#but to act like this makes him a good father? a good person?

[sanguineterrain]

knight in shining helmet | jason todd

Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!reader 

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.

the divider

You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life. 

You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with. 

“Unhand me!” you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. “You'll be executed for this!”

You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught. 

“Batman will find you,” you add. “He'll save me.” You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him. 

That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. “If he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.”

“I am a priority guest in this city, of course he would—”

“Shut her up,” the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You don’t want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.

You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to fear: what if Batman doesn't reach you in time? 

That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious. 

When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.

You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. You’re alone, which confuses you.

Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.

The good news is that your kidnappers aren’t here. The bad news is that the reason they aren’t here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they don’t get the ransom they’re no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham. 

Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. You’re going to die.

But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.

They’ll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. You’re the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you. 

Yes, you’ll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and you’ll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. That’ll be very nice. 

You’ll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure. 

The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If it’s your kidnapper, you want to act like you’re still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didn’t catch the whole film, though—you were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d watched the whole film!

As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that he’s a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.

“‘Lo?” asks a gruff voice. “Anybody here?”

You shout through your gag. You can’t make out a face, but it’s alright. Relief floods you. You’re saved.

Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a… red helmet? With glowing eyes?

Wait a minute.

“Holy shit,” Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. “Y’okay?”

Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.

"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.

"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. “You don’t look very happy to see me, all things considered.”

“I don’t want your help!” you say, wriggling away from him. “I’m in an alliance with The Batman!”

He tilts his head. “‘S that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?”

“I am not a beauty pageant contestant,” you say hotly. “I am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.”

He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.

“Princess, huh?” Hood nods. “Ah, yeah. I heard somethin’ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that I’d run into ya.”

“You mean, you weren’t actively looking for me?” you ask in a small voice. 

“Nope. You’ve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here ‘cause I smelled motor oil.” 

Now that he’s found you, what does he plan to do?

“Are… are you going to release me?” you ask.

“Depends. Is this place rigged to blow?”

“My dress,” you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesn’t seem wrapped up too tightly. 

“Hm?” Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. “Damn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.”

His praise doesn’t comfort you, oddly enough.

“Is it live?” you ask.

“Doesn’t look like it. And I’ve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.”

Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view. 

“Who were they?” he asks.

“Who was who?”

“The people that took you.”

“I don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,” you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.

“Mm.”

Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you. 

Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."

“I don’t work for the Bats,” he says, an edge to his words.

“Well, I don’t feel comfortable with you rescuing me,” you say. “You’re a criminal.”

Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.”

He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.

"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"

But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.

"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"

You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.

You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.

"Are you cryin'?"

Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded. 

"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.

He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.”

You look away. "You left me.”

"I did,” he says. “But as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."

"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."

He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your ankles—a feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."

He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you don’t want to throw up. Success! 

“Anything hurt?” he asks. 

“My legs,” you say miserably. 

“Okay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?”

“Um�� no.”

“Fantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.” 

You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.

“I don’t give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.”

You huff. “You expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.”

“And what am I s’posed to do about that?” Hood asks. “I look like a Payless to you?”

“I don’t know what that is,” you say. “Don’t you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. I’ll catch a virus! You’ll have to carry me.”

Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure. 

“Oh my God! Highness, you’re a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I don’t carry anybody unless they’re unconscious and I like ‘em a lot. It’s a short list.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m a guest in your city, and I’ve been kidnapped! The least you can do—”

“The least I can do is leave you to rot here,” Hood says, tone cutting. “Or let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You aren’t in whatever palace they carted you out of; you’re in fuckin’ Gotham, and if y’want my help, you’re gonna suck it up and walk.”

You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle. 

“You don't have to be so mean,” you say, voice watery. “I’ve had a difficult night.” 

It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger. 

“...Look, I think I got some spare boots,” Hood finally says. “Stay here.”

“Where would I go?” you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesn’t reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots. 

“Used?!” you ask, voice high.

“Lightly, Your Majesty. They’re my spares. Here.”

Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like he’s flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.

“Time’s a-ticking, princess. I’m on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. He’ll find ya. Eventually.”

So you put on the boots. 

You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket. 

He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing. 

“Got it?” he asks, arms slipping away. 

You definitely don’t have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back. 

“Whoa. Easy.” Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. “Look a'me. Look—stop fighting, Jesus Christ.”

“This is no way to treat a princess!”

“Yeah, I missed that day of training,” he says dryly. “Stay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.” 

“Your grip hurts!”

Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.

“Seems like you’re still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. Now…”

Hood steps back, but not so far that you can’t grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover. 

“So that’s not gonna work.” He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen. 

“What on earth are you doing with that?” you ask, taking a small step backwards.

“Cutting your dress,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

You gasp, backing away. “No you will not!”

“Princess—”

“This dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonight’s gala. You’re not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!” 

“Is it worth more than your life?” Hood snaps. “I don’t have any spare clothes and I’m not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.”

You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isn’t as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.

“Bike?” you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. You’ll grieve for your dress privately.

“Mmhm.”

“I thought you had a Batmobile.”

