#he doesn’t know what they are. what their purpose here is. who they are

[misses-kiseki-san]

I have the headcannon that, if everyting goes rigth and no one dies, they get back home and, acording to Curly and Anya, it wuld have happened a long time, enougth to be imposible to Anya to abort, but here is the thing, she has the baby and puts it into adopción, and finishes nursing school, Jimmy goes to pricion afther Anya and Curly report the thing that Jimmy did, eventually someone in Daisuke's family adopts the child, and Daisuke becomes a big cousing or uncle, Daisuke tells Anya abaut the kid sometimes and Anya is glad that the kid is fine. Swansea and Daisuke helped Anya and Curly trough theyr trauma and breack contanct with Jimmy and Swansea starts to see a new meaning in his life, goes with his wife and Childreen and helps Daisuke in finding a new purpose in his life.

Years latter Anya becomes a Doctor and keeps helping Curly into recovering. Prostetic legs and arms has been used for him and a new tipe of neuro-skin (a robotic-like tipe of subtance that resembles human Skin controles by the patient's neuronal activity, i invented it) just to help the captain out of his sufering, but Curly is doing better. Probably confesing to Anya in a really corny way and then they both getting married, but withaut childreen, for both of them traumas

Daisuke becomes the New mecanic of the New company that purchased Ponny Express and has a decent paychek, his family now calls him whenever something is brocken

Swansea retires later on and becomes a grumpy grandpa of a transgender girl, he wuld die for her, even thoug his wife died he is really keeping going on, Daisuke visits him some times, Curly and Anya lives nerby, so they ofthen pass by and salutate them some times when Anya takes Curly to a little walk

To Jimmy shit culdn’t been worse, his family doesn’t calls him and he breack contact with almost everyone he knew, he has been in pricion again for purchasing drugs and had also tried to sexually harras someone again, but we know him for not taking responsability, so he always said that he was inocent in every single time that he comited another crime, he never changed, he died oyt of an overdose and they only found out because his apartament room was stinking dead person

Curly was the only one to asist at his funeral, not to spit in his grave, even though he shuld, but to remember who was the person that he was friends with, or well, more likely the person who he though he was... who he wanted him to be

Welp this was my headcannon of what culd have happened to the Mounthwash cast

Hope you like it

How (SOME) people in the mouthwashing fandom sound

[suzukiblu]

Day eleven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh–is it?” he asks, not really sure what else to say. Or more like, not really sure what else to say that would not sound both desperately, desperately horny and desperately, desperately weird. 

“I dunno,” Kon replies, giving him a quick, sheepish little smile. “Just makes me feel good, that you think I’m worth, like–taking out and showing off, or whatever. Like–without the S-shield on, even.” 

“The S-shield would definitely make date night a lot harder to enjoy, yeah,” Tim says, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to dissolve the entire entertainment industry and all of Kon’s previous romantic interests in acid from the ground up. Slowly. Kon blushes again, his smile widening. 

“And, uh–and that,” he says, glancing sidelong. “And that you wanna hang out with me without anybody interruptin’.” 

I want to hang out with you until I overthrow Gotham AND Metropolis and then I want to install a zeta between them and the biggest beachfront property you’ll let me buy for you and any little Kon 2.0’s you let me make you, Tim’s most insane self thinks and his slightly more rational current self does not say, because he has at least some small and tiny and miniscule scraps of self-control. 

Like, barely, and only lasting until the fifteen-year sidekick-to-supervillain plan goes off, but still. 

“I definitely don’t want anyone interrupting, no,” he agrees instead, and Kon beams at him again and then ducks in and kisses him again–just a quick little peck, but definitely still a kiss. Tim, belatedly, realizes that Kon might actually be getting more up in his space than he was before the whole . . . script issue happened. Just–standing closer, and leaning in a little more often, and things like that. Not in a demanding way or anything; just like he wants to be there a little more often. 

Like maybe he’s a little more comfortable being there, now. Or like maybe he thinks he can do it without anything being–expected from it, maybe. 

Tim doesn’t even know if Kon’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s definitely noticing a difference either way. Just–there is very much a difference there to be noticed. 

He is definitely, definitely not going to be able to find out who any of Kon’s exes are before he goes supervillain. That’s just not going to work out for his timeline at all. 

Also Bruce would absolutely get upset if he found out about whatever he ended up doing about it, and he’s an emotional support sidekick, not, like, an intern or whatever. He is not here to cause problems, he is here to facilitate Bruce’s mental health, help him manage his paranoia, and minimize the amount of overkill beatings of petty thugs and small-time criminals. 

Admittedly Bruce managing his paranoia is not going great, but it’s a process, alright? He’s doing his best here. 

“So like, if we do go shopping again, wanna pick something out for me to wear for you next time?” Kon asks, still beaming at him. Tim’s brain attempts to reboot a couple dozen times before he manages to remember how to string a coherent sentence together. 

“Yes,” he says in an almost normal-person voice. Maybe. Theoretically. He . . . hopes, anyway. “Uh–yeah. That sounds, uh–like something I would like to do.” 

