#and even if hes not my mom also has to get up at the same time as my aunt

[zyafics-recs]

i know this gonna break my heart... sigh... taking deep breaths... let's go ⬇️

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

first and foremost, i love the characterization of rafe. something about ur interpretation of him feels so lively and real, especially because it relates to his canon. when i was reading thru his thoughts, i was like, woah, rafe would act this way.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

i love the line throwing grenades, waiting for who to blow up first. ur metaphors have always been some of my favorites, so i always love highlighting and pointing it out <3

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

i love the turn of internal conflict, that rafe - who has always been loyal as a dog to ward - can have his own conflicting emotions about his father

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect.  To Rafe, that meant something. Everything

but at the end of the day, rafe recognizes that he has to set his father on a pedestal because that's all he's ever done. all he'll ever do.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

that actually hurts, the idea that you're dissociating, going somewhere where he can't follow u? oh the miseryyy

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

i love u pointing out the validation-seeking 🙂‍↕️

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

this is such a bitter moment, but it's also shows how rafe just reverts back to his younger self in the presence of his father. that even if ward's death, he will continue to haunt the narrative. also, "shit, that was something, wasn't it?" was such a bitter realization.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

HE SAW HIS FATHER

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

i love the depiction of seeing rafe as nothing more than a prop, an entertainment for the rest of the kooks. it gives u this zoo-like viewing of rafe rather than human.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

he's so protective over his father

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

I LOVE HER FOR THIS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS OWNS MY HEART

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

she's real and she should speak on it

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

i love her but god that must've hurt

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

i love that he only picked up the things that he hears, not the fact that he's blind to see it, but rather accusing him of being "dumb"

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

he has such self-destructive tendencies omg

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

i love their arguments so much, because it's so bitter, and resentful, and sharp and it cuts so deep. that's one of my favorite things about this series, is when they're talking, they're going all in

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

SOMETHINGS WRONG GO HELP HER

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

my favorite line

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

he's hurt too (but he's a dick) but he's hurt too 🥹

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

i love the lingering love, especially because i believe rafe to be the type of person who cannot mourn loss whatsoever, he keeps it in his chest forever, when he loves someone, he'll love them forever

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

ONE OF THE BANGER LINES OF THIS PART AHHH

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

oooo i love this, sometimes i be forgetting they're toxic.

💌 — i love love their argument in this one. i love how u manage to capture rafe's essence with this characterization, especially post-ward, because i often don't read a lot of fics with ward being a dead presence but haunting the narrative. and that make rafe's viewpoint so conflicting, especially since he's trying to grieve but come to terms on who his father is. i absolutely love how u build up to their breaking point, because they have all these things festering under the surface that neither are willing to talk about until someone breaks, and that's how their relationship dynamic is. every time we get to see an insider scope of rafe's head, i am amazed, because the way he analyzes things, flowing from one thought to the next, makes sense. he's insecure, he's grieving, he's angry, and all of these emotions are hitting him at full-force and no one is allowing him the proper space to actually deal with them—especially because ward never did. and when their argument was just bitter shots at one another, just to hurt each other, you know it hurt. oh oh, gigi, u amaze and fascinate me so much!!

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[nanenna]

Let's Wrap this Up, Folks

Sleepy King Masterpost

No editing, we die like Vlad (slowly, painfully, and unmourned). I'm so happy to say this is done!

---

Danny held Cujo close as he scritched him behind the ears, nothing like stinky puppy kisses to help him feel better. And right now he felt pretty awful! Dark Dan had been Ghost King too, it’s just that no one ever told him so he didn’t know. Well, judging from how Johnny and Kitty reacted no one else knew either, and he guesses that was a good thing. Except now everyone does know, between Johnny and Kitty, and the whole of the Far Frozen he’s pretty sure gossip is already getting around.

“Alright, everyone ready to sit down and explain some shit?” Stinky trenchcoat man said. Danny had been introduced, he just didn’t care to remember Blondie’s name.

“Language!” Mom scolded.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stinky plopped himself onto one of the chairs. Wonder Woman sat elegantly in another while Batman loomed over her chair’s back. The not-a-ghost guy, Deadman, was hovering near Stinky.