“That’s Batman’s car. Hence the name. I have a bike ‘cause I’m a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Can’t we take a taxi? Or call a car service?”

Hood snorts. “No one’s driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. It’s my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.”

He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hood’s strides are long and you’re unsteady in his too-big boots.

“Can you please slow down? These boots are enormous!”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. It’s a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. You’ve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enough—why remove the comfort and protection of a car?

Hood’s bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused. 

“Hasn’t killed me yet, and I’ve been dead once.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

“You’ll be fine,” Hood says at your silence. “I’ll go slow.”

“Alright,” you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. “Very slow.”

“Yeah, yeah, very slow. C’mon.”

Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him. 

Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesn’t work.

“Yo, Bambi. This century would be good.”

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle!” you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. “You could help me.”

“For fuck's—” 

Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain you’re about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you don’t bang into him as you sit. 

“What is wrong with you?” you hiss, smoothing down your dress.

“Re-lax, I didn’t see anything.”

“This is highly undignified—”

“Yeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?”

“No.”

“Mm. Hold my waist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all ya want.” Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. He’s warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. “You’re drugged and unsteady. If y’don’t hold on, you’re gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.”

“Go slow,” you say again, obediently holding his waist.

“Yeah, I’ll go slow,” he says. 

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.

True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. You’re able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. You’re definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.

You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom you’ve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous. 

But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.

Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. That’s when another biker turns onto the road behind you. 

“Shit,” Hood says, and you’re startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. It’s like he’s in your head. “We’re being tailed.”

Well, that’s not good. You turn around briefly but you can’t make out your follower; you’re too scared to move on the bike.

But then you hear the bike behind you speed up. 

“Motherfucker,” Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip. 

“Hold on,” he says, like you'd do anything otherwise. 

Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and you’d prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.

“We lose him?” he asks when the road levels off and it doesn’t feel so much like you’re on a rollercoaster.

“Um…” you begin, and chance turning around.

It’s clear for a few seconds until…

Well, to echo Hood’s sentiment: motherfucker.

“He’s there!” you yell, and Hood growls.

“The helmets are mic’d, you don’t have to shout,” he says, leaning into a left turn. 

“I see him!” you say, and grab one of Hood’s holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hood’s neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words you’ve never even heard. 

The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign. 

“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand. 

But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.

“He’s gone! We’ve lost him!” you say happily. 

“Are you insane?” 

You wince at his volume. “The helmets are mic’d, you know.”

“You’re so—”

Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask, putting out your arms. “We lost him!”

“No, we didn’t. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But that’s not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You don’t know how to use a gun and you could’ve hurt yourself.”

You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isn’t wrong, he’s just… loud about it.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps. 

You don't reply. 

“I need a yes.”

“...I wanted to help.”

Hood sighs. “Yeah, well… just don’t. I’m good at what I do and I’ll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. “I'm sorry, Red Hood.”

You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful. 

It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, “Don't cry.”

Your jaw works as you swallow hard. “I'm not.” You turn your head so he won't see.  

“Christ on toast,” he mumbles above you. “This is exactly why I don't do rescue missions—”

You sniffle. “I'm not crying.”

“—’Cause I'm the world's biggest asshole,” he finishes, voice miles softer. 

Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other. 

“Look, ‘m a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.” 

You rub your eyes. “I don't like yelling.” 

“Yeah,” Hood says quietly. “Okay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you can’t pull stunts like that. Deal?”

You nod. “I won't fire any more of your guns.”

He snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’d you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, y’didn’t do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.”

“My father wanted me to learn gun sports,” you say. “I learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I don’t condone killing animals for sport.”

“Uncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?” You think you detect a smile in his question. 

“Everything has its exceptions,” you say primly. 

“Ain't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, ‘scuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.”

Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle. 

“How far are we from my hotel?” you ask.

“‘Bout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,” he says apologetically. “Wasn’t planning to save lost princesses tonight.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?”

“Pretty and funny,” Hood says. “You're the whole package, beauty queen.”

Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen. 

“Pardon me,” you say, mortified. 

“What, ‘cause you're hungry?” Hood asks. “‘S a normal human condition.”

“You don't know anything about royal manners,” you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public. 

“No, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.” 

“Showing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,” you say. 

“Being a princess sounds exhausting.”

No arguments there. 

Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down. 

“There's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,” he says. “I'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys won’t be far behind.”

“A seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!” you say. 

“I’m… glad you're so excited about convenience stores?”

“I saw it in a film once. My father didn’t catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.”

“I know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,” Hood says. “Wait, did you say your dad didn’t catch you?”

You hum. “He doesn’t like me watching films that aren’t pre-approved.”

“Wow. Y’know, I could pirate you some movies if y’want. I know a great website for it.”

You laugh. “That’s alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that he’s older.”

“Pretty sneaky, beauty queen.” He sounds impressed. 

You shrug, trying to hide your pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax. 

“Red!” a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.

“Hope you’re listening to your ma,” Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone else—to you—it would be unnerving. 

But the boy grins. “I am!”

“Then why aren't ya in bed, huh?” 