It’s a little harder to focus on the supervillain thoughts with Kon both wearing that expression and actually asking him to buy him something–especially specifically something he wants to wear for him–so that’s helpful for keeping to his timeline. But also, uh–embarrassing, kind of, because usually Tim is better at thinking than he currently is being. Like, his normal thought processes are a lot more involved than Kon’s so hot and Kon’s so CUTE and hurr durr pretty boy. 

He definitely still wants to ruin some people’s lives, but first he wants to get Kon dinner and dessert and buy out a boutique or four for him, and just like, a small suburb. Or town. City. Tri-state area. 

And also to pick out something for him to wear “next time”, since apparently Kon still wants there to be a next time that he sees Tim Drake and also just like . . . just the whole thing with the picking out something for him to wear thing, because Tim only has so much self-control, alright? He is doing his best here, but he’s only an emotional support sidekick, alright, he’s not made of stone. 

Seriously, Kon asked him to dress him and asked him to buy him something. Tim is not actually sure if he’s more thrilled about actually getting Kon to specifically ask him to buy something for him or frazzled over Kon offering to let him pick out something for him to wear. Just–god. Tim is just not even–Tim does not know what he’s feeling right now. Just–whatever it is, he is feeling it. 

He wonders if it would be, like, a little too pathetic of him to maybe get Kon another crop top. Or, uh, a little too thirsty of him. 

. . . probably, yeah. Probably definitely, in fact. 

. . . . . . but like, if Kon sees one he likes, it's not like Tim's gonna say no or–

Anyway. 

[delilahsturniolo]

singer!reader x photographer!matt

➜ headcanons

warnings . . . none? suggestiveness if you squint.

created by. . . @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify any of my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first. happy reading! :)

read more of this au here!

singer!reader, who wears scandalous outfits and bodysuits when performing because you know matt likes them.

photographer!matt, who takes photos of you to keep for himself. it would either be you in a certain position or outfit he likes. he would usually slip it into his wallet or pockets.

singer!reader, who’s always smiling and looking at matt while performing, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

photographer!matt, who stalks you on your social media. he gets so giddy when he sees you post the photos that he took.

singer!reader, who would sometimes look at matt on purpose while singing raunchy lyrics, to tease him of course.

photographer!matt, who makes sure he takes a photo of your position for your song “juno” every night.

singer!reader, who would write songs about matt without his knowledge.

photographer!matt, who is absolutely obsessed with you. he can’t help but fall for you, he could watch you sing and dance for hours.

singer!reader, who would go all out when performing just so you could show off to matt.

photographer!matt, who realizes which songs are about him. he immediately starts blushing when you sing them.

singer!reader, who sees all the speculations about you and matt potentially dating or liking each other, you never debunk them though…

photographer!matt, who adores capturing photos of you. he loves how photogenic you are, he could take a photo of you at any angle or time, and you’d look beautiful to him every time.

singer!reader, who replaces some songs on the setlist with random love songs you’ve written, the audience doesn’t know it’s about matt though.

photographer!matt, who loves going backstage just to see you. even though he’s not talking to you, he admires you from afar.

singer!reader, who struggles with not falling for matt, you don’t know if you can resist his charm much longer.

photographer!matt, who has already fallen deeply in love with you.

but, will you fall harder?

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! 🤍

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

i lied (warning i don't think my commentary r that good) ⬇️

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope.

that’s his bf fr

But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

he’s just a baby boy

ALT

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The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

climb that wall

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm

this scene is supposed to be serious but i imagined tommy and jerry where jerrry hit jerry with a pan or smth and the thing bounces off of him wobbly 😭😭ok back to reading (i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

(i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

this is claustrophobic

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

MY BABY TAKING CARE OF MY OTHER BABY

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”“You know why.”

can we please just fuck and make up

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes

this took me out white boy why do u have shoes in the HOUSEEEEE

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

rafe is such an action man we love 💕

"I owe you everything," he murmured.

screeching under my pillow 🦅

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

the way ur dialogue is like a movie SOMEONE GET GIGI INTO THE WRITERS ROOM STAT

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

SEXYYY TIMEEE 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻 i am so unserious

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

say it

"That night was different. We were different."

oh fuck off being a gentleman pls ✋🏼🤨

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

why is this so beautiful

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

ohmygod 🙈 i feel like i am interrupting something

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

BABIES ALL OF THEM !!!!!!!!!!!

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

put it in already 🙄 (kidding i love this)

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

ur making me blush

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

RAFE WHIMPERING I WONNN

"I can't believe you're real."

i swear to god if this turns out to be a dream i’m booking the next flight to ur city n murdering u in ur sleep (real)

final thoughts — this is so tender and sweet, i love this. i think i can offer no true words to have much i appreciate this series (also because i used it all up in the last review) but yes, like i said. compliments to the chefs for her dialogue and beautiful imagery. additionally, i wanna let u know that u give me so much inspiration. whenever i finish one of ur work, i'm like "i gotta get my ass up and work" because i always feel so motivated to write whenever i read ur stuff. <3 truly, t💘💘hank u for everything, i'm so excited (and sad... and horny...?) to see them come to a delightful end next part

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain and chaos to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped. Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil. You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess.

Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate, its looming structure a dark silhouette against the fading light. You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

As you walked home from your shift as a lifeguard at the beach, the sun setting behind you cast long shadows on the sand. The rhythmic crashing of the waves had always been your favorite soundtrack. You’ve spent most of your life inside the water, it was in your nature. 

Growing up, surf and swimming were your outlets to get away from your violent father and deadbeat mother. The ocean was your sanctuary, a place where you could forget the shouting matches, the broken furniture, and the empty bottles scattered around the house. When you were out there riding the waves or just floating on your back, everything else melted away. The water had a way of washing off the grime of your home life, even if just temporarily.

Unfortunately, once you set your feet on the sand and walked home, that feeling always vanished.

Tonight, as you made your way home, the familiar dread began to creep in. Both your parents were long gone, but the sense of dread would never leave you, always attached to that stupid house.

Even though the yelling had stopped, and the bottles were gone, the walls seemed to hold on to the echoes of your past. The creaky floorboards, the dim lighting, the chipped paint—You hated it.

You had considered moving out many times, but something always held you back. JJ. Money.

When you got there, the air felt unusually still.

JJ’s truck wasn’t parked in its usual spot, which was strange, but not entirely unheard of. What really unsettled you were the closed windows. You always left them open to let the ocean breeze in, but now they were all shut tight.

You called out your brother’s name, hoping to hear his usual welcoming shout, but there was only silence. You shrugged it off, thinking he was probably out on the boat or lost in his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked further inside.

"JJ?" You called again.

As you stepped into the living room, the sight of your father, Luke, froze you in place. 

He seemed worse than you remembered—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and reeking of alcohol.

Luke had been gone for a year, no contact, nothing. But the memories of his drunken rages and the bruises he left behind were still fresh. He was supposed to be miles away. JJ made sure of that, paying him off and helping him get off the island.

Seeing him was the last thing you were expecting.

"You shouldn’t be here,” You warned him, trying to mask the fear rising in your chest.

He laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. "I’m just here to see my kids. Is that so wrong?”

Liar.

You knew better than to trust him. “You need to leave. Now.”

His expression darkened, the smirk fading. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Out.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might listen. But then he took a step closer, and you could smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, no longer the scared girl he was used to, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged. 

You barely dodged his grasp, stumbling back into the living room.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, desperately looking for something to defend yourself with. 

Luke laughed, a dark, hollow sound, and came at you again. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You barely had time to react, instinctively raising your arms to block his advance. 

“You little bitch,” he snarled, pushing you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you fought to stay focused. You couldn’t let him win, not again.

“You’re going to give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and foul on your face.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you grabbed a nearby lamp and swung it at him. The base connected with his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, holding his head. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but the sight only seemed to enrage him further.

He charged at you, knocking the lamp from your hands and pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, trying to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

He slapped you hard, the force of the blow making your vision blur. “You think you can fight me?” he snarled, his hands wrapping around your throat.

Gasping for air, you felt the desperation claw its way out. You’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick. Your mom’s candlestick. With the last of your strength, you brought it down on his head.

Luke’s grip loosened, and he slumped to the side, groaning. You scrambled to your feet, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He tried to get up, but you struck him again, this time with all your strength. The candlestick connected with a sickening thud, and your father collapsed, blood pooling around his head.

You stood over him, panting, the weight of what you’d done sinking in.

But then, with a guttural growl, he stirred and reached for your ankle. You staggered back, your heart hammering. 

“Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

He pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging once more.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, bringing your knee up sharply into his stomach. He grunted in pain, doubling over, and you seized the opportunity to land a sharp elbow to his nose. The crack was satisfying, but brief; he roared and grabbed at you blindly.

You ducked under his arm, grabbing a chair and shoving it between you. Luke, half-blind with fury, kicked the chair aside, but it gave you enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing you could find—a cast-iron skillet.

He stumbled into the kitchen after you, a trickle of blood from his nose mingling with the sweat and grime on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.” he snarled.

“Stay back,” you warned, brandishing the skillet, “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm. He staggered, and you swung again, aiming for his head. The skillet hit with his temple, the sound echoing through the room and he collapsed, finally unmoving.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously.  You almost killed him. There was so much blood. It stained the old carpet, the candlestick, your hands.

You backed away, your mind racing. 

What if he died? What if you’d killed him? Oh god, oh god. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone, out of your life for good.

With trembling fingers, you picked up your phone, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily on your shoulders. Your heart raced with adrenaline and fear, each breath feeling labored as you scrolled through your contacts. You needed help, someone who could make sense of the chaos now consuming your life.

The screen lit up with familiar names, but your vision was blurred with tears.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” You gasped out, your voice breaking as you clutched the phone to your ear.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak.

Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much.

The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out.

It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never eased.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there, and the horror of it all washed over you again. 

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

You glanced around the living room, the familiar space now a scene of violence.

“I’m home. JJ isn’t here. I-I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said firmly. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear.

What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died? This wasn’t you.

You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted a little bit of peace in your life, some quiet. Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene before him. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped.

