#SHE TRUSTS HIM WITH THE ONE THING SHE LOVES MOST IN THE WORLD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eatmyheartoutjpg · 12 hours ago

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𓇻 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗥 ᵃʳᶜᵃⁿᵉ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 ;; Silco, Sevika, Jinx 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; A collection of dynamics and interactions, SFW, Platonic. In which you're a weapons dealer from Piltover working with the undercity, Zaun, all for the sake of your own benefit. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; I love writing interactions surrounding one character dynamic, so here it is! I'll probably write stuff like this more, it's enjoyable for me. Probably will write a part 2 w/ other characters.

11.29.24 Masterlist

You were an anomaly in Silco’s carefully constructed world—a Piltie who didn’t sneer at Zaun but didn’t romanticize it either. You were coy and calculating weasel who wielded a sharp tongue and a sharper wit with precision, forcibly creating a space in the murky waters of Zaun’s criminal underground.

Your voice carried the tone of sincerity, but it never fooled anyone for long; your smile never reached your eyes, and your words were more weapons than pleasantries. You could smile while explaining the most grotesque scenario known to mankind.

People underestimated you often. Some said you had been overconfident, but you knew you had power—the kind born of understanding the value of everything around you, including yourself. What made you different, however, was that you had the ability to force it under your own bare hands, you claimed ownership of everything you wanted.

You supplied Silco with the finest weapons Piltover could create, the kind that never made it into the hands of their enforcers or the powerful and rich aristocrats. The kind that gave Zaun a fighting chance. But you didn’t do it out of charity or loyalty. It was business, pure and simple, and you enjoyed the game.

Dynamic with Silco:

Silco tolerated you. He had no illusions about who you were or what drove you. You were eccentric and unpredictable, traits he usually despised, but your results spoke for themselves.

You brought him weapons that turned the tides of battles, secured deals that strengthened Zaun’s position, and provided insights that few could rival. You granted him so much power and influence within days.

Your dynamic was a strange push-and-pull. You’d waltz into his office unannounced, throw yourself onto the nearest chair, and launch into a rapid-fire monologue about your latest ideas or complaints. He would sit behind his desk, curling and uncurling his fingers around a cigar, and watch you with an expression of faint disinterest.

You'd never come in with your own bodyguards of any kind and you'd come by so often no one questioned you walking up the stairs of the Last Drop.

You came by as if you were close friends.

“You have a remarkable talent for talking,” he’d say dryly once you finally paused to breathe.

“And you have a remarkable talent for listening,” you’d shoot back, unbothered by his lack of patience.

Still, there were moments of quiet understanding. Silco recognized your value, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy your company, and you respected his vision, even if you didn’t always agree with his methods. It was a professional relationship at its core, but there was an underlying current of mutual acknowledgment that kept you both coming back to the table.

Dynamic with Sevika:

Sevika didn’t trust you, and you didn’t blame her. You didn’t make it easy for her to like you, teasing her with remarks just toeing the line of disrespect (especially about her arm).

Whenever she was tasked with escorting you on high-stakes exports, you could feel her eyes on you, weighing and measuring, trying to figure out where you fit in the grand scheme of things.

You always ignored it. Her distrust didn’t bother you—it amused you. You loved toying with her stoic demeanor, throwing in cryptic comments and unnecessary flair just to see if you could chip away at her cool. You were unpredictable, and she hated that.

She also had to bear with you for the sake of her boss, Silco. She would hold back loud groans every time you flung open his office door and drop a load of plans and logs onto his already cluttered desk.

And sometimes, out of a desire to share the distaste of being around you, Silco stopped asking her to leave his office. He'd have her stand and listen to you ramble and ramble. If he had to, she did too.

Still, you had your moments. Like the time you presented her with a large selection of highly specialized mechanical arms—sleek, durable, and laced with the latest enhancements Piltover could offer. Her reaction had been hard to read, a mix of suspicion and begrudging admiration as she inspected them all.

“What’s the catch?” she asked flatly, flexing the joints, testing the weight of the mechanical arm.

You only grinned, spreading your hands in mock innocence. “No catch. Just a gift for Silco’s most trusted lieutenant."

She didn’t believe you for a second. But when the arms proved to be everything you promised, she found herself thinking about you less as a threat and more as an enigma. Not a friend, not an ally, but not quite an enemy either.

Dynamic with Jinx:

Your first meeting with Jinx was unplanned. You had stormed into Silco’s office mid-afternoon, as per usual, all grins and energy, barely pausing to knock. Sevika didn't stop you, as per usual.

You launched into an elaborate spiel about your newest weapons designs, gesturing wildly as you described their destructive potential, opening blueprints after blueprints on Silco's desk.

He only nodded along, waiting for a pause in your dialogue to ask questions.

But above Silco’s desk, perched like a mischievous cat, Jinx watched you with wide, curious eyes. She had no intention of sitting through one of her father’s boring meetings, but you were different. You were loud and exciting, and your enthusiasm for chaos mirrored her own.

You were the first person she's encountered to have such a bold and eccentric personality like her own.

Before Silco could silence you with a quip, Jinx leapt down, landing with a loud crash on Silco's desk, sending blueprints flying.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming. “You’re talking about guns?”

You blinked, taken aback for only a second before grinning wider. You weren't questioning her sudden appearance, to be honest, you didn't care to. “Not just guns. Masterpieces. Works of art. Top of the state types. Wanna see?”

Silco sighed heavily as Jinx dragged you to a nearby table, where you began sketching designs and explaining mechanisms. The two of you quickly fell into a chaotic rhythm, talking over each other in a flurry of excitement.

“She wasn’t supposed to meet you,” Silco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But it was too late. Jinx had found a kindred spirit, and you found yourself with a new, albeit unpredictable, ally. Silco already dealt with two mad inventors separately (one being his daughter and the other a sly weasel), but together? He and Sevika both knew this would become a new headache for them. Silco’s office would never be the same.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

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ak319 · 17 hours ago

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Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

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kittymizuki · 3 days ago

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something i like about mizuki and rui's interactions is that the first time he addresses her with the suffix "-kun" when he's asking about her name? but in every instance after this, he drops it even though he uses it to address /literally everyone/ (including the cis girls, he calls nene "nene-kun" for instance). makes me wonder if mizuki herself voiced her discomfort with it after explaining that she's trans to him or if he picked up on this on his own? either way, i like that he's considerate towards her even if he doesn't fully Get her...

i also love that mizuki here immediately assumes (perhaps a little unfairly towards rui even if it's understandable) that there's some narrativization on rui's end towards her which is rooted in a voyeuristic fascination in her as a person with a unique gendered experience that ties into how she's often treated as an object or an exhibit by everyone? it also makes sense in the context of her genre awareness and performativity bc mizuki is /very/ hypercognizant of tropes and the archetypes she's often forced to occupy?