The boy shrugs. “Not tired. Who's the lady?”

“The lady is a princess, so be nice,” Hood says.

“Whoa!” The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window. 

“Mom!” he yells. “Red Hood found a princess!”

You giggle as Hood leads you away. 

He shakes his head. “Kids.” He sounds terribly fond. 

You stare at his back for a moment. 

“They like you,” you say. “You keep them safe. But you're also a friend.”

“Helps to earn their trust,” he says gruffly. 

You walk a little more in silence. 

“I was wrong about you, Hood,” you say. He doesn't look at you. 

“Lotta people are. Nothin’ new.” 

No, it probably isn't. 

“‘Kay, here we are. C’mon. We gotta be fast, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, following him into the 7-Eleven. 

“Hey, Benny,” Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.

Benny nods. “Long night?”

“You got no idea.” He gestures to you. “She’s a princess.”

“Sweet,” Benny says. “What’s up?”

“How do you do?” you say politely. 

Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.

“I have had a hot dog before,” you say. “I’m not that sheltered.”

“Yeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.”

“Well, you’ve gotten me this far, so I suppose I’ll trust you,” you say.

“I’m flattered. Benny, my usual.”

Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ‘roller’ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.

“Why is it that color?” you ask.

“Tasty chemicals,” Hood says cheerily. “It won’t kill ya, I promise.”

“That would be counterintuitive at this point,” you say. 

“I appreciate your faith in me, princess.”

You return to Benny, who rings up the food. “Five twenty-seven.”

Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.

“What?” you ask.

“This is the part where you pay,” he says.

“A princess never carries money on her person,” you say, like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“You–” Hood looks at Benny and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door. 

“Thank you, kind sir!” you say as Hood waves. 

“See ya, Ben.”

You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.

“I’m not a cupholder,” he says, but he takes the cup anyway.

“It’s warm!” you say, delighted. “Let me take a bite.”

Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.

“Good?” he asks.

“I like it,” you say. “It’s unusual. Is this chicken?”

“So they say,” Hood says. “Try the slushie.”

You take the cup and first take a small sip. It’s cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.

“This is wonderful,” you say. 

He laughs. “Yup. Told ya, nothin’ like this combo. It’s a classic. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly. 

“This is just like Roman Holiday,” you say.

Hood snorts. “I don’t think we watched the same movie.”

“It has a likeness. You’re Gregory Peck.”

“Yeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. I’m Greg fuckin’ Peck.”

“No, you’re right. You’re much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?” you ask.

“Twenty-four.”

“Really? Why are you doing this?”

“Took a career test.”

You bump his shoulder. “Seriously, Hood. You’re young. You’ve so much potential. I can tell that you’re smart.”

“Maybe I like doing this,” he says.

You tut, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.”

“You’re just fulla charm, aren’t ya?” Hood says. 

Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” you say. “I guess I assumed…”

“Yeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And you’re wrong.”

“You made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and I’m not.”

Hood stops, turns. “Maybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said I’m not a criminal anymore. I help people.”

“I know that,” you say quietly. “I see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just… I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.”

He’s quiet for a bit. You keep walking. 

“I didn’t think you were stupid,” he eventually says.

You scoff. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Yeah, I thought you were a little… sheltered. But you’re smart. You’re certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.”

You roll your eyes. “He still thinks I’m six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.”

“Pretty shitty tour.”

You smile behind his back. “Oh, I don’t know. The tour guide is alright.”

Hood stops. When he doesn’t speak, you approach.

“Hood?”

He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.

That’s when you hear voices.

“—single fuckin’ clue. She could be in the fuckin’ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!”

“China’s on the other side, dumbass.”

You look up at Hood, eyes wide. 

Those are your kidnappers' voices.

He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down. 

You assume that means stay put and don’t try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.

Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own. 

“Nice night, ain’t it?” he says. 

The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.

“Hood, we weren’t doing nothin’!” one says.

“Yeah, Ricky and I are clean!”

“Oh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.”

“We was nowhere near the Plaza!” Ricky cries.

The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks. 

“You were gonna hurt her,” Hood says, and now there’s no trace of humor in his voice. “That poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckin’ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckin’ animals.”

“It wasn’t our idea, it was Bobby’s!” Ricky cries. 

“Shut up, Ricky!”

A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.

“The only reason I’m not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.” Hood leans in. “You’ll pay for hurting the princess. I’ll make sure of it.”

With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud. 

He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go. 

You look down at the unconscious bodies. “You don’t have to kill them.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience.”

“They kidnapped you. They would’ve hurt you had their boss ordered it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t want you to bear that burden, Hood.”

“‘S not a burden,” he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. “If it’ll make you feel better, safer, anything. It’s no burden.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.

“I’ll tie ‘em up and send for ‘em when we get back. One second.”

You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like they’re sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them. 

“So they can see what it feels like,” Hood says, dusting his hands. You can’t help your small smile. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. “I guess so.”

Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.

“Climb on my back.”

You blink. “Pardon me?”

“You’re pardoned.” Hood shrugs. “I can tell you’re tired. We don’t have far to go.”