Danny decided the safest thing to do was to squeeze himself between Mom and Jazz on the couch. Cujo laid himself out across their laps on his back, begging for belly rubs. Vlad seemed to take the Batman approach, standing off to the side and looking rather annoyed.

Stinky pointed at Danny, “Let’s start with the obvious, you somehow, and I’ve yet to figure it out but I will, are Phantom.”

Danny looked over at his parents. Mom smiled brightly as she patted his arm, “Why don’t you show them what you can do?”

“Yeah, Danno! Show them the Fenton gumption!”

Danny sighed as he transferred Cujo over to Jazz’s lap. Thankfully so long as he was getting attention he’d probably be okay. He stood up and moved into the middle of the room. “It’s kinda bright,” he warned before letting his transformation wash over him. “Tada,” he said lamely, arms held out as he stood in the middle of the room.

“Christ on a cracker!” Stinky yelled as he flopped back dramatically.

“You should see what Vlad looks like,” Danny said wryly.

“Daniel!” Vlad yelled angrily.

“Constantine already told us you two are the same form of being,” Batman said gravely.

“I would also point out that young Danny here has already accused you of some very suspicious activities,” Wonder Woman added.

“Vladdie was going through some things!” Jack stood and shook a fist at the Justice League.

“He’s working on reforming,” Maddie added with a smile.

“The biggest thing he was holding over my head was my secret identity,” Danny gestured as he spoke, then stopped and stared down at his hand. “Am I wearing armor? What? Where did…?” He looked down. He was covered in black armor with a white like loincloth, or whatever those are called, and some kind of white fur cape at his shoulders. He found the cape behind him and held it up: yup. White fluffy fur, kinda reminded him of the yeties. “Wait, I don’t have horns, do I?” He felt over his head, thankfully just finding his regular hair.

“No, Danny, you don’t have horns,” Jazz said with a giggle.

“Well excuse me, Pariah has horns! And so does Frostbite, this cape reminds me of him.” He patted himself, getting a feel for his new armor, it felt weird. “Where did this even come from?”

“Congrats, it comes with the title,” Stinky said with a hand wave.

“I don’t get it, the other ghosts said it wasn’t like a magical title or something, that Pariah just declared himself king and did everything himself. Why am I getting the magical girl outfit upgrade?”

“Pariah stole the crown, much like your weird uncle here tried to do.”

Danny snorted at Constantine calling Vlad his weird uncle.

“But the crown is much older than Pariah Dark, it decides who it belongs to.”

Well that was just great, he’s pretty sure Clockwork had something to do with this. “Ugh, this sucks! How do I get rid of it?” Danny asked.

“You don’t.”

Everyone just stared at Constantine.

“What?”

“Congrats, you’re the new Ghost King. Comes with a castle, an army of thralls, and a pretty significant power boost. Probably doubled since apparently you’re the king twice over.”

“No, I have school on Monday! I can’t go to school looking like this!” Danny waved at himself.

“Danny,” Jazz said while trying to hide a grin, “the armor wasn’t on your human form.”

“Oh… right.” Danny de-transformed and looked down at his hands, the rings were still there. “Um!”

“Sorry, kid, no such thing as a part time king, the crowns and rings are permanent now.”

“Noooooooo!” Danny wailed! His normal life! That he was finally getting back since his parents put better protections on the portal after finally telling them the truth! “I just wanted to graduate high school, was that too much to ask?”

Batman grunted, apparently in agreement.

Danny pointed at Stinky, “This is all your fault! If it weren’t for that spell you hit me with they wouldn’t be stuck.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Danny! Here you guys are!” Ellie came flying into the room, her backpack dragging on the ground. She stopped when she spotted the Justice League members all staring at her. “Uh….”

Cujo barked and scrambled out of Jazz’s lap, leaping for Ellie.

“Cujo! Who’s a good boy?!” The two began happily and loudly rolling around on the ground.

Sam and Tucker followed shortly after, both pausing in the doorway. “Uh… Danny?” Tucker asked slowly, “Why are Batman and Wonder Woman in Vlad’s living room?”

“More importantly,” Sam cut in, “why do you have the Crown of Fire over your head? Twice?”

“Turns out I’m the Ghost King, and so was you-know-who.”

“Which you-know-who?” Tucker asked.

“Nasty Burger explosion.”

Tucker still looked a little confused.