it's this the expectation of herself as a source of entertainment to others. trans girls often exist in media to be ogled at and othered. she doesn't see reflections of herself in the world. she sees caricatures. so of course she'd assume tht this is what rui wants of her. of course that isn't the case, but trust is so difficult. commodification of transfemininity and transfemininity as performance being widely seen as a source of entertainment and comedy are things that are very normalized in pop culture and media… even when trans girls aren't treated as jokes, they merely exist to reinforce the femininity of cis girls as innately more authentic. this is something mizuki absolutely knows considering her genre awareness and how much she loves to engage with fiction, but i think it's also interesting that in the context of her relationship with the other girls in niigo there's this conflict taking place in terms of being the manic pixie dream girl who purposefully elevates the cis girls by setting the stage for them and helping them address their problems (she does this in carnation recollection, mirage of light, our escape for survival and many other instances) versus using them to affirm her own femininity … we see this the most with ena, but i think this is present with mafuyu too especially in the way she represents mizuki's hope.

mizuki's introduction to the other girls in person also establishes that she's very openly genre savvy and goes out of her way to point out narrative conventions of 'isekai stories' and other media tropes relating to her social situations in a way that feels very deliberate as a parallel to being cognizant of societal prejudices and gender constructs and the way they're sustained through pop culture so she has to co-opt them for her own benefit bc so much of mizu1 is about mizuki using fiction and horror stories as a medium through which she can engage with herself and the other girl but i think this is meaningful insofar as it tells us that mizuki always understood how abuse and misogyny work bc it's been her experience for her entire life… it's interesting that she's one of the few characters in the cast that's an active Anime Fan (ie, going out to try and get merch, tickets, the soundtracks, etc), but the expression around it is /very much/ like trans culture, like how a girl is engaged with things. it isn't about figures or being the ultimate oshi, she enjoys the characters, she enjoys what goes into the creation, she's engaged with how she relates to characters over them being "attractive." there's so much… about her and her genre awareness and also her social awareness… it feels very special bc very few stories go out of their way to acknowledge the fact that trans girls are usually the demographic with so much perspective on women's issues, both bc of their own lived experience and bc they feel like they /have/ to be knowledgeable to prove their own abuse and make up for the taking up so much space in women's spaces? it's motivated by internalized guilt but it's also out of a genuine desire to connect with women and womanhood … so many anime fandoms are often sustained by trans girls and that's something i always notice whenever i'm on twitter or tumblr? magical girl and idol series fan spaces are always occupied by trans girls and the same can be said for things like gundam? mizuki is the type of trans girl who's more into the former than latter but it's still important to note, and it makes me wonder how much of an overlap there is between how that works in english speaking fandoms and japanese ones? i imagine there's a big overlap, but it's still something i'm interested in seeing something more concrete about.

but yeah, the way mizuki is so invested in the process of creation and connecting with the characters very much parallels how she's the MV animator/editor for niigo and how her entire work process is predicated around having an intimate connection with ena's art, kanade's music and mafuyu's lyrics to display them in the best way possible? we know that she was creating edits for her favorite magical girls anime before she joined niigo (and she probably still does in her own time). trans girls often connecting and finding worth in things that cgirls have cast off as childish as well - "i don't need this" versus "this makes me feel like i can have the girlhood i was denied." the lesbian contingent in these spaces is also very strong. i feel that a lot of cgirls get disillusioned and have to come back and address the internalized misogyny around it. magical girls being co-opted by misogynistic otaku also makes it difficult, but it feels broadly meaningful to actually engage with magical girls and how they are genuinely made for young women and even more than that. also the editing … the AMVs and stuff and how it's about fixating on a piece and going through all the clips, closely editing … she's probably rewatched her favorite shows and episodes so often that it's easy for her to think about what she wants to go where. i imagine she would feel self conscious actually sharing her thoughts but also … we know how mizuki is so active in the nightcord chat and how much she fills the space with ena so i wouldn't be surprised. there's a side story where mizuki invites the others out to see a movie bc she doesn't want to watch it alone, she wants someone to exchange thoughts with … it feels so personally driven, this rare chance of hers to … try to show herself to others? she never wants to tell others directly, but through fiction and other things…

mizuki is also a fan of minori but not once does she identify as Anything More than that and of course idols are relevant to mizuki, bc her being Genre Aware extends to anime/manga (specifically magical girls and idols) and films (mainly horror). in the broad context of 'oshi' as a term this is important bc mizuki likes her and thinks she's cool and admires her, but she sees idols as ppl ... she sees girls as ppl.

i also think about mizuki and "loneliness" here in the context of transmisogyny as a system to isolate transfems, to deny them safety and community and solidarity in order to enable everyone else treating them like disposable sex dolls. many ppl will pretend that the idea of transfems being uniquely threatening or predatory is something that came from genuine concerns about sexual safety (especially terfs with their "concerns" about "males in women's spaces") when the truth is that it's a deliberate campaign to convince ppl that transfems don't deserve to be treated as human beings, never mind women, they're degendered objects (aka second class women). ppl aren't /born/ believing that transfems are more dangerous than cis men; nobody independently arrives at this train of thought as much as they're conditioned into it by the patriarchy in order to do their part in maintaining the exploitation of transfems as scapegoats for the sins of cis men even if they're not conscious of it. this just makes them gullible agents of the system.

a huge difference between how 'average' misogyny & transmisogyny operate is isolation. if you're a cis woman who's the subject of constant misogyny, it's still possible to find community within cis women. transmisogynistic oppression goes unnamed, isn't shared by any peers bc transfems rarely know other transfems growing up, and is never called out by anyone even adults. it's true that all systemic violence masquarades as personal violence, but i think this goes doubly so for transmisogyny especially bc the 'mainstream' understanding of transmisogyny even in queer spaces is that it doesn't exist as long as you use a trans woman's correct pronouns or recognize them as women (and even then ppl will always make excuses when they're called out for using they/them and it's not even called transmisogyny; it's just transphobia).

when trans women exist around others they're either reduced to sex objects/freaks or mothers/manic pixie dream girls who take on the brunt of emotional labor in social dynamics, and i think all of this informs mizuki's idea of loneliness here? rui may be well intentioned, but there's an inherent power imbalance between them as a cis guy and a trans girl (even though she's pretransition, it doesn't change this) that contextualizes their isolation and this is something mizuki is obviously bitter about… it's true that her family is supportive and gives her refuge in the form of her own room to retreat back to when the world is too cruel to her, but this is simply not enough when the goal of transmisogyny as an oppressive systemic force is to erase transfems like her from public spaces, which in some part also explains why mizuki feels so insecure about her coping mechanism being avoidance and running away bc it probably feels like she's letting transmisogyny 'win', so to speak? despite how much we see her being treated like an object and an exhibit in incredibly dehumanizing ways as well as all the microaggressions from so many ppl (even the ones who care about her like an and rui) we never see any teachers standing up for her? all they care about is getting her to attend enough so she doesn't have to repeat a year and such, which reads more like they're doing bc it's inconvenient for /themselves/ otherwise to have to deal with her more if she's held back a year. the fact that she tells rui that she hopes he can find friends that he has more in common with than just solitude in response to him trying to tell her that being lonely isn't all that bad is so loaded bc rui is a cis boy, so there's no way he understands the kind of isolation she's had to endure and the fact that he's able to speak positively about isolation understandably makes her bitter for these reasons.

mizuki joking about 'losing' to rui at making friends even though she has "better communication skills" when by that she means that due to her lived experience as a transfem she's had to become very hypercognizant of social norms and conventions in order to mold herself into a very palatable expression of femininity to be accepted by others but her hypersensitivity towards these things still isn't enough and rui can surpass her simply due to the fact that he's a cis guy...