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask. “All that way…”

“Princess, I’m honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. I’m more than capable.”

“But what about your rule?” you ask. “About carrying people.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad,” he says. “Get on ‘fore I change my mind.”

So you climb onto Hood’s back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Don’t choke me out,” he says. “Otherwise we’re both goin’ down.”

You smile and relax on his back. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You can’t complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike. 

You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago. 

And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hood’s solid figure lulls you to sleep. You don’t even realize until you’re being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness. 

“Hey.”

You’re gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hood’s shoulder.

Oh. Right. You’re on his back.

“Hm?” 

“Ride ends here,” he says. “We’re at the Plaza.”

“Oh.” Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You could’ve woken me! I—”

Hood holds up a hand. “Hey, chill out. ‘S fine. You had a long night, I get it.”

“Right. I, um…” You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog that’s settled over the city. You wonder what Hood’s windows look like. 

“I’m gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll kick his ass, at the very least.”

You look at Hood, blinking. “Oh. That’s very nice of you, thank you.”

He shrugs. “‘S my job.”

You nod clumsily. “Right, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?”

He snorts. You smile shyly. 

“Cute,” he says, but he’s not being mean. “No, that’s okay. I’m pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.”

“Surely there’s something—”

“Seriously, princess, no charge.”

You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.

“What about a kiss?”

At first, you think Hood hasn’t heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you. 

“Ex-cuse me?”

“Um.” You scratch your neck. “Well, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, don’t they?” you ask, but it’s weak. It’s stupid. You’re so young.

You think he’s going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.

“I’m sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,” you blurt.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didn’t have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.

“Wasn’t terrible or wasn’t a joke?” you ask, blood roaring in your ears.

Hood’s quiet. 

“Haven’t done much kissing, to be honest with ya,” he finally says, not answering your question. 

You shake your head. “Nor I.”

“Mm. And y’wanna kiss me? Don’t offer ‘cause you think you owe me.”

“I want to kiss you, Hood.”

He tilts his head. “Y’wouldn’t be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.”

You frown. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m no Greg Peck. And I’m no hero either.”

“Do you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?”

“You’re the first one who’s wanted to,” he says.

You inhale sharply. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You don’t. Neither does he.

“Can’t believe a princess wants to kiss me,” he mumbles.

And then he covers your eyes with his hand.

You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud. 

Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though he’s covering them, out of respect.

His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesn’t know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what you’ve seen others do and what you’ve watched on television.

You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears. 

“Your Highness? Your Highness!”

The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.

Your lips tingle with heat. It’s all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress. 

You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.

Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. “Can you hear me? Doctor, I need a—”

“I’m fine,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m alright, Father.”

He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.

“I am so glad you’re alright,” he says. “The police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?”

“No, not at all,” you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. “He was my hero.”

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

Idk I don't really think I need to specify but assuming I'm right it's like this;

Sympathetic - you can sympathize with the decision. Maybe you once made that decision yourself, and are familiar with the consequences. You might not support it, but you have a personal understanding of why someone would do it.

Example: the character is put under a lot of pressure and says something they don't really mean - you don't like it, but you're familiar

Understandable - you can understand why the decision was made. Colloquially it tends to mean you find the choice agreeable, but generally you at least understand the logic behind it and believe the character would and SHOULD have acted in that way, in that situation, based on the character itself.

Example: it's understandable that Zuko (from Avatar: The Last Airbender) would agree with hunting Aang down, as the way he was brought up guaranteed he would focus his trauma in a direction that can "fix" his relationship with his father

Reasonable - the decision has a reasoning behind it that you believe to be sound, one way or the other. Like with the previous words, there's a degree of nuance, as "reasonable" tends to mean you agree with it, but it could just as well mean that the characters internal reasons for doing it are consistent with the story and considered a normal response in-universe

Example: it's normal for a Hunter (from Bloodborne) to kill Beasts - that's what the order was made for - but any regular person would likely struggle to do so when they learn the Beasts are just transformed people. Thus, it's reasonable for a Hunter to Hunt, just like it's reasonable for the regular Yharnamites to hide in their houses and not open the door, no matter what

Objectively the best solution - feelings are irrelevant in this one. It is what it says on the package; we might not like it, the characters might not like it, but at the time it was by far the best solution - not necessarily a good one, but the best one available.

Example: in the Shadow of the Erdtree DLC for Elden Ring, the main antagonist is revealed to be Miquella, a character who we don't meet in the main game but who is famous for his intellect, eternal youth (in body and mind) and his extreme charisma, coupled with his Charm, which he's had from birth. Being a kind-hearted child, he always looked for ways to make everyone, and I mean everyone, get along. To help everyone. To do the right thing. In the DLC, he realizes all his efforts thus far were useless, and so turns to a measure generally considered extreme and vile, but to this literal child it only makes sense - if he can become a god, he can use his charm to make everyone get along - by brainwashing the whole world. For some of the characters, it's only practical; if everyone gets along, even if by such means, everyone gets to be happy. No more wars. No more starvation, no more oppression, no more pain and suffering. Miquella promises a thousand year voyage guided by compassion; he can actually deliver on that promise. Alas, the story demands you kill him, and while it does chafe my own morality, I think it would have been interesting if we could join him... Oh well. You can always just get hit by the grab attack twice. That sort of counts, right? Though it only results in a modified "You Died" screen.... Anyway! For the goal of "world peace" it is, by far, indeed the best possible solution ever thought up. People would literally be UNABLE to not get along nicely. It would be an unprecedented age of peace, harmony and love. But it's a solution that, ironically, ignores the most important part to all this: the heart. Forcing people to get along, no matter how much they'll eventually accept it, is wrong and, at its core, false. There is no such thing as a perfect happy ending.