“Since Constantine said the second crown was from an alternate timeline, I’m guessing it belonged to an alternate version of yourself, one you also had to beat in combat.”

Danny sighed and deflated, “You really are the world’s greatest detective.”

Batman’s only response was a twitch of his lips. Danny never wanted to play poker with him.

“Danny, why haven’t you told us about this?” Mom asked in that very special tone of voice that meant she was Not Mad Just Disappointed.

“Well… he was evil,” Danny blurted out as his shoulders hiked up to his ears. “I don’t wanna be evil.”

Jazz came over and pulled him into a hug, “And we’re taking steps to make sure that doesn’t happen, part of that is getting you a proper support network. And look! Now we can ask the Justice League for help.”

“If you don’t mind, why hasn’t anyone called us before now?” Wonder Woman asked.

“What? So an overshadowed Superman can run amok and then there’s a photo of me punching Superman in the face on the front of the newspaper? No thanks.” That was the last thing Danny needed.

“What do you think the magic user branch of the Justice League is bloody for?” Stinky asked loudly.

“I didn’t know there was a magic user branch!” Danny defended.

“None of us did,” Tucker added. He moved to go sit on the floor and lean against the couch, Sam joined him.

“In all fairness, we do not advertise Justice League Dark,” Wonder Woman said with a gentle smile. “But now that we know our assistance is needed we are happy to help.”

“I’m not sure what you can do at this point, we’ve locked down the main way ghosts have been getting into Amity. Mostly it’s the natural portals now, and there’s not much anyone can do about those.”

“Can you get the GIW to back off?” Sam asked.

“Oh! I hadn’t thought about that,” Danny said eagerly.

Batman frowned, “What’s the GIW?”

“Hey!” Ellie came up to the side of Wonder Woman’s chair, “Can you teach me how to sword fight? That sounds so cool!”

“Why ask her?” Danny wandered over, leaving his friends to explain the Gits in White to Batman. “You can just ask Pandora.”

“I don’t have four arms like Pandora,” Ellie whined.

“So just duplicate, it’s easy!” Danny stuck his tongue out and furrowed his brow in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead before his arms split into a second pair. Then, just like Frostbite taught him, he made four ice swords, one in each hand. “See?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “Oh, it’s so easy! Says the guy who can’t even make one whole duplicate.”

“It’s hard!” Danny defended. “And I can, I could do it with the exo-skeleton, just… not since.” He’d been trying, but duplication was hard, he didn’t seem to have quite enough power. “Wait a minute, I have a power boost with the crowns.” Danny took a step to the left, Danny also took a step to the right. Now there were two Dannies with a perfectly normal number of arms, each holding an ice sword. Each also had a pair of crowns over their head. “Huh, so that’s what it looks like,” both Dannies said in unison.

“Ew, stop it, that’s so weird,” Ellie said in disgust.

“Hey guys! Look what I can do!” Dannies both said with a grin as he popped out several more duplicates. This was going to be fun!

---

Omake:

Danny trudged into school on Monday, chatting with Sam and Tucker, still wearing the crowns and rings along with his normal clothes. He went straight to his locker, getting ready for the day. On time for once!

“Hey Fenturd!” Dash jeered from down the hall, “Why’d you miss school on… uh… what’s that?”

Danny closed his locker and looked up at Dash, “What’s what?”

“What do you mean what’s what? What’s that above your head?”

Danny looked up, then back at Dash, “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy, there’s a crown above your head! It’s on fire?????”

“Dash, I think I would notice a floating, flaming crown above my head.”

Dash looked completely confused, he looked over at Kwan, who was also frowning. “Kwan!”

“I can see it too, it’s there.”

“Right! Hear that, Fentina?”

Danny just looked at Dash like he’d lost his mind, “This is a really weird prank.”

“I’ll prove it!” Dash whipped out his phone and took a picture, then held the screen out. “There, see?”

Danny looked at the phone, “I just see me and Sam and Tucker.” His friends also leaned in and looked at the screen.

Dash pulled his phone back and looked at it, sure enough the crown wasn’t in the photo. But it was also still floating above Danny’s head, and Kwan had also seen it. What was going on?

“Anyway, I’m gonna go turn in my homework, I don’t want to get stuck in summer school.” Danny turned and wandered off to first period, his friends in tow.