#project sekai #gamo.txt

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flyingfanatic · 2 days ago

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hold me like a grudge

The ghosts of her regrets visit Vi during her pit fighter era.

Tap, tap, tap. Time for another little talk.

Vi has vaulted to her feet and hit the punching bag several times before she remembers she’s not in the bowels of Stillwater. Her back isn’t stiff and cold from sleeping on the floor; there’s a bed behind her. Her punches landed on the musty-smelling bag which gave and swung under the force, instead of busting her knuckles open on the unyielding wall. Instead of an empty silence containing nothing but the odd drip of water, the world behind those walls is full of life. She can let their glee and anger mingle and wash over her until the smell of mold and stone fades.

One thing hadn’t changed: the pain in her gut and the bruise spreading across her hip-bone. Nothing more than another enforcer putting her back in her place.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” His voice is gruff and familiar, irrevocably intertwined with his scent of whiskey and pipe tobacco.

Vi leans her head against the bag, eyes closed, and huffs a noise that’s closer to a sob than a laugh.

“I can see you’re going up in the world.”

She always thought of Vander in the same way; dirty white shirt and scruffy face. The man behind the bar. He leans against the sink in her room with the same insouciance he’d leant against the wall of her cell while she punched cracks into the concrete.

He had never stayed when the guards came down the corridor, the rhythmic tapping of their canes announcing their intentions long before the door would slide open. She would face the fire alone. He would only return afterwards, once she was bloody and flat out on the cold floor.

At least in this cell she has a bed. She flops down on it and stares at the ceiling.

“What happened to that fancy uniform of yours?”

She’d sold it, as fast as she could. It was only a target on her back. A brand on her skin. A reminder that she’d put herself on the wrong side of that line. Whored herself to an easy way out. Sold everything she was to lie that it would all be worth it in the end. The only remnant left is the gloves, lying abandoned in the corner. Part of her wished someone would break in and steal them. Not like she was doing any good with the damn things.

“I...” Vi croaks. It was no use: what could she say to Vander to explain how she’d ended up enlisting in the enforcers? There was no way he could understand that. Hells, she didn’t understand it. And if she told him why...

Whatever happens, it’s on you. I’m glad it’s you. Had to be you.

His voice twists into Jinx’s, from gentle admonishment to outright accusation.

Jinx is right. It’s her fault.

Vi had joined the enforcers, had gone against everything Vander had ever taught her and even then Caitlyn didn’t trust her, not all the way. Not when it mattered most.

“Rough break up?”

Vi twists and charges at the source of the sound but only ends up smashing face-first into her own door. Jinx isn’t there; only her laughter.

“Time for our hero’s triumphant return to the Lanes,” the disembodied voice teases. “Vander’s progeny, returned to save us all.”

Vi stumbles, clutching the wall, and ends up in front of the mirror staring at her bruised and bloody face. Her tattoo, her hair. It all has to go. The smears of black spread from her fingers across her head and consume her hair until she can’t recognize the person staring back at her.

Her fingers tighten around the sink. “I can’t save you. I can’t save anyone.”

I thought maybe you could love me like you used to.

Now Jinx’s voice echoes with Caitlyn, saying words she never said. Words she’d never say.

Caitlyn couldn’t love Vi even when she had been at her side, wearing her colors. There’s no way she’d love her now, greasy and stained and smelling of puke, losing fights and passing out on the floor.

Maybe Vi is the one who’s jinxed. Maybe she’s the reason that everything she touches turns to ashes and blood. Maybe it was better when she was shut away in Stillwater where the only harm she could do was to other criminals.

You’ve got a good heart.

Her memory of Vander standing over her flickers in and out against Caitlyn, pressing a cloth to her stomach. The vision changes — Powder, the way Vi remembers her, sitting on the edge of her sink, kicking her legs and giggling — Vander, arms crossed, looking down at her with disapproval — Jinx, pinned underneath her with pleading in her eyes — Caitlyn, in a guard’s uniform, swinging a baton around to sucker Vi in the gut.

Vi throws her arms out to push Caitlyn away and unbalances, winding up on the floor again.

She doesn’t know how long she passes out for. She doesn’t know how many times she drifts back in and out again. She only knows that every time she opens her eyes, she sees Caitlyn. Eyes wide, on the verge of reaching out to touch Vi’s cheek.

If she had only reached for Caitlyn then. Not for her hand, but for... for her. Vi could have surrendered herself to that big, soft bed, to the promise in those blue seas of understanding, to the smell of lavender mixed with gun oil. Maybe it could have worked, then.

If only she had stayed there with Caitlyn. She could have protected her. She could have stopped Jinx from taking her, from killing Caitlyn’s mother. If Jinx hadn't taken that shot, maybe they could have left it all behind. She could have had her sister back.

Protect the family.

That was rich. What family? Vander was gone. Mylo, Clagger. Powder was lost. Where did Vander get off, drifting into her mind and telling her to do the impossible?

He was the one who had taught her to fight, after all. She went in fists blazing because he had taught her how to punch and had told her it was her responsibility. Foolish. As if she ever knew how to fix anything.

But without that... who is she when there’s no family left to protect?

“Looking good, sis.”

#I am having some feelings #about vi as a protector #about vi's self esteem #about her regrets and alcohol abuse and self flagellation #about the way she sacrifices everything she is and has for other people #that she never gives up on the people she loves even when they hurt her #the fact that no one ever tells her how much they care about her or that she's doing a good job #but she keeps throwing herself on that sword anyway #how torn she must be over the choices that she's made #how trapped she must feel #how alone and abandoned #anyway #vi #arcane #caitvi #violyn #I guess #my writing

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radioactive-earthshine · 6 hours ago

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Bart Allen's Life as a Carousel of Horrors, Loss, Ableism and Love

cw: ableism

LONG POST

You've been raised in a VR chamber for a possible relative 19 years, but it's only actually been 2 years, you're not really sure what time is, or what it means. The line between reality and virtual reality have blurred so seamlessly realness seems fake and hurts.

You've been told you're dying.

You'll be dead within 4 years if the scientists cannot cure you. Reality reminds you of this. You stay in VR because it's safe and nothing can hurt you there.

You're still dying.

Your grandmother shows up one day, you didn't know your grandmother was still alive. She's furious with the scientists but agrees you are in the best place you can be because you are dying.

She keeps visiting you every now and then, you can only interact with her in the real world. It makes the real world bearable because you can only hug her when you are unplugged from VR.

She is the first person who tells you they love you. You never felt love before.

You are still dying, and the scientists are starting to suddenly feel like they don't actually love you - because you know what kindness and love is supposed to look like and it's not that.

Your grandmother grabs you one day and kidnaps you from the only place you've known as home - you can tell it's for the best, you trust her, because she is the only person who has ever loved you. She says she's taking you to meet other family and everything will be better.

She lied.

But not intentionally.