One thing i've run up against when dealing with fandom and characters making less than ideal choices is that people seem to treat a character's decision being sympathetic, the decision being understandable, the decision being reasonable, and it being objectively the best solution for the situation, as synonymous. When those are 4 very different things.

[respectthepetty]

Gosh I’m so curious about your insight into why Juyeong removed his cross again in episode 6 and how Dohoe noticed it and became upset. I am so confused

IT'S ABOUT GOD!

Okay, gather 'round, you heathens (affectionately)! Let me school you in religious righteousness and shame.

Although I questioned if what Ju Yeong wore was a cross,

If it is a cross, Ju Yeong took it off BEFORE he confessed to Do Hoe.

He was using that moment to confess not only his love for Do Hoe, but also his sin.

So now, act like you were raised in a super religious family and truly believe that Jesus Christ is your Lord and savior who died horribly on the cross, so YOU could get into heaven one day.

That's right! God sacrificed his only son, so YOU wouldn't have to go to hell.

It's a heavy cross to bear, the weight of knowing someone died for your sins. Someone scarified their child, so you could have eternal happiness. God condemned his only son to be executed for you.

However, the catch is that you cannot sin in order to get into heaven.

You have to obey your parents.

You can't commit murder.

You can't idolize anyone above God for there is only one God, and he willingly allowed his son to be killed FOR YOU!

Oh, and you cannot lie because that's a slippy slope to hell.

So, once again, imagine you are that boy who wears a cross necklace and truly believes you will go to hell for your sins, so when you confess to the boy you like, you take off the necklace, because God should not bear witness to this offense.

But then, you sacrifice your body for that boy to be happy. You also take care of that boy's father to make up for the sin. You become the prodigal son, so the boy you like can live in eternal happiness even if it's without you.

And you keep wearing the cross, so God is with you in all you do and He will see the good in your heart.

God is with you always, in everything you do because the necklace is always on as a reminder of the one time you liked a boy and almost sent both of you to an earthly and eternal hell.

But the thing is, we know Ju Yeong takes the necklace off, and so does Do Hoe.

So how must that feel to Do Hoe to know that Ju Yeong removes his necklace when he is with him? How must that come across? Probably as if Ju Yeong carries shame about Do Hoe, or specifically about their relationship with each other and that Ju Yeong does not see what is between them as godly, but rather sinful, shameful, and even more, wrong.

When Do Hoe told the truth about the night of the incident, he looked at Ju Yeong's neck.

And it could come across as sexual, like he wants to kiss or touch Ju Yeong after such a brutally honest moment or when it's snowing, but in the context of the argument, that is an odd time to fantasize about wanting someone in such a sexual way.

But it's because Do Hoe is looking for the necklace. And it's there.

Ju Yeong had it on the first time he kissed Do Hoe, but he didn't wear it when they kissed in the van nor during their first time, so Do Hoe is checking to see if it's okay to kiss him now, with the necklace on.

Because if the necklace is off, he knows Ju Yeong will allow himself to be selfish, abandon God, and accept the sin.

But that has to be a fucking awful feeling, no?

To believe that you, a person who probably lied about your schooling and now sit in a fancy apartment with your nice car and cushy job because of that lie, are in love with a man who is so morally righteous that even your relationship with him is so sinful that he has to take off his cross and forsake God to be near you.

Once again, Ju Yeong could not be wearing a cross, but imagine being a liar in love with a saint.

Hell, I'd hate myself too.

@heretherebedork, @benkaben, @chicademartinica, @anxiouswannabe90skid

[bambi-kinos]

I've heard Paul say that Linda and John have something in common. What do you think about this ? What's the difference between Paul's love for Linda and his love for John?

Paul likes people who are good at getting what they want. John had that in spades, Linda lied her way into being a photographer, even Heather Mills was good at that since she had to bounce back from losing her leg. That is probably one of the big things Linda and John had in common, they wanted to live their lives on their own terms. Paul is someone who would have lived his life completely on rails until he found John so that's a quality he would admire immensely.

I think Linda, John and Heather also did something that no one else in Paul's life was willing to do: they validated his anger. John said "your father is fucking awful let's get the fuck out of here." Linda said "your bandmates are fucking awful let's get the fuck out of here."

