's den.

"I'm thirsty." Henry turned to you, and you moved to stand before the lioness was moving.

Her hand placed itself firmly on your shoulder, forcing you back into your seat, as she stared at the boy.

"I'm going to get him some water." You tried to mimic the tone your mother used when she was cross with you. The tone that said 'Don't even think about it'. But you must've done a poor job because she was chuckling softly, shaking her head, before turning her attention back to the boy.

Her slender fingers closed around a discarded green crayon, letting it glide across the boy's paper. Slowly, she began to sing, a rendition (a very poor one, in your opinion), of 'Ring Around the Rosie', and Henry was giggling.

"You're silly."

You silently thanked whatever higher power was out there for the sweet, perfectly oblivious boy that was your baby brother.

"Can we play hide-and-seek?"

"In a minute. Come here." She reached to pul the boy onto her lap, and your hand clamped down around his wrist, pulling him into your side on instinct.

"I think he's fine right here, right Hen?" You were already lifting him onto your lap, squeezing him tightly as if to reassure yourself that he was still there. He was your baby brother, your responsibility. Your mother had chided that to you a million times when he was beginning to crawl, or walk, or run. You were the older sister, the last contingency, the arms to back him when he fell, and you would make damn sure that he never did because he was Henry. The boy who, in his first moments in this world, had clenched his tiny fist around your finger and never let go. The boy whose first words had been a butchered rendition of your name (a nickname your mother still tortured you with), the boy whose first thought in the morning was to run into your room, jumping onto your sleeping figure until you were awake.

Izzy's withering stare was enough to make you feel sick, but you clenched on tighter and she, reluctantly, settled back into her seat.

"My grandfather's name was Henry. He had blonde hair just like you."

"I bet he was as psychotic as you." You said through gritted teeth, and your words only seemed to make her smile, egging her on.

"He was a scary man, yes."

"Why?" Henry's tiny voice whispered, and she clasped her hand's together.

"Let me tell you a story."

The legos on the table clashed together, a misshapen attempt at a spaceship (though you would never call it that to Henry's face, even if he didn't know what misshapen meant), taking place before you. Every so often, the boy would hold his hand out, allowing you to place another building block into his tiny palm before he decided where it went. The sound of a glass hitting the table to your right sounded and you glanced at it briefly, a cup of water for the boy.

Izzy turned, heading to the window and as Henry reached for the glass you shook your head at him. "Don't drink that."

The blonde's eyebrows scrunched, but before he could question it, his eyes were turning to something behind you and you felt a hand clamp around your mouth. You almost screamed, heart quickening, when a wisp of blonde hair fell into your eyeline and you relaxed, turning to meet your mother's gaze. Her eyes were frantic, movements swift and you saw the tiniest bit of relief before she held a finger to her lips, ushering the two of you into the hall closet quietly.

Henry was the perfect size for it, the small boy able to stand in it without his head grazing the coats hanging on the shelves but you had to hunch your back, bending your knees slightly.

"Stay here, don't come out till I say it's okay."

The FBI logo painted across her chest made your eyes widen, her hands reaching for her gun as she turned. "Woah, wait, Mom, are you gonna be okay?" Your voice hissed out your own whisper.

Your hand held her arm, tightly, enough to make her pause in her motions because before that, before your touch, she had been lost, swallowed whole in the sea of thoughts that was her worry for her children. Her worry for her son, the small boy who still hated baths and needed a nightlight, and you, a girl who had grown right alongside her, all through college, through her FBI training, through her media liaison days, and now as she was a profiler. Children who were in danger because of her.

Her bright blue orbs met yours and they softened because, as much as you would attest that you hid it well, she could see the fear that painted your face. It showed in your flared nostrils, clenched jaw, and shaking hands. "I'll be fine." She tried, but the firmness in her face never left and it was something that you weren't accustomed to. Today had been a whole lot of that- seeing things you weren't accustomed to. Will, afraid, your mother terrified, and both fighting tooth and nail for you and Henry to be okay (well, as okay as you could be shoved in a coat closet).

Still noticing concern, she gently took your hand from her arm, placing a quick maternal kiss to your cheek. You tried not to think about what she was going to do, tried not to think about the hand still on her gun, the bulletproof vest on her chest. You tried to think about this like Hide-and-seek, a fun little game on your mother's day off.