You're ripped to an alien time where nothing make sense, rules don't make sense, people don't make sense, everything hurts, people don't know what to do with you, you don't know what to do with them either, but at least you are no longer dying.

Your cousin who you already admired from your studies is not the person you thought he'd be - it's for the best if you love each other from a distance even if you're not sure yet if this is love.

Your grandmother cannot keep you.

She has to love you from a distance. She says you will have to live with a man you don't know who never came up once in your history lessons. He is a stranger.

Max Mercury does not love you.

Max Mercury is there to fix you and everyone has reminded you that there is something deeply, deeply wrong with you.

You are no longer dying, but you still need to be fixed.

You make the most out of it because maybe this is just how things are, and there is no use getting upset or feeling bad because there is nothing you can do about it. Video games are like that too - you're just playing on hard mode and you need to practice to get better to clear the level - only no one really explained the rules, and it's up to you to figure out the controls.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button, but they won't tell you what the correct button is, and sometimes that button will change entirely for no reason and they will still yell at you for pushing the wrong button.

You love Max Mercury anyway, it's a new sort of love and one that is difficult to explain but you love him and he loves you.

You meet your cousin one day, stranded from your birth-time and you never felt like someone just got you like she did. For one moment, everything feels just right, but she cannot stay with you.

Like your grandmother, and Wally, Jenni has to love you from a distance.

You say goodbye, you don't know if you will ever see her again and you hope your letter lives the thousand years to reach her just so you can make one permanent connection with her.

You don't get yelled at for pushing the wrong button one day, but you know you pushed the wrong button. Max refuses to talk to you, he says there is nothing more he can teach you, you're hopeless.

You're no longer dying, but you still need to be fixed.

Your mother shows up out of nowhere and you fall in love all over again. You are lavished in affection you haven't felt since the first time your grandmother came into your life.

She promises you there is a home of love waiting for you back in your birth-time.

You've said goodbye before, but not like this. You hug Max tight before you go, and you can feel there is love there, but it's not the love from your mother or grandmother. But it is still love.

Your mother cannot keep you.

You never knew what it was really like to be hated before now, and it's not fair that the villain of your story wins and gets to love your mother and you can't.

You start to realize that your story is when the bad-guy wins over and over again.

Like your grandmother, Wally, and your cousin Jenni, your mother has to love you from a distance.

You go back 'home' and there is no home to go back to. Your cousin Wally yells at you for coming back and you're reminded that you can only be loved from a distance.

It's not like you want to live with him either.

Max is the only stable home you've known of and he accepts you back in his life with his daughter Helen.

You like Helen. She doesn't yell at you when you push the wrong button. You can tell Max doesn't approve but it amuses you that there is someone he can't say 'no' to that is on your side.

You are no longer dying, and no one has mentioned that you needed to be fixed for a long, long time.

Your home isn't perfect, you don't feel the same sort of love that you did with your grandmother and mother, but there is still love and you wouldn't change it for anything because Max and Helen are everything to you.

No one gets you like them.

You are no longer dying, but Max is.

You try desperately to fix him because he spent so much time fixing you and it didn't matter if you still don't know what's wrong with you, he is everything to you and you love him and he loves you and you finally feel the same love for him that you do your mother and grandmother and it all goes away.

You've never felt so loved, then so hated all at once when your clone tries to take what you had. You can't hate him though, because he hates enough, and unlike you he was never loved.

You remember being unloved too.

You beg him to stay.

He doesn't.

You don't have time to mourn him, and what you could have had with him as a brother, because Max is still dying and you're the only one who can help fix him.

When Max is no longer dying and things return to normal you know you are loved and whatever everyone said was wrong with you was wrong. Max loves you like your mother loves you and Helen is no different.

You are no longer dying, and you are so very much loved.

Everything is perfect.

You have to say goodbye to your best friend, and it hurts more than when you said goodbye to your mother, because you don't understand the sort of love you had for her. Was it romantic love? Did it matter? You loved her and now your best friend is gone.

Like your grandmother, Wally, your cousin Jenni, and your mother, Carol has to love you from a distance.

One day you feel yourself die and you almost lost everything.

You feel like you are dying again, and it never stops. The event is so visceral it makes you question if you really need to be a superhero after all and you decide to stop.

One of your other best friends calls you a coward for it and you know she's wrong, but you swallow your disappointment and you leave. It's okay if she doesn't understand you - no one really does.

Your civilian friends, Helen and Max make you feel like you are safe again and it is all because of their love.

You find meaning and purpose again as a superhero.

You are no longer dying, and you know you are loved and accepted and everything is as good as it can be. It was a long journey, but you are content despite your grief because you are loved.

... ... ... ... ... ...

Max dies.

No, he doesn't just die, he's gone, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

You think he will be back any day now and it fills you with hope. You still have a home with Helen and all of your friends and you will wait for him because despite everything he is your dad.

The family that was supposed to be your family all along tell you that Helen cannot be your family anymore, and you have to move.

There's something still wrong with you and Helen cannot deal with it. You're an imposition to her. Max was the only thing keeping her home stable while you were there. You need someone to watch over you, not love you, love wasn't part of the equation.

Your grandmother denies there's something wrong with you and Helen, but she still won't take you in, she has someone else's child to love instead.

Your cousin still insists there is something wrong with you.

You know there is nothing wrong with you, and you think you finally get your cousin to understand and see you for the first time.

Nothing about this is fair - Helen's life isn't fair either, and you decide to help give her the life she deserves even if it breaks your heart.

You move, you lose everything again.

Like your grandmother, Wally, your cousin Jenni, your mother, and Carol, Helen has to love you from a distance.

You never lived in a house with a married couple before. They bond with you quickly and you love them, but you never forget Max and you love him from a distance.

You think your relationship with your cousin is mended but he reminds you that there is something wrong with you and it will never be fixed.

No amount of love, will ever save you, and you will always lose.

#bart allen #flashfam #max mercury #dc comics #long post #hehe

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 1 day ago

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The last drop in The Last Drop: Part 1

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

Luna liked Vander’s hands.

They were big, like the rest of him—strong and calloused from years of hard work—but also warm and comforting. At first, she had been terrified of him. The night he found her behind the Last Drop, she had tried to scramble away, her little arms clinging to the scraps of food she’d scavenged. But Vander’s deep voice had softened as he crouched down to her level, extending his massive hands toward her.

When he’d reached out, those hands hadn’t grabbed or forced—they’d offered. His palms faced upward, open and patient, as if he were giving her a choice. “It’s alright, little one,” he’d said.

She didn’t trust him at first, but she trusted his hands.

They were steady, not shaking or grabbing like some of the others she’d encountered in the streets. They didn’t take—they gave. They gave her warmth, carrying her away from the cold, damp alley and into a place where food and shelter waited. Even years later, when the memories from her younger years became inevitably hazy, she remembered how strong his hands had felt when he’d lifted her, how her tiny body had fit easily in his arms. For the first time in what felt like forever, she hadn’t felt scared.