Dash was… very confused. He knows what he saw, he knows the other students saw it too!

“Isn’t that the crown the Ghost King had?” Paulina asked as Danny left.

“I… think so?” Dash said uncertainly.

“I think there were two of them,” Kwan added.

They all followed Danny to first period, they had it together after all. They arrived just after Danny, just in time to hear Mr. Lancer shout, “Sword in the Stone! Mr. Fenton, what is that over your head?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny answered calmly while Sam and Tucker, standing just a step behind him, were wildly shaking their heads and making various “Do not” gestures.

“I… You… that is…” Mr. Lancer glanced back and forth, clearly conflicted.

“I managed to finish that essay,” Danny said cheerfully handing it over. “Sorry about Friday, but it should be excused.”

“Yes, I was told about that… something about the Justice League?” Mr. Lancer stared at the crown.

“Yeah, I got to meet them! It was wild.” Danny smiled charmingly.

“Alright, yes, well… please take your seats, class will be starting soon.” Mr. Lancer looked at the crown one last time, then seemed to decide it wasn’t his business and to carry on like usual.

“Oh my god,” Danny whispered to Tucker and Sam as they went to their seats, “I can’t believe that worked!”

“Just your usual day in Amity Park,” Tucker said with a snicker.

Val came walking over once they were seated. She stared at the crowns over Danny’s head, then down to the rings on his fingers no one had noticed yet. Her eyes turned to narrow slits. Danny put a finger to his lips and winked.

[rootspiral]

WANDAVISION DEEP DIVE part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4])

In which I continue looking through Agatha scenes in Wandavision, I want to get to AAA nowwwwww but I can't stop taking screenshots. I forgot how good this show is

We are on episode 6 and it's naughty couture time! (so much for less screenshotting)

Oh wow, these three together, very cute and not painful in any way! Also not foreshadowing or anything.

I'm not clear on this point, did Ralph have ANY free will or was Agatha just puppeteering him at all times? Because he totally sounds like Agatha doing a half-assed Quicksilver impression. You want to know about Wanda's trauma, don't you Fietro???

Bit much there, buddy. That's right. Too much ham. Off you go.

yep, that's Agatha's manipulative ass alright. and she almost got away with it too.

Episode 7, where Agatha can't wait to get her paws on those little boys and do horrible villainous things to them (like making them snacks and watch cartoons. And some light trauma)

That's why Billy's her favorite, he's such a mama's boy.

the exact faces the three of them will make when auntie Agatha tries to ghost-mom the twins

babies are delicious

why is she being such an ASSHOLE TO WANDA OH MY GOD. psychological torture for days and days and days

IMMEDIATELY tries to bond with Billy. she's also prodding for his powers but there's genuine kindness there too

Billy genuinely likes Agatha though, that's the thing. despite everything, even in the future he instinctively trusts her and seeks her out. in a way they kind of adopt each other

why does her voice get so tender goddamnit Hahn. you know Agatha is thinking about Nicky and having so many feels

this whole dynamic really hits differently now, doesn't it?

her body language with Monica is so threatening, she's containing herself but you can see she wants to KILL

At this point Monica and SWORD are approaching and there's no much time left, so Agatha takes another big risk and openly approaches Wanda - or actually, not *much* more openly. She goes from over-the-top neighbor to over-the-top witch, the same trick she always uses, except she never went against someone as scary powerful as Wanda. She is truly gambling here, and you can tell by how rigid her body language is. She's projecting strength more than feeling it, and I think she's using señor Scratchy both as a prop for her villain persona (hilarious. that's a cuddly bunny, you idiot!) and also as moral strength, she's holding him like a shield.

^^Agatha when she's purposely being a clown and fucking with people

^^the real Agatha, razor-focused, serious, and, more often than not, cruel.

Episode 8. We now know that Evanora hates Agatha because she was born with succubus powers - born different, born evil, queer analogies abound. Jac Schaeffer says that Agatha has never been loved by her mother or really by anyone before she met Rio, so let's just sit on that.

Here we have a very young Agatha, still a teenager, already up to mischief. Interesting that Evanora does not mention her killing anyone quite yet, Agatha's crimes are about seeking knowledge, something she'll keep doing all her life. She's already a self-fulfilled prophecy, she's being bad and going against her coven because her coven calls her bad and pushes her away. This is supposedly her family, her sisters, her community. She committed a bloodless crime, and they're about to execute her for it.