When it comes to Heather, there's a few articles from that era talking about how Paul is visibly angrier than usual and it brings to mind this quote from Brian:

Paul is endowed with an immense talent, he hides a great inner tenderness and a formidable sensitivity under angry outside. In my opinion, it is the one that most appeals to strangers, autograph hunters, fans and even other artists. He has a beautiful smile and a formidable enthusiasm that he uses, not to be laughed at, but because he knows that these are assets that can make people around him happy.

...Therefore, I do not take into account his mood swings and hold him in high esteem. I would not want to lose his friendship under any circumstances.” - Brian Epstein, A Cellarful of Noise, 1964.

It's interesting that Brian saw an angry outside to Paul when we would not call Paul angry. But Brian saw more than most and saw Paul's rough side and tl;dr I think that's what Brian is referencing here. I think that Heather Mills saw that in Paul and said "stop acting like you're not an angry person, why are you repressing this?"

Linda had a saying for Paul as well: "it's allowed." She didn't judge him for having feelings. When Paul was starting out with John, John didn't judge him for having feelings either.

I think the difference between Paul's love for Linda and his love for John is that Paul trusted Linda more. John was someone that Paul loved deeply but by the time Linda came along, Paul could only safely love John from a distance. The LSD hysteria, the heroine, the Yoko shit, it was all too much and Paul couldn't keep standing next to the blast furnace. Who fucking would? It's not fair but the addict's lot in life is to drive away everyone who loves them until they are alone.

Linda was someone more worldly and she already survived a failed marriage. John at that point was prone to severe mood swings and hysterical outbursts; Linda notably was not. When you're in Paul's situation and you see a sane person who isn't calling himself Jesus Christ reborn and who isn't trying to foist some weird avante garde artist on you? You cling to that lifeboat. Linda wasn't going to stab Paul in the back for money, she wasn't going to call Paul's lawyer racial slurs, she didn't bitch and whine that everyone was an evil racist that was trying to stop her from being with her twoo wuv. Linda in many ways was very similar to pre-drug addiction John Lennon: she knew what she wanted and she went after it.

Paul was able to love her up close because he trusted her more and because she demonstrated that he could trust her. Paul did love John but it was something he did at a distance which frankly was the only thing he could possibly do. John was a black hole of vanity and selfishness that was dragging everyone down with him which is why George got out while he could and Ringo made sure to live far away.

Part of John and Paul coming back together would have included John getting sober and proving that he could stay sober, that he was committed to sobriety for sobriety's sake, and that he wasn't going to go off the rails trying to sabotage Paul's career while Paul was trying to provide for his children. Otherwise Paul should have and would have kept a distance and refused to commit to anything interesting. I think Paul learned his lesson when he showed up to the Dakota and John turned him away saying "you can't just show up like its Liverpool in the 1950s."

That's another key difference between Paul loving Linda and loving John. Linda actually wanted Paul around, John didn't. Paul loved Linda actively and loved John passively.

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

I WAS NEVER THERE - PART 2

FIRST CONVERSATION

Summary: Steve returned to the 1940s to find the life he thought he wanted. But desire has its own plans—and he’s found someone who knows exactly how to feed it.

Paring:  Steve Rogers/Reader Steve/Peggy

Warning: 18+ mature dark themes. Smut, Drama, Romance, BitterSweet / Possessive / Obsessive behaviour, Cheating.

STORY MASTERLIST

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact. 

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Steal my writing or the writing of others and karma will get ya.

You're good at hiding your emotions.

Your father always said it was a strength, something that set you apart. He taught you from a young age that showing too much emotion was as good as surrendering—that real control was the ability to stay calm when others couldn't.

"The world's full of people who wear their hearts on their sleeves," he'd say, his voice steady and detached, mirroring his personality. "Don't be one of them."

So you learned to keep your face neutral, your movements contained, to never let anyone see what might unsettle you. In rooms like this, where some of the brightest minds in the world gather, every glance and gesture carries weight. You know how to keep yourself level-headed and unreadable, as though nothing could shake you.

But tonight—just one month after that first dinner with Steve—your composure is slipping. The penthouse hums with the low thrum of voices, the same people spinning through familiar cycles of conversation. The air is thick with practiced smiles and thinly veiled gossip, a parade of familiarity that would almost feel comforting if it weren’t so stifling.

As you scan the room, it takes effort to keep your gaze from lingering on him for too long.

You sip from your glass, forcing yourself to act as though you’re just as invested in the evening as everyone else here.

Nancy, across the room, is already the center of attention, her laughter bubbling over exaggerated stories, while Peggy glides through the party like an effortless beacon, all grace and charm. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed countless times, nothing here should feel unusual.

But tonight, it does.

Steve stands beside Peggy, the very image of loyalty and composure, but something is off.

His gaze shifts through the room, his focus finding you each time, resting on you for just a beat too long—a quiet intensity that makes it harder to breathe, harder to maintain the ease you’ve so carefully cultivated.

You know he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. And he knows it, too.

Your pulse quickens and though you keep your focus on the nearest conversation, your thoughts are drawn back to him, to that piercing gaze.

It’s unnerving, this silent exchange, hidden beneath a polite façade that no one else notices. And it’s that very danger- the thrill of being seen without words, that makes it impossible to look away.