It was those hands that had carried her home that night, cradling her as if she were something fragile. She had fallen asleep against his chest, exhausted and starving, but when she woke up in a bed that wasn’t hers—surrounded by unfamiliar faces—she had bolted. It wasn’t until Vander held her hand, steady and sure, that she finally calmed down. He introduced her to the kids that had startled her at first when waking up – Vi, Powder, Mylo and Claggor – his kids. She was younger than all of them, and she didn’t really liked older girls and boys, but she quickly learned that they were nicer than others their ages she had met. Vander helped her acclimate, and he let her stay with them as part of the family.

Now, his height and strength, which had once been so intimidating, were the very things she relied on most.

Luna never let go of his hand when they walked through the undercity. He’d told her and the others not to wander off on their own, and she took that rule to heart. Being the youngest and newest of the group, she was still frightened of the streets. Unlike Vi, who had her stubborn confidence, or Powder, who had her boundless curiosity, Luna didn’t stray. She clung to Vander’s hand like it was a lifeline, her little hand disappearing into his, trusting his presence to shield her from the dangers of the world outside.

When Vi and the others inevitably dashed off on their own adventures, Luna would stay behind.

“Looks like it’s just us, huh?” Vander would say with a warm smile.

She didn’t mind at all. She loved being with him. The walks they took to gather supplies for the Last Drop or just to patrol the neighbourhood became her favourite times. Vander never rushed her. He matched her smaller strides, his hand always there for her to hold. She felt like nothing bad could ever touch her when she was with him.

His hands weren’t just strong—they were gentle too. Whenever she scraped her knee or got a bruise, she’d run to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Vander would kneel down, examining her injury with those careful hands of his, his fingers moving with a gentleness that didn’t seem possible for someone so big.

“This’ll sting a bit,” he’d warn her as he dabbed ointment on her cuts.

She’d watch him through watery eyes, and when he wiped away her tears with his thumb, his touch was soft and tender.

“There now,” he’d say, his voice steady and reassuring. “Stuff like this only makes you stronger, Lu. You’re gonna be alright.”

And she believed him.

It wasn’t just when she was hurt, either. When nightmares woke her in the middle of the night, it was Vander’s hands that brought her comfort. Sometimes he’d scoop her up and carry her to the bar, sitting her on the counter while he made her a warm drink. Other times, he’d tuck her back into bed, soothing her back to sleep with his hand resting on her head for a moment longer than necessary, as if to promise he’d be there when she woke up.

Vander had a way of making the world seem less scary, even when everything felt overwhelming. Luna adored him for it, for the way his hands could make her feel safe, for the warmth that seemed to radiate from him even on the coldest nights.

To her, Vander wasn’t just her protector—he became home.

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silverynight · 3 days ago

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The roommate

<---Previous

Part XXVI

"What's your ideal date, Izuku?"

Perhaps it's just an innocent question, but Izuku is so tense because of the mission, he immediately has a bad feeling about the whole situation. Besides, even though he's usually friendly towards anyone, the way Toga is grabbing his arm is making him want to put some distance between them as soon as possible.

"Uhh... it used to be going to the park or maybe a fair and share a crepe with the person I like–"

"Are you hungry, Izuku? Do you want a crepe?" Toga asks, blushing even more.

"No, thanks... I actually have to go."

"Why?" Kana cuts in, the moment she notices that Toga looks disappointed. For the most part, she left them alone; she seemed happier walking right behind the two and not engaging in their conversation at all.

"My boyfriends are waiting for me," Izuku blurts out, not knowing if it's the right thing to do at the moment. He knows he should be trying to pretend things aren't going that great in his relationship, but right now there's nothing he wants more than to see them again.

The grip Toga has around his arm tightens and it becomes slightly painful.

"You're hurting me," he points out and Toga squeezes him even tighter against her before she lets him go.

Izuku doesn't like Toga at all. She makes him feel uncomfortable and nervous.

"They'll eventually hurt you," Toga narrows her eyes. "They don't deserve you."

Izuku starts wondering if Toga is one of those people who started sympathizing with the heroes' haters after Kana was released and shared the villain's ideals with the world or if she was always like that due to personal experiences.

"They love me and they try their best," Izuku argues; the need to defend them is stronger than anything else. "I can't ask for more. Besides, I make mistakes too. Nobody is perfect."

"Pro heroes certainly aren't," Toga huffs, getting more irritated with Izuku's response. "But people seem to think they are."

"Some of them do," he agrees. "But not all of them. It's truly a mistake to idealize people, not only pro heroes. They are human too and although they shouldn't get away with crimes just because of their position, we shouldn't judge them too hard when they make harmless mistakes."

Toga shakes her head, but doesn't argue with Izuku because she doesn't have anything to say to that.

"I don't trust pro heroes and you shouldn't either."

"I trust Kacchan and Shoto."

She hisses and Kana doesn't look happy either, but Izuku stays calm, mostly because there's a lot of people around. Although he shouldn't feel like this; they're just two girls with strong opinions.

"I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you," Izuku tells Toga, before waving at Kana.

It looks like Kana wants to say something else, but Toga stops her; Izuku has never been that relieved to leave a shopping center before.

As he walks away and into a street nearby, he finally has the time to read Hagakure's texts; she apparently didn't like Toga at all and decided to ask Yaoyorozu to find out more about her.

"Izuku."

He hears Shoto's voice and he definitely bumps into a broad chest and a hero suit that looks exactly like his, but as soon as Izuku looks up and stares into familiar mismatched eyes he is completely sure this is not his Shoto.

He knows Hagakure is still following him because it's part of the deal, but he wonders that now that she's seen his "boyfriend" she would go back to the agency immediately.

"Hi," he mumbles nervously before he takes his phone to text her quickly, but a pair of hands snatch it off his as they also take Izuku's groceries.

"Let me help you with that."

"You know what?" Izuku smiles, trying to look as calm as possible. "I forgot something, I need to go back to the mall."

"I know you're really smart, Izuku and I'm sure you know this is not your stupid boyfriend. But you'll have to come with me–"

"Hagakure!" He screams. "This is not Shoto!"

The villain makes such a disgusted expression that looks so foreign on Shoto's features that it makes Izuku to instinctively take a couple of steps back. He's ready to run.

"There's a pro hero here?" The fake Shoto hisses. "I should've known!"

Then he takes a knife out and Izuku has the sudden feeling (maybe because of his nightmares or the way Toga approached him earlier) that he has finally solved a complex puzzle.

"Toga?"

"I told you to call me Himiko!" She hisses again with Shoto's face before stabbing him.

Izuku screams in pain.

"What are you doing? You told me you weren't going to hurt him!" Is that Kana's voice? She doesn't sound happy anymore.

"I won't kill him. He just needs to learn a lesson!"

Izuku wishes she stopped using his boyfriend's face and voice because it hurts to see Shoto trying to harm him, even though Izuku knows it's not the real one.

Then, she removes the knife, which is even more painful; he knows it'll also make him bleed profusely. Then, something collides with Toga, and she begins to turn back into her original form.

A blond, naked, but wild young woman willing to do anything for what she wants.

Although Izuku is not sure what she wants at the moment, the only thing he knows is that he's bleeding, feels dizzy and his knees can't support him anymore.

He falls to the ground as he realizes Hagakure is the one fighting Toga.

There are a couple of people in that area now and some of them are calling an ambulance and others the police and asking to be transferred to a hero agency.