She denies, Evanora calls her out. Agatha is already refining her greatest skill: deception.

Can she control it? Did they ever try to teach her? And why is she talking about her powers now? She is not being executed for stealing at all, is she? And she knows it. (Also I LOVE that when Agatha is at her lowest she resorts to beg. Her survival instincts are stronger than anything, even her pride, she is self-centered to her very core. That's the only way she could ever survive.)

Evanora starts chanting "mors monstrum innaturale", death to the unnatural monster. And, I'm sorry, that's incredibly fucked up. It gets more fucked up the more I think about it.

"Watch this, Lisa. You can actually pinpoint the second when her heart rips in half."

The coven in an excess of prudence must have decided to kill Agatha in a joint effort, just in case her powers are too much for one witch or two. They thought they would destroy the so called evil with their moral superiority, they actually had no idea of what Agatha was capable of, and by her shocked expression, neither did she - she was never allowed to explore her abilities, not to such an extent anyway.

That's the same expression again, completely focused and merciless. I know I'm repeating myself but the real Agatha is anything but bombastic. Her emotions are subtle but formidable.

When I first watched this scene 3 years ago I came to the conclusion that Agatha was conning the Salemites in order to kill them. She was absolutely not. She is shell-shocked at what happened.

Hahn is very deliberately making understated choices here. No evil cackling, no gloating, just contempt and bitterness.

And I'm running out of space again but it was worth it, this scene was so interesting to analyze. Hopefully part 3 will be the last one for Wandavision

go to part 3

[hibiscusseaart]

random hc that struck me in my head while i was showering. uh it's kinda weird one i think but i keep thinking about more animalistic Hatakes and can't help myself

btw Itama lives AU i love my dude how can i leave him out

so little context: when i was little my mom did some prayer where she whispered it and then licked me from nose to forehead a few times. listen idk what was that but i remembered it i had some ideas

so what if Hatake momma did the same thing with Senju brothers? So imagine Hashirama and Itama understanding that it was some sort of Hatake ritual and kinda moving on. Weird but all rituals are kinda weird.

But Tobirama, our dear autistic Tobirama thought about it like some sort of forehead kisses before bed and never grew out of it. Maybe he was a little bit too attached to this form of touch bc it soothed his headaches from sensing and poor eyesight when he was little

Itama, who I hc also being autistic, but a little bit more interested in masking, was a little more aware that no one actually licked anyone as a form of love outside of sexy time. But never actually told Tobirama bc he thought he knew. Hashirama also never mentioned it.

Tobirama fucking grew up thinking that licking his loved ones is an okay thing to do and a form of ultimate love or smth. He doesn't do that himself, he usually accepts hugs or kisses or any other form of love from his brothers, but never initiates. And he's kinda hurt that no one of his brothers do this anymore (i think they play licked and bite each other when they were little quite a lot).

Anyway all my thoughts are going to Madatobi so, when they get together, Tobirama will try to lick Madara sometimes in place of kissing, bc sometimes he's so overwhelmed with feelings, that kissing isn't enough. Madara takes us as a joke and sexy play at first and it will hurt Tobirama a bit, but I think he's got used for this kinds of rejection for now.

But then Madara would notice that oh, Tobirama takes these little licks seriously. Tobirama is always weird and stiff about sex if it's happening bc Tobirama started being all weird and licked his face, again.

Madara slowly catches on, bc Tobirama never fucking talks about anything that bothers him, but Madara IS a genius too thank you very much. He learns that for Tobirama it's a big deal and he wants to receive these licks too. And not in a sexy way, like it's not enough for licking neck or other parts of his body, no it's supposed to be on his face, preferably the forehead (even tho Madara thinks it's gross, the cold saliva all over the face ESPECIALLY on forehead is disgusting actually, i remember getting so annoyed that my mom did that). But oh well what can you do with love.

So Madara tries to make Tobirama happy with licking him from time to time (even tho he has to go on his tippy toes to reach his forehead). Maybe even in public. They already have reputation of having a freaky relationships, how much worse can it go?

Eventually Tobirama learns that licking face is not actually normal from Izuna, who was freaked out big time when he saw this display for the first time.