"I'll be fine." She said one last time, a whisper that haunted your ears after she closed the door. It haunted you as the yells began, screams of rage, shouts of fury, clashes, clangs, and everything in between. You grabbed Henry, pulling him into you and covering his ears as best as you could. His small hands wound their way around your shirt and even if it was your favorite (a band t-shirt that Will had gotten you and that your mother absolutely hated), you let him. His whimpers were muffled from your shirt and you shushed him softly, cooing into his ear.

"Shh, you're okay. We're okay." And you weren't sure if you were talking to him or yourself at that point.

You could hear your mother yell, a subsequent, loud 'BANG' like a glass shattering being heard and you held your breath, hearing nothing but silence after. Henry's breathing was shallow, and you strained your ears to hear anything, anything at all. You wanted to hear your mother yell, or cry, or tell you to come out, something to tell you she was okay. But nothing came.

The door of the closet was grated, small slits in the wood that were used for insulation purposes but now served to allow you to look out into the hallway and when you did you wished you hadn't. Your mother lay on the floor, the ground around her littered with broken glass- a vase, ceramic, one you had made in fourth grade (It was bumpy, sloppily painted, and had a very crude carving of your initials on the bottom) and your mother had kept all these years. You had called her a hoarder, but she called it being sentimental. From the shards that rained down upon her, and the small puddle of blood leading from her head to the floor, you assumed she had been struck down with it.

Her blonde hair was becoming stained with the scarlet liquid, body moving slowly, but surely to get up, but none of it mattered because your vision was blocked another figure moving towards your mother, a gun trained on her back and before you knew it you were moving. The closet door was thrown open, and you shut it behind you, making sure to keep Henry concealed. The sound startled Izzy, but you didn't hesitate to throw your body toward her, using all your weight to tackle her to the floor. You both landed with a 'THUD', and you groaned. The gun previously in her hand clattered to your left, but before you could make a grab for it, the brunette moved much quicker than you did after the initial shock. Her fist rained upon your cheek and you shrieked, taking the hits as you kicked at her body and twisted to try and grab the weapon.

You could see your mother standing, getting a second wind as she laid her eyes upon you, and her eyes flared with so much fury that you stopped your mad grabs for the weapon, staring up at the woman above you. Despite the pain in your nose, the feeling of blood dripping down your face, or the eye that was threatening to shut due to swelling, you smiled. Blood stained your teeth when you did, almost making you look animalistic and when you spoke, Izzy hardly had time to react.

"You lose."

The brunette's eyebrows furrowed before she was pulled up by her hair, your mother delivering a swift roundhouse kick that rendered the woman unconscious. The last thing you saw before you passed out was the panicked figure of your mother, pleading you to stay awake before you surrendered yourself to the abyss.

You woke up in an ambulance bay, eyes(or, eye) fluttering open to greet the scene before you. It was moving. That much you could feel. There was a metallic taste in your mouth that made you believe the paramedics had given you some kind of painkiller and glancing down to your arm and finding a large I.V. needle confirmed your theory. The metal walls were lined with medical supplies that tipped and toddled at every bump in the road. Paramedics, two, sat on your left, fidgeting with your cuts, rubbing something on them that you couldn't even feel. Antiseptic? Your mind tried to catch up with your surroundings.

A hand squeezed your left forearm, the grip familiar and unrelenting and you allowed it to pull you out of your hazy memories, the foggy remembrance of blows to your face. Looking in the direction of the squeeze you saw your mother, teary-eyed and red-faced. She was clutching Henry, sat upon her lap with his head burrowed into her neck, but fine all the same. Your mother looked fine as well, apart from the tiny cut on her forehead, already covered with gauze and medical tape. Knowing your mother she had probably refused medical treatment until she knew you would be okay. Her maternal instincts always did make her a little irrational sometimes (you would never say that aloud to her).

"Y/N? Y/N? She's awake! Y/n, can you say something? Y/n?" The paramedics were coming to hover over you now, a flashlight being shined in your good eye while they physically opened the other. Her grip was tightening and you licked your lips, trying your best to nod to let your mother know you were okay.

She had been a wreck when you were five and crashed your bike. That had been a small cut on your knee. Or when you fell off the monkey bars when you were eight. A scratched elbow. Now, sitting in the back of an ambulance bay after getting the crap beaten out of you, you thought she might just implode.

"Ouch."