A couple of them are taking videos of what's going on. At least they have Toga's transformation on their phones now.

Everything's confusing.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know she was going to hurt you!" Kana is at his side now, although Izuku can't be that sure; his vision has become blurry out of the sudden.

He's going to pass out.

"She's confused, but she means well..."

There's a scream, but this time it comes from Toga.

"What did you do? You blinded me!"

Izuku nerd's heart would have loved to see how Hagakure managed to do that with her quirk; he has seen her on YouTube videos a couple of times... does she reflect light to the point–

His vision turns completely black for a second.

Maybe it's not the time for hero combat analysis.

"Die!"

The familiar, absolutely rude yell comforts Izuku immediately and even the explosion that follows it.

"Izuku, love, are you alright?"

For a second, he flinches at the sight of Shoto, but one look tells him this is his boyfriend, the real one.

"It's alright, Izuku. It's me, please..."

He feels safe now, despite the pain and the amount of blood that's coming from his open wound; Izuku had been trying to stop it with his hands, but he's too weak to put pressure on it.

His vision is turning black again.

"Izuku, don't close your eyes," Shoto pleads, desperate, worried; Izuku is almost sure he's about to cry. "Stay with me. The paramedics are here–Izuku!"

"IZUKU!"

His Katsuki is getting closer now, but he can't stay awake anymore.

At least he's with them again.

***

He wakes up a couple of times; the first one he's inside an ambulance and the paramedic is asking a few questions to Katsuki.

"Izuku?"

His eyes can't stay open for too long.

The next time he's on a bed, in a room that smells too clean and covered on light blue sheets.

"Are you alright, baby?"

Izuku beams as he looks up at Katsuki; he's being extremely soft and gentle with him because he's worried. He also looks tired and like he's about to break.

"Love?"

Shoto is there too, which makes Izuku feel better immediately; he's still dizzy, but there's no pain now, although Izuku suspects they gave him a couple of painkillers for that.

Suddenly, his boyfriends take his hands and lean closer to him.

"I'm glad you're here," he manages to say.

"Don't you dare scare us like that again!" Katsuki huffs, trying to hide his own concern, but he intertwines his fingers with Izuku's. His eyes are red; he must've been crying. Shoto doesn't look any better.

"I was scared." The man with mismatched eyes admits.

"It's okay," Izuku smiles, pulling them closer (one at a time) to give them both a kiss on the forehead. "I'm here."

***

You can read Part XXVII, Part XXVIII and Part XXIX on my patreon already.

Patreon

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #bkdk #tddk #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #bakudeku #shouto todoroki #tododeku

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nerdishpursuits · 8 hours ago

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Today’s episode was hard to watch. No doubt about it. But, sadly, this continues to be a reality for many women and raising awareness is crucial to combatting ignorance. Does it ever get any easier watching a woman being abused? Never. Is it necessary to show how terrifying and traumatic such events are? Yes. Even as Fina was rescued before things escalated further, this will profoundly impact her sense of self: her mental health, her emotional landscape, her relationship with her own body. The Fina we know is a vibrant, confident, deeply sensual woman. I’m sure she’ll be all that again but, for now, she’ll most likely have some form of ptsd. It’ll be another uphill battle but Marta will be by her side, every step of the way (given they’ve chosen to walk this thorny path, I’m hoping they’ll treat it with more care than Begoña’s own story of abuse; if done right, this can be a rewarding journey portraying the healing power of love and friendship, triumphant in the face of bigotry, victorious in the face of adversity)

Circling back to Marta. I can’t begin to imagine her despair at discovering Fina was abused. That all she’d been so desperate to prevent from reoccurring, has been attempted again, more violently than before. The guilt she’ll feel will be immeasurable, no doubt. And it will consume her from the inside out if she allows it to take root. Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you love. And Fina is Marta’s everything, her whole world, her raison d’être.

Therefore, yet again, I’m going to remember that their story is meant to be one of hope and light. Which is what they are to each other. They’ll heal together, they’ll heal each other and grow all the stronger for it. The show’s not let us down so far. I trust this will end up a catalyst for many rewarding scenes together.

Which brings me to the foul reason they need healing to begin with. Thinking on it, it’s probably a mistake to call Santiago a psychopath, even as he displays plenty of traits that merit said label. He’s very much aware of his actions and deserves no leniency. Ultimately, he’s the product of a regime that glorifies in the systemic oppression of women. One whose very ideas, and ideals, derive from a deep-rooted misogyny. In Santiago’s purposeful narrowmindedness, a man is the epicentre of a woman’s life. Not being treated as such is considered a grave error and needs correcting. He’s the prideful despot who cannot fathom, or accept, rejection. One who cannot conceive of a world where he’s not given his due, as per the teachings of a society that views and treats women as second-class citizens, deserving of less and inferior to their masculine betters.

It’s all too clear Santiago’s worldview is also profoundly narcissistic, which makes his continued harassment of Fina even more disturbing. He genuinely believes he’s being magnanimous and merciful, extending his goodwill to her, the proverbial biblical sinner, so she can atone for her mistakes and be saved. In his own eyes, Santiago is a good man. In his misguided vanity, patronising and emboldened by a system that favours him at every turn, he even declares himself as such: a self-proclaimed saviour and Fina’s only path to salvation from a life of sin. Her sole path to redemption.

Truly, this character is utterly despicable and I cannot wait for him to eat dirt. But I also suspect he’ll cause more trouble until Fina and Marta are free of him for good. And while I’ll celebrate his demise with bells and whistles, I think the actor portraying this vile, sorry excuse for a man, is doing a spectacular job. They all are. Alba and Marta especially. Which is why this drama hit so hard when it made landfall. You feel Marta’s anguish and hopelessness, you experience Fina’s abject terror, you rage against Santiago’s condescending abuse.

That being rambled? Do I hate what Fina went through this episode? Wholeheartedly. It made me sick to my stomach, even as I’m grateful it ended with an attempt only. And damn, do I hate it’s necessary to show this nowadays because 2024 might as well be 1958 for many women still.

Also. I’m glad Marta didn’t have to ask Jesús for help, because she’d have never lived it down. Ultimately, I’m sure she would have done anything to liberate Fina from prison, even asking her older brother for help. But I’m glad the chosen path didn’t involve him. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised Damián rose to the occasion. He keeps learning how to support and love Marta and he’s one gray character whose evolution I’m quite enjoying.

And finally? Marta so at ease with Carmen and Claudia. They’ve come such a long way and it’s a joy to see. From Marta feeling like she didn’t belong, back in the day, to them all falling into a much needed group-hug, knowing they can always rely on each other. Fina’s friends are becoming Marta’s friends and I love, love, love their scenes together. Not to mention they’re all kinda related now too, which adds some much needed levity.

Remains to be seen how they deal with the stigma of this entire situation. Poor Fina might as well have been branded with a scarlet letter. Plenty more fires left to put out once she’s out of prison. On the bright side, they’ll know whom they can trust and whom they need to keep hiding from.

Hopefully though, on to greener pastures at some point. Preferably healing at the Mafinca. Slowly but surely. And always, always together.