Tobirama was miserable that he was the freak the whole time and was getting upset over nothing, Madara is angry bc Izuna upset Tobirama and Izuna is just fucking traumatised.

ok i'm ending my ramble here. it's kinda weird but i had to get it out of my chest

[diminuel]

I hope the rebound relationship between Doffy and Croco has all the core components of an over-the-top relationship drama.

A one night stand turned into a string of hookups, Croco initially refusing kisses only to become desperate for them after a few weeks. Maybe they get drunk one night and Doffy confesses a desire to be a dad as well as his fear of the kid(s) looking too much like his mom or brother. Later, Croco takes a pregnancy test, and it's positive. While Croco's trying to figure out what to do next, Doffy's planning far into the future, discretely measuring fingers, setting up a flashy proposal and preparing a lengthy speech that momentarily sways Crocodile into saying ‘yes’ only for him to leave Doffy at the alter after *gasp* Dragon calls to reconcile.

Just the epitome of ~drama~

*gigglesnort* I mean that would be funny and leave poor Doflamingo very bitter!

Though I don't think that's what happened. Simply because I tend to enjoy, despite all my silliness, a more subdued, potentially angsty approach to things ;3

While I've had it in my mind that Mini-Mingo is 15, it would probably make more sense if she's 13 post time skip (though potentially older by the time Doflamingo is recruited into Cross Guild), so the breakup and the rebound relationship would take place in tense situations for both Crocodile and Doflamingo.

This wouldn't be the moment to establish enough trust for a romance with hopes for the future. Doflamingo, at that point, might already suspect that his brother is working against him, so if he crossed paths with a warlord of all people, he's going to find that suspicious maybe even if they've previously interacted (possible, Crocodile has to source weapons for the RA from somewhere)

So it'd probably be a "letting off steam" kind of relationship. I can imagine that Doflamingo's always been making advances, maybe even more as a power play than out of genuine interest (not that Croc isn't hot). And usually Crocodile doesn't react to the flirting but if he's maybe a bit drunk and heart-broken he might have a lapse of judgement. (Also, now Doflamingo knows more about him than he wanted him to know. No way was Doflamingo drunk enough to miss that Crocodile doesn't come with the same equipment Doffy does *lol*)

And once that has happened... well, anything can happen. (Maybe this was also Doffy's first time so he's a bit starstruck.)

But yes, I think ultimately Croc does love Dragon, he's got his kids at home, Doflamingo's a bit deranged (especially if he ends up killing his brother), so maybe that's not really the guy to consider as your kids' future (step) dad *lol*

(And then the guy become a warlord himself some years later and now Crocodile has to deal with him again...!!)

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

I’d love to hear your thoughts on what Eldritch peredhel entail

-@@outofangband

Sorry this took so long @outofangband and thank you for asking this I am! Delighted! And am preemptively putting a read more down because I cannot shut up about they <3

alright I'm just gonna put stuff and headcanons down as they occur to me so expect low-moderate levels of coherency

shapeshifting is an obvious one (gets weaker down the generations) but because my brain is Like This I have caveats!

thanks to my whole peredhil things=gender allegory that my brain spit out without my permission I've long struggled against my inherent feeling that while they can shapeshift they don't like it

but because I'm now aware of my brain's reasoning I can say it's because of ✨fantasy dysphoria✨

that's oversimplifying, obviously, but peredhil already have so much issues with working through who and what they are and compromising between body and mind and spirit that actively choosing to change into/present as something/someone who They Are Not is. Not usually their cup of tea.

As a whole they tend to have specific forms that they prefer as being closer to themselves, and distinct enough that it doesn't feel like they're faking something they're not

(changing to look like a different person, or a edited version of themself is Very Very not fun unless either explicitly for disguise or shenanigans)

(the exception to this is that Luthien can make herself look almost perfectly human without any real issue. she doesn't do it often but especially as she ages she likes to catch glimpses of her reflection and get both excited and sappy. this is in contrast to making herself look almost perfectly like an elf which makes her feel like her skin is on fire.)

(Also I'm pretty sure all of them can flip their agab presentation while only feeling varying degrees of off, and even then it's a different feeling than the shapeshifting dysphoria. Dior and Elwing are the two who I think mind it the most)

They all have the (agonizing to write) trait of feeling very distinct relationships to their species in their body vs soul/mind vs spirit/fea and they all feel it very differently! This isn't exclusive to Luthien's line but the maia blood does make it worse.