Feeling the tension getting the better of you, you decide you needed an escape, slipping through the crowd and into the kitchen.

You're relieved to find the room empty. The gentle clink of the door closing behind you the only sounds. For a brief moment, you savor the silence.

Leaning against the counter you pick up a wine glass and place it in front of you followed by a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Taking a steadying breath, you begin to pour yourself a generous amount.

But the silence is short-lived. You barely have a moment to gather yourself before the door swings open, and there he is- Steve, stepping into the kitchen as if he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“Taking a break from all the excitement?” His voice cuts through the stillness.

You set the bottle back on the counter, forcing yourself to stay calm. “Just needed some air.”

“Funny,” he says, each step closer, unhurried and deliberate. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

You feign a casual shrug. “.I’m not sure we know each other well enough for that to be the case.”

He chuckles, the sound soft and unsettling, as his eyes glint in the dim light. “Don’t we?” He leans against the counter, his arm brushing yours, far too close for it to feel accidental.

The weight of his presence has you instinctively pulling back, but Steve simply pours himself a drink.

“It’s rare to meet someone like you... at these things,” he says, taking a slow sip.

“I could say the same,” you reply cautiously, your voice almost betraying you. “Not every day you come across someone who's been to the future, no crystal ball required."

He laughs quietly. “True,” he says, “very true.” His gaze never wavers, as if he’s seeing straight through you.

"Still,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again, “You surprise me. Most people don’t.”

Your pulse quickens as silence swells between you, heavy and charged. You shrug, looking away. “Well,” you say lightly, “you’d be disappointed soon enough, I’m sure.”

His eyes narrow, studying you with a faint, knowing smile. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

A faint sound from the dining room breaks the moment, reminding you of the room beyond. You glance toward it instinctively, feeling a brief surge of relief. He notices and his mouth tilts into a quiet smile, amused.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks softly.

“No.” You shake your head, a touch of defiance in your voice as you look up at him. You refused to let him see you rattled.

“No?” he repeats, echoing your tone, as he steps closer, his presence towering, overwhelming.

“No…” The word leaves you as a breath, almost caught in your throat as you stared up into mesmerising blue eyes.

“Good,” he says, his smile widening. “That’s good to know.” He sets down his empty glass with deliberate slowness, and the soft clink of it hitting the counter seems to echo. “I’d hate to think I was making you nervous.”

Before you can respond, the kitchen door swings open. Steve steps away just as Nancy walks in, her eyes widening slightly as she sees you both, alone.

“Oh- am I interrupting something?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, of course not.” you say quickly, offering her a tight smile. “In fact, Steve was just leaving.”

Steve glances between you and Nancy, his expression cool and unreadable, as though he anticipated this exact moment.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, without another word, he slips through the door, leaving a chill in his wake.

Nancy watches him go, raising an eyebrow as she looks back at you. “What was that?”

You force a smile, shaking your head as you study the half-empty glass in your hand. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Part 3 coming soon. Thanks for reading xoxo

[phantoms-lair]

BnHAxFFXIV

When Katsuki got home to see his Mom sobbing on the phone he feared the worst.

He couldn't help but remember seeing her the same way, the day she got the news that Inko and Izuku had been attacked by a villain and no one could find them. Her later reactions had been anger. Anger when the police gave up, anger when Midoriya Hisashi didn't even show up for their funeral. Anger when she found out about everything he'd done.

But the reaction that stuck in his brain first was the raw grief, too strong for anger to get any foothold in. His mother sobbing and screaming and unable to even stand without his father supporting her. And seeing her crying on the couch brought him that to that moment.

He looked around, his Dad wasn't anywhere to be found. Had something happened to him? Was he in an accident? Was he going to make it?

His mother must have seen his face because she laughed. "They're happy tears, brat."

Bakugou let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "You scared the life out of me, old hag!" he barked.

She laughed again. "They found them, Katsuki. They're home!"

"Who's home?" he asked, still a little harshly as a result of the scare.

"Inko and Izu-kun! They're home!" And Katsuki felt the ground fall out beneath his feet.

~

When the news broke, Katsuki hadn't had much reaction at first. He didn't care that much about Deku, but he was worried about Auntie. And the longer it took, the more hope was lost, and he started to feel the fear that Auntie was...gone.

And then he heard the comment in the hall of school "Dad says it's good the Midoriya woman is dead, so she can't create anymore quirkless kids." And he'd lost it.

His parents had been called into the principal's office for his attacking the kid with his quirk. He told them what he said and his parents were immediately on his side. It got bitter and his Mom seemed on the brink of repeating his attack on the kid's father when the principal decided it was enough and announced that Katsuki could find a different school. And that was fine with his parents. What the Principal failed to recognize was Katsuki didn't just get his temper from his parents, but his intelligence. The Bakugou's had influence, money, and an indomitable will for vengeance. His Mom had pumped him for every detail about how Izuku was treated at Aldera Elementary, and that revealed his own actions toward Izuku. The Deku name, the bullying, all of it.