#mafin #marta de la reina #fina valero #marta x fina #marta y fina #Marta #Fina #sdl #suenos de libertad #i have thoughts #and feelings #too many - in case it wasn’t rantingly obvious #meta #text post #q

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valiwrites · 15 hours ago

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if u wouldn’t mind I love ur Joao fics can u do one where he’s so down bad for her, like princess treatment and everything and how even his family knows he so in love and that this his HIS ONE like he finally found love (I’m sry I’m so specific)💋

the one

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ - joao felix

masterlist

summary: João is head over heels for you, and everyone knows it—especially his family, who tease him about how smitten he is. From pampering you endlessly to confessing under the stars that you’re his “one,” João makes it clear he’s found his forever in you.

João wasn’t exactly subtle when he was in love. He had a quiet nature, yes, but when it came to you? Every wall he’d ever built seemed to crumble. He wasn’t just in love—he was down bad, and everyone around him knew it.

You didn’t notice it at first. To you, João was sweet and attentive, always there when you needed him and constantly finding ways to make you feel special. You figured he was just naturally thoughtful. But then his brother Hugo pulled you aside one afternoon, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

“You realize he’s obsessed with you, right?” Hugo said, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

You blinked, taken aback. “Obsessed?”

“Completely,” Hugo confirmed, gesturing dramatically. “The guy can’t stop talking about you. It’s been months of 'Y/N likes this’ and ‘Y/N said that.’ He’s hopeless.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’s not that bad.”

Hugo just raised a brow. “You haven’t seen the way he looks at you, then. Trust me—this isn’t some fling for him. You’re the one.”

The one.

The words stayed with you long after Hugo left the room.

That evening, João came home from training, his hair damp from a post-practice shower. The moment he stepped through the door, his eyes searched for you. When he spotted you curled up on the couch, his entire face lit up.

“There you are,” he said softly, crossing the room in just a few strides.

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked, settling next to you and immediately pulling you into his arms. “You look... thoughtful.”

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should bring up what Hugo said. But when you looked at João, his brown eyes so full of quiet adoration, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Hugo said you’re obsessed with me,” you teased, watching his reaction closely.

João’s ears turned pink almost instantly, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he ducked his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” you admitted, your voice softening. “It’s just... true?”

João laughed, low and warm, and pulled you even closer. “I can’t help it,” he said, his tone as earnest as ever. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a gentle wave, warm and steady. He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The thing about João was that he didn’t just say he loved you—he showed it.

On days when you were feeling overwhelmed, João would swoop in like your personal knight in shining armor. He’d run you a bath, light your favorite candles, and bring you snacks without you even asking.

When you walked into the room, he stood up. When you spoke, he listened with his full attention, as though nothing else mattered.

“Do you want me to carry that?” he asked one day, reaching for the grocery bags in your hands.

“João, I can handle it,” you said, though you didn’t resist when he gently plucked them from your grasp.

“I know you can,” he said, flashing you a boyish grin. “But I want to.”

He opened doors for you, remembered the little things you said in passing, and looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

And then there was the way his family treated you.

João’s mother was the first to pull you aside, her expression soft as she spoke. “You know,” she said in Portuguese, “I’ve never seen him like this before. João... he’s always been loving, but with you? He’s different. Happier.”

Her words warmed you from the inside out.

Hugo, on the other hand, couldn’t stop teasing João.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” Hugo said one evening, elbowing João in the ribs as you walked into the kitchen.

João just shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good.”

Hugo groaned dramatically. “You’re so soft.”

“I don’t care,” João replied, his gaze fixed on you as you laughed at something his mom said. “She’s worth it.”

One evening, as the two of you sat outside under the stars, João turned to you with a serious expression.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What is it?” you asked, suddenly nervous.

João reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” he began, his words slow and careful. “About us. And I just... I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone the way I love you,” he continued, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re it for me, Y/N. You’re my one.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you didn’t even try to stop them. “João,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He smiled, soft and full of hope. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

But you did have something to say. Leaning in, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I love you, too.”

João’s breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like the world stood still. Then he pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the universe.

And in that moment, you knew you were home.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#football #football x oc #football x reader #football x y/n #football x you #joao felix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x y/n #joao felix x you #barcelona spain #barcelona x reader #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #barcelona women #barca #fc barca

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purrlockswatson · 17 hours ago

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Phantom of the Opera (1990), you did Erik proud

Alternate title: Christine, we have beef!

(Meme inspired by this post.)

I have not a bad word for this Erik (and not just because I can feel a certain friend of mine holding a chandelier over my head). The 1990 adaptation made some big changes to the story, but it perfectly captured the childlike soul of Leroux's Erik that is often lost in translation but vital to him. (When I was explaining POTO to someone outside the situation, i. e. my mum, two things I kept using as comparisons were a child and Gollum - not because he's a chaos gremlin, I was trying to describe how he has a skewered perspective of the world that isn't evil but doesn't follow the accepted moral system. But that's for another time.)

I found myself trying very hard not to resent Christine - a first time for me. I will defend her choosing the Compte de Chagny over Erik, she doesn't owe Erik love, no matter what he did for her. The problem is that she took on a responsibility she couldn't possibly carry.

Never, ever assume to fully understand someone. Especially someone like Erik, who thinks and exists on a different pane as most people. Christine was wrong, terribly wrong, to assume she 'knew his heart.'

When faced with a person so sensitive, so particular, when being the one person trusted by a person who trusts no one, don't make huge gambles like that. She shouldn't have assumed she knew what Erik needs better than he does - he told you he is happy with where they were, then stay there with him! Instead, she pulled the 'I can fix him' and shattered him completely. I don't hate her for being unable to catch Erik when he falls, I hate her for blindly promising to catch him and failing him.

(I do realise how much of the above describes myself and my worries about how people treat me, so fair warning, I may be a bit biased.)

An opinion: in every version, Erik emotionally manipulates Christine but here, Christine is the one who is emotionally manipulative. ('Manipulative' may sound malicious, but manipulators aren't always aware of what they're doing.)

In the second part of the series, she said at least three times 'If you love me...' Now, that is one of my least favourite sentences to see and hear in the best of times, but this is somehow even worse because Erik DOES do everything because he loves her. In other versions, there is the question of obsession against love when it comes to their relationship; in that context, I would accept her saying this. But here, Erik is not possessive.

As for Monsieur Carrière, I have beef with him too. An even bigger, tougher slice of beef. He is proved to be irresponsible: not once, but twice, he got in relationships and then left this partners when they have children. First time could be a mistake; the second time, especially when kept Erik's mother in the dark about his marriage, is inexcusable. Yes, he stayed with her till the end, but then left their son in a basement. Yes, he reached out to Erik in the end, but too little, too late. If Erik is emotional and irrational, it's because Carrière never gave him the guidance he should have.

Christine and Carrière love Erik, I don't doubt it. But it's still painful to see Erik fall down through everyone and everything that should have caught him: his talent, his parents, Christine.

If you'll excuse me, I need to cry in the catacombs and draw something miserable.