But you still felt the overwhelming weight guilt eating you alive. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded weakly, grappling with the aftermath. Rafe stayed close, seated next to you.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped your own, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, shielding you from the brunt of their inquiries. You watched in stunned silence as they worked.

He stayed close by, offering quiet reassurances and answering the paramedics’ questions.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. Rafe followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded weakly, your body feeling as if it had been drained of all energy.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there after so long, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your shoulders. 

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in Rafe’s home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely, concern etched across his features.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, but not unkindly. "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone.

And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he led you inside, guiding you to the bathroom.

"Here," he said, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You nodded gratefully, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The sound of the water running was comforting, a small sense of normalcy. You stripped off your clothes, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled your shorts off.

The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt made you want to burst into tears, again.

Stepping into the shower, you let the warm water cascade over you, washing away the grime and blood. The heat soothed your tense muscles, and you stood there for a long time, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. 

Slowly, you began to wash yourself, scrubbing away the remnants of your father’s presence. The soap smelled of lavender, and somehow you found yourself smiling for a second, realizing this was Rafe’s scent earlier. You washed your hair, the routine bringing you back to the present. As the water rinsed off, clarity slowly returned. You were still scared shitless, but that shower gave you a moment of peace. Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel and took a deep breath.

Rafe had left a pair of sweatpants, boxers and a t-shirt outside the door, just as he said he would.

You dried off and changed into them, feeling a bit more like yourself. They were a little big, but they were warm and comfortable.

They were Rafe’s. 

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to what you assumed was a guest room, the bed already made up with fresh sheets. 

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

You hesitated, then slowly extended them. They were scratched and bruised, remnants of how fucked up your father was.

Rafe’s touch was gentle as he cleaned the wounds, using antiseptic wipes to carefully remove the blood that you hadn’t been able to get rid of in the shower. 

“This might sting a bit,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the warning.

It made you wince, but you bit your lip, staying silent.

"I’m sorry," he said, noticing your discomfort.

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

Your chuckle was short and stifled, “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

Rafe’s tone was final, leaving no room for conversation as he finished wrapping your hand and set it gently in your lap.

“There,” he said, “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you.

He was tucking you to bed, so…lovely, so not like the Rafe you met years ago. It made your heart hurt. No one had ever cleaned your wounds. 

“C-Can you stay here?”

Rafe paused, turning from where he was adjusting the pillows, "I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes, climbing into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body against yours, his steady heartbeat, the scent of lavender and something uniquely Rafe—it all made you feel safer than you had in a long time.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the tears start to flow again, but this time they were tears of release, of letting go. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back, his touch tender.

He didn't say anything more, just held you. As the minutes passed, your breathing gradually slowed, matching the rhythm of his. The tension in your body began to melt away, your eyes grew heavy. 

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Sleep.”

You snuggled closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, finally feeling at home.

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the warmth of Rafe’s embrace replaced by the cold reality of the previous night’s events. The room was dimly lit, the morning sun casting soft rays through the curtains. You sat up, your mind hazy with sleep, and glanced around, your heart sinking as you realized Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, you wondered if it had all been a dream, but the dried blood on your clothes, lying by the floor and the faint echo of fear told you otherwise. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

Your father, the struggle, the blood—Rafe’s comforting presence.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life.

He was already dealing with so much because of his own father, and now you had burdened him with your problems.

You rose from the bed, the oversized sweatpants and t-shirt Rafe had given you hanging loosely on your frame. You made your way to the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate where he had gone. As you walked down the hallway, you heard a faint voice coming from the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized Rafe’s voice, speaking in low, urgent tones.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of Rafe’s voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

He paused, listening intently. You took a step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the kitchen counter, his phone pressed to his ear. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you’d seen before.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat. Rafe was talking about your father, and the realization hit you in the face.

He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

Rafe turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later." He quickly ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approached you, “Hey, you’re awake,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“What were you doing?” you asked, “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warn, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up, “My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

His eyes bore into yours, a silent plea for you to understand, “Because you need one.”

Rafe was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes as the enormity of his actions sank in.

“I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“Maybank, what happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

He tilted your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit— Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his eyes making it hard to breathe.

You had spent so long building walls, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, the vulnerability in his voice laying his heart bare. “I’m okay, see?”

You reached up, covering his hand with yours, “I was so angry at you.”

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, his breath warm against your ear.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just... walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a groan, “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” You let out a genuine laugh, despite the ugly crying, “’M trying to apologize—“

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure it was real.

You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving. Each touch, each movement, was a reassurance, a silent promise that he was here, that he wouldn’t let go. 

As you broke apart, gasping for air, lips swollen and shining, Rafe rested his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

Rafe bit his lower lip, “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

"I never thought I'd fall for a kook," you teased gently, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek.

“Don’t play with me,” He huffed, dropping his head against your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Fucking hell.”

You tilted his chin up gently, meeting his gaze with sincerity, “I mean it, Cameron.”

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with want.

“I need you,” your voice's breathless, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

He paused, lifting his head to look at you, blue eyes darken with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he gulped, “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

"That night was different. We were different."