Oh! This is a new headcanon of mine actually but!

They all have faces that are very very hard to capture in image. They are the bane of portrait artists (and, to a degree, sculptors) everywhere because the art never looks accurate to life

It's not blatantly off it's just. missing something? Or something was added? maybe it's a little too wide, or narrow, or long, or short, in one place or another

It's not unrecognizable but if you've ever seen the subject in real life you can just tell

It's especially bad with Luthien (and Daeron) and Dior (to a lesser extent) because everyone literally sees them differently, as in their features will be slightly different depending on what each person finds attractive/aesthetically appealing and beautiful

(not a lot, again, it's not unrecognizable, but there has never and will never be any accurate depiction of Luthien as she was as a person)

(as a concept, though, as the most beautiful creature to have ever existed in Arda, a little of her image exists in every portrait lovingly made of a beloved spouse, every child's drawing of their family, in biological sketches of songbirds and field mice, in a sculpture of a stranger's face. Daeron remembers his sister perfectly, but he collects these regardless)

(Arwen, Luthien come again, isn't described as such by her grandparents. Galadriel and Celeborn both knew Luthien, and while Arwen and her father both look as closely to her as genetically possible, to those who actually know them both it's nothing more than uncanny family resemblance. Luthien was to most a concept personified, Arwen is a person with concepts imposed on her.)

The list of people who have seen Luthien how she actually, physically, defaultly is, essentially consists of Melian, Daeron, Beren, and Dior

Beren doesn't see her as she is right away because he doesn't know her right away, but they learn about each other and she shows herself and he sees her and by the time she rescues him from Tol-im-Gaurhoth there are no echoes on her face

(He's always a little bit haunted that he nearly died without realizing he'd never quite seen the truth of her before)

Neither Thingol or Beren can quite see their own features on their children's faces. They clearly take after their mothers, after all!

(This leads to much affectionate eye-rolling on Melian and Luthien's part)

Hair stuff!

It's alive! kinda! it's definitely not normal hair!

It moves a lot on its own. Sometimes like a breeze is blowing where there isn't one. Sometimes more like tentacles. It depends on its mood.

They've got some very pretty traditional cosmic horror vibes swirling around on their heads. It's very sparkly and colorful but in a Forbidden Shrimp Colors that your brain is unable to comprehend way so it reads as iridescent black mostly, or holographic white, where applicable

Luthien's hair actually is a glimpse into space, Daeron's is a glance at a star

(Luthien's magic hair cloak survives, I think, into the 4th age and beyond, though if anyone/anything has found it they certainly don't know the origins of the beautifully intricate living star map. It has seen the reign of countless north stars, yet the lines always point to the same coordinates- where the ancient, sunken, ruined remains of what once was Tol-im-Gaurhoth lay)

Speed round!

Fangs and talons and horns oh my! Are they tooth and keratin and bone, or are they petrified wood and gem and stone? Yes!

They all smell a little like ozone and a lot like petrichor, flowers, and Green. If you've smelled green you know what I'm talking about. Also, unfortunately, like bird. Birds don't smell great, especially wet bird.

Weird Foresight Powers++

(Most of them don't have actual foresight, but all of them are more in-tune with the Song than is natural for an incarnate)

Their eyes glow, most notably in the dark, unless the irises turn black as they sometimes do. They are also all unnaturally bright versions of the less-spooky parent's- Dior's are gold, Elwing's are blue-green like a tropical sea (Elured and Elurin split the color between them- ultramarine and emerald), Elrond and Elros have pale star-gold, Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen all have silver.

(Daeron and Luthien being the exception again, because I decided they have Melian's eyes before I decided this, and I don't know what color eyes Thingol has. Watsonianly: Melian's spooky genes overwrite a lot. Luthien's genotype is probably much closer to his than her magically overwritten phenotype)

Their sclerae turn black and their pupils white, on occasion, usually when using powers

They don't bleed right. It's a little too red for an elf, a little too light for a human, and it shines strange as it beads like quicksilver on the skin

They have very shiny, cool skin. Luthien looked like her's was silver plate under a stretched stocking, the rest toned it down from there but it's still noticeable.