She laughed. A breathy, tear filled laugh, but a laugh all the same, her shoulders sagging with relief. "Oh my god. You're okay?" She turned to the paramedics, of whom were now scribbling into a chart. "She's okay?" When receiving a nod, she turned back, though now her eyes were narrowed, that watery smile gone. "What part of stay here until I say-"

"You were hurt-"

"I was fine, I had it handled, and then you come out of nowhere-"

"She had a gun to your back-"

"And you're hurt! Oh my god, look at you-"

You fixed her with as sarcastic of a smile as you could, but you were sure it just looked wrong on your face now. "Gee, thanks, Mom."

She huffed, letting a hand come down softly upon your cheek to cradle it. You held in a wince, knowing it would make the situation worse.

JJ stared at you for a long moment, feeling the motions of the ambulance as they moved. Her daughter, her first baby, her child, her best friend. The girl she shared clothes with, the two of you constantly stealing each other's jeans and sweaters and claiming you hadn't. The girl she ordered far too much takeout with every Friday (you were trying to go through the entire Chinese takeout menu and the two of you were halfway there). The girl who made her coffee in the mornings, or shared her love of cherry pie, or watched too many romantic comedy movies to count. Her first baby, who still liked to go trick-or-treating because 'is there really an age limit?'. She was lying in that ambulance bay, beaten and bruised and getting gauze placed on her swollen eye, all because of her work.

The thought made her sick.

Noticing the far-off look in her eyes, you rose a hand, letting it rest on the one that sat upon your cheek. "Hey, I'm okay."

JJ stared a moment longer, not quite convinced, before she let out a long sigh, nodding softly. A small smile tugged at her lips and she dipped her head toward the medical supplies covering your swollen eye. "You look like Patchy the Pirate.

"Shut up."

You hated hospitals. They smelled like antiseptic and blood and made your head spin. The medics had cleared you five minutes ago, allowing you to leave with the promise to take the prescribed medications they had given you. Rossi had stayed with you while your mother had gone to check on Will. Now, Rossi walked you to the hospital room he was stationed in (Rossi had also informed you he had been shot, of which you had responded by quickening your pace, practically running to the room). The man's eyes twinkled when he mentioned your father, almost as if he knew something you didn't but you hardly focused on anything else, your mind consumed in the fact that Will was shot.

Seeing the open door, you didn't hesitate, running in. Your mother was standing by the bed, Henry at her side. Will was awake, an abandoned shoulder sling in his lap. You lunged at him, body covering his as you clutched him tightly.

"Woah!" The man chuckled, despite his shock at the small teenager flinging herself toward him, and hugged you back, his hand coming to cup your head.

"You were shot." You said, not quite letting go, and you could feel the man nod softly.

"I was."

You pulled away and now it was Will's turn to worry. The swelling had gone down with your time at the hospital. It wasn't gone completely, and the bruising was still prominent, but at least your mother couldn't call you 'Patchy' again. His fingers brushed against the bandage on the crest of your cheek, eyes scanning your face.

"You should see the other guy." You joked quietly, and he chuckled sadly, shaking his head.

"That's my girl."

You beamed.

Will's eyes flickered to your mother and then back to you, and you narrowed your eyes at the two of them, noticing that same twinkle that Rossi had when he brought you back over. "What? What is it?"

The two shared another look, before your mother was moving forward, grasping your hand in hers. Her eyes looked into your, letting you know it was a serious conversation, before she was speaking. "I haven't agreed to anything yet, because I want to know what you think, because what you think is important to me, and whatever you say I won't be mad, I promise-"

Your lips turned upward, settling into a smirk as you glanced at Will. "Did you finally pop the question?"

The Jareau woman's lips parted, face contorting with confusion. "Wait, she kn-"

You cut off Will's nodding, your smirk widening into a lazy grin. "Mom, he asked me for permission two weeks after he moved in- four years ago. I'm just surprised it's taken him so long." Amusement flooded your tone and it made your mother scoff, playfully hitting the Lamontagne man on his good shoulder.

"Hey! I was waiting for the right moment." He defended, and you shook your head.

"Right, 'cause in order for it to be the right moment, I have to look like Igor?" You snorted.

Your mother rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "So, I'm taking that as a yes."

You nodded, leaning into her shoulder. "Yes, it's a yes."

The two whooped, making you shake your head in embarrassment, catching the curious glances form the nurses stand you four were receiving. Henry, unaware as to the cause of celebration, joined along simply for the fun of yelling. You sighed, shrugging your shoulders before joining in.

A surprise wedding.

Well, not a surprise to you (Penelope cannot keep a secret to save her life), but a surprise to your mother all the same.