You nodded, the memory of that night vivid in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, the way you had clung to each other as if you were drowning.

He hesitated for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His restrain visibly slipped away as his lips found yours again as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you upstairs, to bed and then laying you down gently as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his shirt. You reached up, tracing the lines of his muscles, marveling at the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, his hands working on the buttons of your shirt.

The clothes disappeared in a blur, and then it was just the two of you, skin against skin, only underwear. His hands and lips were everywhere.

“Y’know how much I missed you?”

You sighed, a smile playing at your lips as you cupped his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desperation.

“Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your bodies aligning perfectly. 

“I’m here now.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “You sure you’re okay?” 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

He kissed his way down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat as they moved lower.

“I love the way you laugh," he purred against your skin, his lips trailing down your collarbone. "The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don't realize it."

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying."

He slid them down slowly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Last night," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. "I'm here," your lips brushed against his, "I'm right here."

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a desperate urgency. He took his time, worshiping you with every touch, every kiss, making sure you knew exactly how much you meant to him.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a small smile playing at his lips.

"I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters."

He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss.

"I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your core, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.

The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this.

Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise, intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder. The pressure built, an overwhelming wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Oh, Rafe," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you.

He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself back. He shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked again. 

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

 “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped, arching your back as he entered you slowly, his movements deliberate, and controlled.

God, you missed feeling every inch of him. 

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you almost sobbed, your breath hot against his ear. “I want all of you.”

Rafe needed no further encouragement.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled. The pleasure built with every movement, the sensation of him filling you completely driving you wild. Your fingers dug into his back, your nails leaving marks as you clung to him, needing the connection.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips, the sensation of his lips on yours amplifying the pleasure. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding under your back to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair, holding you in place as he devoured you. You matched his rhythm, you bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Rafe’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his control slipping.

His words, the sound of his voice, sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't stop, baby- Oh, fuckkk. Please, d-don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, his voice a low growl. “Never stopping."

With those words, he lost the last of his restraint, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the slap of skin against skin that made you absolute feral for him, the desperate moans and gasps of pleasure.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but before you could think about it, you were pushing against Rafe’s chest.

“Your turn,” you murmured, flipping him onto his back with ease and straddling him. 

He looked up at you slightly startled, hands resting on your plush hips as you settled over him and you swore he never looked prettier.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, over your tits, cupping them gently. “Every part of you.”

You leaned down, his stubble grazing your skin, burning you most deliciously. You feel him rubbing against you, his tip touching your clit just right and you couldn’t help the satisfied moan that escaped your lips. You broke the kiss, sitting up and grinding your hips against his, feeling the heat building between you again.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low and sultry, your fingers trailing down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance. The sensation of him sliding back inside you was electric, drawing a gasp from both of you. You started to move, slow at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you completely.

Rafe’s hands roamed over your body, caressing, teasing, driving you wild. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. “Ride me, baby. I want to see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you into ecstasy, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless, spent, and completely satisfied. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your ear.

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how loved you felt. You’d never felt anything like this before. His heartbeat echoed against your chest.

As you started to shift to look at him, you noticed he was staring at you with an expression that caught you off guard. His eyes were wide, intense and unwavering, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

Rafe blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. His hand reached up to gently trace your cheekbone.

"I can't believe you're real."

"Rafe..." 

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. "I love you, Pretty Maybank."

"I love you too.”

[leavemurph]

sometimes i get so upset thinking what if hotch wants to come back cuz like jack’s in college and he’s home all the time, he’d need something to do?? and the fact that the writers still didn’t use this one excuse to bring him back to emily is just… ugh.

a few comments here and there about his life while he was gone, laughing with old friends who are still friends no matter what, teasing him cuz he tries to call his son and gets constantly ignored with the “dad, please, i’m busy”. then jj’s like, oh yeah, i get it, teenagers gonna be teenagers, and emily’s kinda feeling left out? but it’s cool. it’s just that time’s passing and she doesn’t have that for herself, which is strange, since she always thought she would. but then again, time sucks, this job takes so much, and yeah, maybe it’s too late.

no kids, nope, well, she’s busy. really busy. this thought keeps looping in her head, and a few situations end up making her rethink it, over and over—did i do this on purpose? did i avoid making any decisions that could’ve taken me down that path because, deep down, i felt like i didn’t deserve it?

hotch finds her in her office, asks if she’s okay because she seems so distracted all the time. of course, she doesn’t say anything, she’s not big on venting, but she does ask him if he ever thought about what it’d be like if they’d made it differently all those years ago.

he’s… confused at first, mostly because he’s not sure if this is her way of allowing them to talk about all the stuff they never said, couldn’t say, or were too scared to. so he asks, what do you mean? emily’s tired of dancing around it, they’re older now, more mature, there’s not much left to lose, so she just says, “you knew how i felt about you. that’s fine. i know how you felt about me.” hotch gives her a small smile, and she gets it. she really gets it. “i can’t believe i even considered going with you. like, a part of me really wanted to, so badly. i talked to you about work every day, told you things you didn’t even want to hear, didn’t care. and i kept hoping, hoping that one day you’d ask me to, or even just… i don’t know, say you missed me. my god, i would’ve dropped everything, run off into witness protection. with you. with jack.”