#phantom of the opera #poto #poto 1990 #erik poto #erik the phantom #christine daee #charles dance #phandom #cats #art #artists on tumblr

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thatnonameuser · 1 day ago

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You’ve brought up the darlings of the Great Seven before, and of course we saw the King of Hearts having a Terrible Time, but I was especially intrigued by a detail about the Sorcerer of the Scalding Sands/Jafar’s background. How his managed to escape by the skin of her teeth (Kudos to Jasmin btw!) and if there was still the same pressure of her to marry before a certain age amongst a flurry of suitors.

I was curious how the yandere and darling system could be shown with the story of Aladdin, like if Aladdin could have been a darling like her (strengthening his goal to present as a prince for Jasmin, and furthering the struggle for them to be together) and if it is a taboo, but thrilling legend of forbidden love amongst the locals. And if the Cave of Wonders became the mystical cave to retrieve a treasure for a beloved, or if it was modeled after the famed place of legend.

Also curious to the Righteous Judge’s own legend, and if a certain gargoyle could admit some less savory details history books didn’t include…

Alright. When I first wrote about the darlings of the Great Seven, I wrote that meaning the stories were the first record of yandere behavior, and after that it started to become way more common in the years following it.

Warning for the part about the Righteous Judge - the wording suggests an act of sexual violence, but it's two sentences and embolden and coloured in red like this so that you can avoid it, if it's a problem. I'm not sure what everyone's limits are at the moment. 😅

Therefore, back then, Jafar’s behavior as a yandere would be considered horrific. Jasmine’s rejection of suitors is just her wanting to find love rather than marrying out of obligation. It doesn’t really change the story much, because instead of Jafar doing everything that he does to get the throne, he’s doing it to get Jasmine, the throne is just an accompaniment.

Jasmine escaping the palace and meeting Aladdin, and maybe being yandere for one another (And Genie being platonic for Aladdin maybe) is what led to the story being popularized.

But I actually really like the idea that these stories are being changed to match the ideals of a world where yanderes are already accepted and encouraged. So I’ll write it like that.

In the rewriting of the original tale, Aladdin is a yandere like Jafar. And Jasmine either way is a darling. Jafar used his powers to manipulate the Sultan, so that he could marry her. And Jasmine never trusted him, because obviously his behavior creeped her out. And she wanted to see the world other than marry, like most darlings do, but obviously she was put in danger and was saved by another yandere, Aladdin.

Obviously Aladdin tries to become a prince so that he can be with Jasmine, but it’s not just love that fuels him in this adaptation, it’s obsession. Jasmine doesn’t warm up to him much like in the story, because of her having to deal with another yandere.

Anyway, typical Aladdin story things happen, Jafar gets caught mind-controlling Jasmine’s father, blah, blah, blah….. And Jafar sends Aladdin to the end of the world and tries to make Jasmine fall hopelessly in love with him, and she fakes it to save her own neck before Jafar tries to mind control her into submission. And she uses it to help Aladdin defeat him. But Jafar also subscribes to the if I can’t have them, then no one can. So trapping her in an hourglass and trying to kill her still happens.

Anyway, Jasmine ends up with Aladdin in the end, now entrapped with Aladdin as her yandere that’s stuck with her for the rest of her life.

Instead of being a tale of free love between yanderes and darlings, the story is warped to entrap Jasmine to one of her yanderes. To some, who she should have ended up with is up for debate. Some think Aladdin deserved her, because he fought against all the current odds to be with Jasmine, his one true love. And some think Jafar should have had her, because of all his efforts to ensure that the princess stayed safe from harm and rivals and the fact he loved her longer. (In that adaptation, Jasmine ends up with Jafar against her will and it’s a lesson to why yanderes need to be tough with their darlings despite their wishes and desires). You can guess whose side Kalim and Jamil were on when they first heard it, spoiler alert, it’s not the same one.

Jasmine’s place is all of this is lost on whether or not she was willing or who she really loved. It’s said that she loved Aladdin by some, losing her original reluctance to yanderes and love. And others, interpret her words to Jafar in the tale as her loving him (because remember the original story has been adapted). It depends on the storyteller, and who’s listening.

While the tale itself is a romance that evolved to meet the standard of the yandere-world, many facets of the original tale have adapted to meet the modern world’s expectations.

The believed to be lost Cave of Wonders was mimicked by a group of merchants in a cave close to an oasis in the desert believed to be a branch of the once lost cave due to its magical energy. Many people host their engagement parties to their darlings there, eager to do its test and bring their darling a beautiful and enchanted jewel as a present to represent their undying love.

* * * *

As for the Righteous Judge…….

The Just and Righteous Judge met his darling in the Festival of Fools. Watching that beautiful Romani dance enchanted him and when she approached him and gifted him with her scarf, he fell head over heels.

But at first, he hid his sinful desires. Believing his yandere desires to be a temptation he should not fall for. But the more and more he met that beautiful Romani, she tempted him more and more. He gave in at times, smelling her hair and trying to kill her allies if it meant getting his hands on her.

He wasn’t completely in the wrong either, with the way the Dancer lived her life, she needed to save her before someone else stole her. The Dancer needed salvation, choosing her licentious and whorish life where others could snatch her up and devour her….. His intentions were pure in comparison.

But the more she denied him, the worse his control wavered. And eventually, it finally snapped after recapturing her after her final escape. He decided then and there that he would give her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Either be his or burn on a pyre. Be led to salvation or burn surrounded by heretics who could never understand them.

She at first refused him still, (Which saddened him because how could she pick death over a life with him. Was he so bad for desiring someone so perfect?) But as the flames got closer and the smoke got thicker, her resolve broke. She chose him over death. And he made the flames threatening his darling dancer be extinguished within seconds of the words falling from her panicked lips.

That night, he had her dance for him and deflowered her. (Surprised to find her a virgin, Pleasantly satisfied that she was one)

Made her his and led her to the gates of salvation where she was safe and loved, away from the heretics that once misunderstood and hated her. While she rejected him at first, she later (much later, too much later after months high up in the towers of Notre Dame with only the gargoyles, and him obviously, for company) accepted her place, saved from those among the sinful, judgemental and unrighteous.

The stories the gargoyles could tell about her life back then; the tears they watched her shed up there all alone, the furious yelling and screaming she sent towards the Judge, and the eventual acceptance after six years of loneliness.

But the Righteous Judge wrote out a better history for yanderes and a worse one for darlings. The Righteous Judge made sure that it was taught that the urge to have a darling for themselves was a terrible thing…….. If you weren’t repentant. If you were, then do whatever. Take them for yourselves, make them your own and never let them go. Lead them to the light of salvation, even if they’re unwilling.

And the sinful and heretics were taught the lies fed to them by the Righteous Judge, believing his words were law. So even when the Dancer tried to run, many didn’t believe her claims and tried to return her to the Judge no matter how much she kicked and screamed.

Fleur City believes in these practices even into the modern day. And gargoyles of back then, could share their stories of all the darlings brought back to the bell tower, the tears shed, the screams of terror, pain and rage echoing alongside the bells, and then the eventual reluctance and acceptance in exchange for limited freedoms.

The City of Flowers holds many tales of love and even more tales of tears. That all started with the Dancer who seduced the Righteous Judge from the Festival of Fools.

Hope you like it! 😀

#ask response #i love asks #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au #yandere

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