"There's gonna be a boy in the house." The blonde flurried around the guest bedroom, one of many in his large, large mansion, getting herself ready for an impromptu wedding. Her motions were erratic, dropping earrings, lipgloss tubes, and she only had one heel on.

Her statement made you snort in amusement. "There's already a boy in the house. Two of them, if I'm counting correctly."

She turned, her dress only half-way zipped up, pleading you to go along with her statement.

You sighed. "Okay, so there will be a boy in the house." You repeated with a huff. "So what? We like boys, right? Otherwise you're gonna have to cancel the event going on downstairs-"

"Y/n!" Despite the interruption, she laughed, a small bit of tension seemingly relieved. You smiled, aching your goal. With a sigh you stood, motioning for her to turn around as you both stood before the full-length mirror in the corner. Just by looking at it, you knew it was expensive. The handles were ornate, delicate engravings of rose petals and forest branches decorating the sides of it, the glass clear as day. Your mother obeyed, turning to her reflection and watching your motions in it.

You fingers gripped the zipper, tugging it gently until it was closed. "Look, if you want to bail on this wedding, we can. I will hotwire a car, pull it around front, and we'll do the whole 'screeching tires' bit and peel off into the sunset. But I know that that's not what you want." You reached up, placing the last pins in her hair.

"It isn't?" The blonde inquired, and by the pace at which her chest was rising and falling you could tell she was calming down, just the sound of your voice enough to make her do so.

"Nope. You want to go down there and marry him, not because he's the father of your child, but because it's Will. Will, the guy who makes us fantastic eggs in the morning that we can never quite replicate."

She nodded "They are good eggs."

You smiled. "And because he listens to you, and to me, and to Henry. You deserve the world, Mom, and he can give it to you." You slung an arm around her shoulder, resting your head against hers. "And his accent isn't too bad."

She laughed, it being contagious enough to spread to you. After the chuckles settled, she sighed, staring at the bandage on your cheek once more. She hadn't quite taken her eyes off of it all night.

"You scared me tonight." She said softly, and just like that her smile was gone. You stared back at her in the mirror. Standing next to her, under the roof of her millionaire coworker, you could see the similarities that people so often pointed out. After the growth spurt you had experienced last year, the two of you were practically the same height, you were probably an inch taller. Your eyes held that same hue of blue that made it look like a small oceanic whirlpool waiting to suck you under. And your golden hair glinted in the moonlight filtering in from the open window. You were a splitting image of her.

You nodded solemnly. "I know."

That answer didn't seem to be what she wanted. "She could've killed you."

"She was going to kill you. Her gun was raised," Your mother opened her mouth to speak, but you sighed. "You had her, I know."

JJ's cupped your head, patting it gently. Just as similar as you two were in looks, you were similar in actions. The Jareau woman protected her family at all costs, and you had just proved that you would do the same.

"I love you, kid."

You smiled. "I love you, too." You turned to face her, cupping her cheeks in your hand. "Now, put on your big girl pants, we have a wedding to attend."

The wedding was beautiful. You had spent the ceremony next to Penelope, the woman a blubbering mess the entire time. You weren't sure how a person so small could have that many tears, but she did, and you stood corrected.

The sound of the fork clinking against the glass made the guests turn their attention to you, and your hand clenched the cup a little tighter before you could lose your nerve. Your eyes found your mother's, her and Will at the table over, and your shoulders relaxed, the tightness in your chest dissipating.

"For the longest time, it was just my Mom and I. My Mom worked hard to make sure that I had everything I could ever possibly need, and did so without question. She's my best friend, my lifeline, and my biggest supporter, and I thought that, as long as I had her, I wouldn't need anyone else, but when I met Will, I changed my mind. Will, earlier today you said something to me that I've been thinking about. You said to me that you may not be my real father, but I am your daughter, and you loved me all the same." Your eyes turned to Will and you swallowed. "Before I met you, I had never given anyone a Father's Day card. Well, I got one for mom, but I always crossed out 'father' and put 'mother' and I didn't have to do that anymore. I had never gone to a Daddy-Daughter dance, something I definitely owe you for, because the amount of times I stepped on your toes is obscene. What I'm trying to say, is that you aren't just a fill in father for me, Will. You're my dad, as real as you can get. I love you both so much, and I'm so happy that I get to be a part of this family." You raised your glass, the other patrons following suit. Your mother had a watery smile- something you would definitely tease her about later. "Take care of my girl, 'cause I know where you live. Cheers."

"Cheers!"

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