“emily.” hotch looks genuinely surprised, and maybe it’s because she’s holding back tears. “you had all these things here, things you built for yourself. look at you now.”

“right,” she mutters, waving it off with a comment about their previous case, because why get into that now? it’s a waste of time.

aaand…

they kiss for the first time on new year’s, in their natural habitat—at work, of course. everyone but emily is ready to party, but at midnight, hotch brings her a glass of champagne while she’s scribbling reports. she looks up and says, “are you guys going out? i’m gonna have to pass this time, i’m so busy,”

and he laughs because, “you sound like me ten years ago,” while gently coaxing her out of her chair. she tries not to freak out, laughing nervously, rolling her neck to release the tension from hours of sitting and staring at fine print. hotch brushes her hair back, studying her face, and she lets out a deep sigh, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “a little nervous?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. “still the same tell, huh? some things never change.”

“i really can’t go with you guys,” she insists, eying his lips, almost on the edge of feeling butterflies for the first time in over a decade.

“heard you the first time. so i’ll be your first new year’s kiss, and then i’ll get out of your hair.” okay, butterflies all the way down to her toes. she barely nods, just a slight movement, before he leans in and kisses her. it’s the best kiss she’s ever had, hands down. my god, she can’t stop thinking about it.

he literally left her to do her job and went out partying with the others. he’s learned to live more than she has over these years, and honestly, it’s not bad. it’s not terrible. it’s nice.

their relationship grows through little moments scattered throughout the season—tender touches, good morning kisses, emily jumping out of bed late, the looks they share. they talk about the moments they’ve lived, the times they wanted to say something and didn’t, or do something and held back. “do you remember that time we…?”

the first time emily faces any life-threatening situation, hotch’s immediate reaction when he sees her getting her cheek stitched up is: “that was really brave of you to do.”

“hotch,” she winces, frowning through the pain as the stitch hurts. “really?”

“okay, what, are you out of your mind? didn’t you wait for backup?”

“that’s much better, thank you. and, no, it’d be too late.”

“almost died,” he crosses his arms, and emily is doing everything she can not to bite her nails. “i’m gonna need you to marry me. is that okay with you?”

and emily’s like, “what?”

“you heard me right. i want you, and i want to do this, all of it. you’ve always wanted kids, and you’ve been thinking about it, don’t lie to me, and it’s not too late. and we’re gonna do it, you and i. there’s surrogacy, adoption… we can—”

yeahh…. so.

gimme gimme.

bye.

[aran-morinorea]

Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea: I want to hear about Annatar's Shit Paradigms, of course :D

...All right so here's the thing you don't get Annatar's Shit Paradigms because it needed so much groundwork before I can begin to write actual prose. But you do get this whole thing describing Annatar's interiority in the months after The Inciting Event for the whole au. Because I needed to pin it down so I can even start Annatar's Shit Paradigms.

--

Celebrimbor confronts Annatar - Tar-Mairon - about his activities in Mordor, gives him the “Your evil plans or me” ultimatum, and then Mairon fucks off to go have a tantrum.

This tantrum involves: 

Going back to Barad-dur and killing some people who definitely 100% deserved it for sure. 

That thing where someone goes to a bathroom and splashes water on their face and looks in the mirror while leaning on the sink except it’s lava instead of water. 

Laying facedown in the fires of Mount Doom and rethinking his life. 

Causing multiple earthquakes. 

...Thinking about the joy of watching Celebrimbor learn and make things. 

Thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with someone else, someone as vibrant and strong and smart and wonderful as Celebrimbor. 

Thinking about going and taking Celebrimbor by force, laying siege to Ost-in-Edhil and putting him in chains and bringing him here and keeping him.

… Thinking about how strong and vibrant and stubborn and principled Celebrimbor is. 

Thinking about whether Celebrimbor would be one of those people who would rather die than live as a thrall. 

Realizing that yes, Celebrimbor absolutely would die for what he believes in, and it would be so much work to try keep his spirit around, and it wouldn’t be nearly the same as having him - really having him - having him to work and argue and play with - having his love.

Remembering that Celebrimbor still doesn’t know about the Sauron thing, and he might be able to keep it that way.

Remembering that Celebrimbor did not cast him out of his life unequivocally - he will not be the friend or lover of a slaver and an imperialist, but if Mairon takes steps to stop being those things -

Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to stop being those things.

Realizing he’s genuinely considering just giving up on the vision of Melkor.

Spontaneously filling the whole room with flames.

That was the throne room. He’d been sitting there, motionless and completely unresponsive, for four days.

There might have been people in there who will be annoying to replace. Mairon simply cannot care about it right now.

Remaining on fire while thinking about Melkor’s promises.

He said it was only a matter of time.

He said it would be better to put the rightful king on the throne of Arda quickly, and get back to the business of metals and fractals, than to fight a long defeat and be judged unworthy at the end, never having time for beauty again.