The Song is. Attached to them. They are all very much Main Characters. Their lives have a clear story arc with symbolism and narrative parallels. They are all subconsciously aware that their lives are a fairytale, whether tragic or no, and yes this has many Implications and affects. They are not the only ones like this, but they are the only ones who, to some level, know they are in a story.

This is the fundamental separation between them and everyone else.

The difference in how they perceive themselves between heart soul and spirit is very difficult to explain and understand, but not impossible to someone who knows them and is willing to put in the work.

The life-long knowledge that they are Important to the Song and their every choice and event they experience and their mere existence serves a greater purpose in a way that most other people simply do not- that's very, very isolating.

No one else can understand how they see the world. Very very few people are willing to try, and even fewer in a way that's not frustrating. There is a reason most of them find only one person to latch on to outside of their family, and a reason they hold on through hell and high water.

(This is about being neurodivergent)

[nereb-and-dungalef]

I keep drinking coffee thinking it's gonna make me Productive and then instead of doing the work I actually have to do I just compulsively make spreadsheets :(

[toddtakefive]

btw todd’s reluctance to join the dps because he doesn’t want to read (which is then accommodated for) and is scared to put himself out there (which is also worked through) being read as todd not wanting to go AT ALL, and thus neil making the proper accommodations (“todd anderson, who prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings”) and encouraging him to step out of the box that stifles him being seen as ‘forceful’ or like he can’t take no for an answer makes me insane with rage

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my 1 (one) stardew opinion is shane should not have won the bachelor poll

[fleshdyk3]

god i fucking hate my dad

[eats-the-stars]

hate my sister's shitty good for nothing boyfriend. can you imagine being a 30yo man with two kids who won't even scramble an egg. Not for his kids, not for his girlfriend, not for himself. literally if my sister doesn't leave out pre-made meals when he's watching the kids he will rip up bread or pour them dry cereal or open a granola bar and make himself microwave dinners. like, lowest effort possible. but if i mention this to my sis, she'll be like "no he's definitely cooked for the kids! he scrambled an egg for them once! i watched him do it!" but it's like...so he scrambled one egg in the last five years. just to like, prove he can? at your direct insistence? should we all clap? like seriously. hate this guy. had to really hold back recently because he had someone over and he was interacting with the kids more than usual for appearances, and he had to keep asking me and my sis what the 5yo was signing because he barely bothered to learn his own son's primary form of communication. i was so tempted to say "that one means 'go home' but you wouldn't know that because you don't take them anywhere." so hard to hold that in. If I had to describe this man in two words they would be these: Low Effort. Not quite bare minimum, but JUST enough to convince my sister that it would be too much hassle to get rid of him. he's stupid as fuck, but just smart enough to quickly stop shit like screaming obscenities at the kids for doing normal kid things. and he once stomped on my headphones and broke them in a fit of rage, but gave my sister money to replace them so it was "fine." Like, my sister thinks that he's just struggling with his anger issues, because he had a bad childhood, blah, blah, and oh he would never actually hurt her or the kids. and like, good for you, but i don't trust like that. genuinely hoping he gets struck by lightning and dies instantly.

[onrainynights]

I'm about to be so annoying btw

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[serendipitous-mage]

......... who's gonna tell him ... .. ill do it @markiplier

[mudstoneabyss]

As someone with arachnophobia my soul would’ve left my body. Spiders always seem to dart closer bc of their shitty vision

it seemed so confused as to what both I and it were doing in there and I could really ask it the same question

[killjoy-prince]

Ray's After Ending is so funny because for a good chunk of it, most of the RFA members are knocked out by V's sleeping gas (Saeran is immune, Saeyoung isn't present bc he was kidnapped by his agency under his father's orders and MC wakes up in like an hour) but the game has a call feature where you can call the characters and it would be a waste if you couldn't use it bc the characters were unavailable so instead they have other people pick up the call (Jumin's driver picks up Jumin's phone, Jumin's father picks up Zen's phone, Yoosung's friends and mom pick up Yoosung's phone and Jaehee's coworkers pick up Jaehee's phone) and we do get to learn about the characters from outsider's point of view but it's so funny to me that these people are visiting their loved ones and suddenly the phone rings and they decide to just. answer it. and start talking to this stranger they've never met