And then He lost.

Three times out of four.

As soon as the Valar bothered to interfere.

And maybe, at the end, after the final battle, it would be better, safer, to have been working toward His purposes the whole time He was gone, but -

Thinking about what would happen if the Valar bothered to interfere with his current projects.

…Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to be - in truth, even, maybe! - someone Celebrimbor could love.

How hard would it be to act within the boundaries of Celebrimbor’s principles?

He did not say “Believe what I believe.”

He did not say “Cease to be a monster.”

He said “Your policies are monstrous and I cannot support them,” which suggests that it is the action that matters most to him. That the problem is what he is doing, and not what he is.

Changing that does not seem so hard.

Perhaps it will be a fun challenge, like an arbitrary restriction for a jewelcraft competition.

And really - if anyone is going to change him - if he’s going to accept anyone’s judgement - if there’s anyone currently in Arda who Mairon thinks is right - would it not be Celebrimbor?

Of course it would.

Deciding that, you know what, Mairon would be willing to commit to Celebrimbor’s vision - if Celebrimbor will fucking commit to him.

This is so Mairon can keep him.

So that they will twine their souls together and be - be that partnership which is so full of joy.

Deciding that if Celebrimbor won’t do it - if he wants “Annatar” to give him this without giving anything in return - then - yes.

Then he will find another way to keep him. 

And it would not be as good, it would not be Mairon’s shining vision, but it would be something. And eventually Celebrimbor would see the value in Mairon’s methods. He’s sure of it.

When he’s finally done with his tantrum, Annatar climbs out of the magma-filled crevasse he'd been sulking in and goes up to draft the words to a wedding proposal.

[lanternlightss]

i am itching to say something but it’s technically spoilers but siren venti Can talk, it’s just at. this moment in time they are trying to appear as nonthreatening as viably possible here (even if. this attempt didn’t go so well …)

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The words hit James like cannon fire, each revelation a new blow that shattered the walls of pride he’d tried so desperately to keep standing. He stared at Killian, at the raw fury and anguish etched across his once-youthful features. The man he thought he knew—thought he’d lost—was here, but changed beyond recognition, a product of the cruelty and corruption James had long chosen to ignore in service of his duty. The image of the British Navy as a noble institution cracked in his mind like glass, each detail of Killian’s story making the fractures run deeper. The British Navy he had served faithfully—his entire purpose—was suddenly stained in his mind with the blood of innocent men who had simply tried to rise above their station.

As Killian's hook pressed against his chest, James didn’t flinch. He only stared back, his expression crumbling from anger to something far softer, tinged with sorrow. The rawness in Killian’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it was undeniable. And for the first time, James saw his own reflection in the horrors of the system he had blindly served.

“I…” James’s voice faltered, choked by the weight of what he had just learned. “I had no idea, Killian,” he managed, his tone no longer cold but laden with something far heavier—guilt. “I thought you were lost at sea. I never imagined…” His words trailed off, struggling to grasp the right thing to say, but everything felt inadequate.

James lowered his gaze, the weight of Killian’s glare pressing down on him. “You’re right. I judged you without understanding. I—” His voice broke again, but he forced himself to continue, knowing Killian deserved the truth. “I failed you. I was blind to the rot within the ranks I so loyally served. And for that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

He took a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with the crushing weight of his own guilt. “But that doesn’t absolve me of my… own sins,” he confessed, the bitterness of those words stinging more than any blade. “I don't deserve your mercy. I was the one who ordered the attack on your ship. I intended to kill every last pirate aboard who did not surrender. I was ready to stain the deck red in the name of duty.”

James finally looked up, his green eyes meeting Killian’s. There was no more pride, no more pretense—just a broken man trying to face the consequences of his own actions. “So, perhaps, it is I who should have died long ago, rather than becoming the monster I swore to fight.” Just.. like his father. The Norrington apple didn't fall far from the tree. He detested his father.. for how cruel that man was to him, to his mother.

Those words did wound deeply. That a man he once called friend wished him dead. That hurt more than anything, James could've stabbed him and Killian wouldn't have felt this bad. But he took it, he took all the insults, the disdain, anger and frustration James threw at him. Rightfully deserved from what James was feeling right now. Betrayal. That's what this was, becoming a pirate after what they had tried to achieve.

"Do you want to know why I didn't come back when I survived?" Killian asked softly. "The East India Trading ship we were escorting back to England attacked our ship. They chased us into a storm and we wrecked. Lord Beckett was sent to assassinate us." He said with a coldness as biting as the arctic winds.

"You believed in us, but no one else wanted two bastard sons of an irish maid! God fucking forbid a poor fatherless child gained rank! We came from nothing, no title and no money. Liam atleast earned his spot, when he got recruited I stowed away on the ship that would bring us to Port Royal! When we succeeded that threatened their way of life, showed that two street rats could become something! They couldn't have that, they couldn't have the lower class thinking they could rise up. So they killed us. I was the only fucking survivor, James! I watched my brother die because of that pompous git Beckett! So don't you fucking judge me for being a pirate when the people you work for will kill their own men so they can stay in power!"

The young man's anger boiled over as he went on a tirade about the tragedy that had happened to him. The rage but also the pain showed in his tone and his eyes as he stormed up to the other man and lifted his hook to the commadore's chest as he ranted on.

"You were the best man I knew. You were kind to Liam and I, when everyone treated us like dogs. That is why I'm sparing you and I hope your superior officers doesn't condemn you they way they did me." Killian stepped back and took a deep breath to calm down. "This is not all black and white or good and evil. There are many shades of grey with light and darkness on all sides."

[turkeyinnovember]

thinking abt how he spent his birthday in the inbetween

[soft-serve-soymilk]

help I’ve started listening to my chemical romance 😭

[theodore-sallis]

“Night of the Nether-Spawn!” Fear (Vol. 1/1970), #11.

Writer: Steve Gerber; Penciler: Rich Buckler; Inker: Jim Mooney; Letterer: Jean Izzo

[detective-piplup]

thinking about brian aurum again guys. also like beware the tags genuinely this time he has a bad time

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[slvttyplum]

frat boy gojo who bagged you and no one knows how, it’s a mystery to everyone but who doesn’t like a little mystery here and there.

“yo! baby come here.” calling you over to show you off and introduce you to his friends, something he will always do no matter what.

frat boy gojo who likes to match outfits with you like a plain white shirt that says “driver” and yours that says “passenger princess” or another one where his says “two seater” and yours with “pretty driver”

frat boy gojo who throws parties at least twice a week just to ditch them to make out and flirt with you in the bathroom.

“you look good… yeah for sure. come give me a kiss.”

frat boy gojo who wants you on his dick all the time. it doesn’t even matter if you complain and whine to him that you have to go to class, he’s going to convince you not to.

frat boy gojo who purposely flirts with girls at parties just to get you jealous. looking over his shoulder every second to see if you’re looking.

frat boy gojo who takes shots off your body every chance he gets, even in the bedroom. sucking that bitter alcohol off your stomach and licking up to your cleavage, then mouth.

frat boy gojo who pulls you into his lap every time you pass by him just so he can feel your warmth and weight on him.

frat boy gojo who wears snap backs all the time and you who makes sure to take it from him whenever he goes to class.

frat boy gojo who only shows up to class if it’s the one with you, and when he can’t make it to the class the professor makes you bring him.

frat boy gojo who’s madly in love with you but doesn’t want to showcase it so he gets overly clingy and claims that’s not the reason because at the end of the day… he’s just a boy.

frat boy gojo who makes dirty jokes knowing that you get annoyed by them just to piss you off.

frat boy gojo who sneaks into your dorm hall and frantically knocks on your door to let him in because he wanted to sleep with you.

[kamiversee]

Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

[stompandhollar]

Honestly the most revolutionary thing about Gravity Falls to me is its commitment to sincerity.

I’ve been listening to Alex’s podcast where he goes into the details of each episode with different storyboard artists and writers who worked on the show, and it just baffles me how… cared for the story is. Right now in media there’s been an uptick in satire, and shows making fun of themselves for existing, or taking the piss at their own content to “win” fans to their side. It’s like whimsy is gone from so many pieces of media. But Gravity Falls just doesn’t… do that. It completely embraces itself. Weirdness and all. And so does the team behind it. I’m not used to something I care about being so cared about by everyone surrounding it.

Here’s this cartoon, written and illustrated by an entire team of people saying, “no, we’re serious. we mean this. we made this on purpose and we made it important.”

Throughout the podcast, Alex discusses little ins and outs of each character, offering so much deep internal struggles and enriching the story even farther. And listening to him unpack it with the utmost sincerity just warms my heart. Each character is so dynamic because they were cared for by people who imbued them with sincerity.

That’s exactly why we get quotes like “Shame is powerful, but it grows in the dark,” as Ford realizes the trauma he’s hidden for so long is being embraced by his family, diminishing it’s weight on him through their immediate support.

It’s why we get Alex describing Stanley with quotes like; “I always in my gut thought of him as somebody with a huge well of sadness, a loss of human connection. And that need to please? That need to get laughs from the crowd, and putting on a big show? He’s trying to get from them the affection he never got from his family, and that he lost with his brother.”

Or detailing how Mabel might be a goof… but half the time she’s doing a bit, because she’s really more mature than her brother and doesn’t want him to grow up too fast. She’s trying to help ground him and bring lightheartedness into his life. Because she knows otherwise, he’ll become too self isolated.

And those two mini character studies he dropped so casually in these podcast episodes just… color the show. It’s why the show survived so well even after ten years. It’s gruff-old Stan always calling his niece “Pumpkin” and “Honey”. It’s the family always holding hands without it behind laced with a joke, and falling asleep on one another in the car. It’s Alex explaining that people toyed with other endings, other plot lines, other twists, but it was always going to end with Stan and Ford mending the family tie they severed thirty years ago. Because that was their story. Messes and family and care.

Ten years ago, watching it for the first time as it came out, I felt all that. But now, as an adult, knowing that all the other adults who made it felt the exact same way? :,) What a special story we all got to grow up with, and get to continue being apart of.