He hadn't realized at the time what he was saying was wrong. He knew his Mom was angry, but assumed it was at the school. He didn't realize it was at him at first. Not until he accidently heard her cry again, and telling Dad the only mercy in the whole thing was that Auntie had died before she found out Katsuki was one of the people who made her life miserable.

And Katsuki was confused because he'd never done anything to Auntie, just Deku. It took longer than he'd admit for him to figure out he hadn't been acting like a hero. He'd been becoming a villain. Izuku's villain. He was a bully and a bigoted asshole. And he'd never be able to make it up to the person that mattered most. Apologies to a shrine or grave meant nothing, in the long run.

He thought to give up his dream of being a hero, but in the end decided the best way to honor Izuku was to be a hero. Not the Number 1 slot he'd aimed for before, but a hero who would actually help people. He stood where Izuku once had, between those who would hurt others and their victims. And hopefully, it would be enough.

But now...now Izuku was back. And Katsuki could apologize for real. He was as excited as he was terrified. He'd always wanted to but...there was no guarantee Izuku would forgive him. He had no reason to, after all.

But either way the first thing out of his mouth was going to be an apology. He had a shit ton to apologize for and he was going to do it, even if Izuku and Auntie hated him for forever. As they arrived at the hospital and made their way to the Midoriya's room, he rehearsed what he was going to say in his mind. Every variance to every word. This was going to be the best apology ever!

His mother knocked and he felt a lump on his throat as a voice he neve thought he'd ever hear again said 'Come in!'. His Dad opened the door, he stepped inside and met his former victim's eyes.

"Izuku I-Why the fuck are you a cat?!"

Katsuki clamped his hand over his mouth, but at least Izuku was laughing.

"Do you like it better?" Izuku asked.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "Do you?"

Hesitantly Izuku nodded.

"Then to Hell with what I think. It's your body. If you're happier than it's better."

Izuku's eyes widened. "Thanks Kaachan."

Kaachan. He never thought he'd hear that name again. "Just the truth Izkun."

How they hell had he forgotten how much the nerd could cry??? They were going to flood the hospital room at that rate.

[hatterladz]

Ok now my actual thoughts

Spoils for 357

I'm gonna focus this on the fight. Now as much as Oswald completely INFURIATED me this chapter, I can't just walk away saying he's the worst. Listen I analyze problematic characters for a hobby I can't just wash my hands and walk away because someone did something that made me mad.

I can see why it spiralled so quickly on both parts, Fanny is struggling to get a foothold in her life [god the part of her wanting to cry about getting actual support bc she never had any is so SO relatable]. I mean she left her husband the previous night, is now being bodyguarded by the brother of the person she barely gets around to apologizing to, got fired got hired again at the Quester's House and is watching and seeing how unique every one of the sick are when her ex walks in out of nowhere.

She's reeling, I imagine her emotional regulation is shot to hell and back and then Oswald tells her hey you know this super nice good thing that JUST happened to you? You don't deserve it.

Now onto Oswald. Oswald walks in trying to help Felix. And I mentioned it before reading the chapter, Oswald has the worst habit of assuming and acting on his preconceived sense of justice before actually figuring things out. He has good intentions just the WORST way of acting on it

And to him, the Fanny he knows is the one from his toxic relationship with her. The Fanny he remembers wasn't ever a nurse, hadn't gone through the same recent events that she just did to make her the very slightly better person she is now. As absolutely rage enducing that he was, there wasn't a sign of him trying to start something.

He was trying to avoid other people being hurt. Through terrible means. Because he remembers how much Fanny hurt him.

Fanny, after having everything happen to her that just did and then her ex walking through the door and saying "You're too bad of a person to have this good thing" AFTER Cup just tried to assure her she just had to do better AFTER Red offered her a job because her friend knows and AFTER she just got invited to this warm family dinner. And the more Oswald pushed the more he emphasized that point.

And the more he said it the more Fanny fell back on both of their old patterns. Snapping back over and over until Oswald threatens to bring in her awful father and until she also brings up Felix.

Now I'm going to be honest while the threat is there along with the intent, I'm sure Felix and Oswald will be fine. There's a good chunk of zanies, who won't care, people who live with zanies who will be forced to get over it and the questers maybe not without knowing from the others, have long since grown past being homophobic [asides maybe Boris but I don't see him being homophobic] or weren't in the first place

The house will keep the gossip under control, there might be a slip but I doubt Red or Oddswell will let that fly. But I could be wrong we'll see. At the very least Bendy won't be and we've already seen how much sway he has over the household.

Now onto the respective parties reactions. Felix running out isn't surprising and I doubt it's just because he's bi. He just watched the man he brought into the house to come support him start harrassing this woman seemingly for no reason, and then got outted and told he looks like Ortensia. Because let's be real, although Felix is told he is REMINDED of Oswald's wife he's never been told he looks IDENTICAL to her. And he just watched said man try to hit this girl.

Now I'm going to give Fanny some credit here, she's dealing with her toxic ex but not ONCE does she let Cup get involved. Every moment it looks like he's about to prior to Oswald's attempt to hit her, she sees it and cuts Cup off. And I'm happy for her for that, she really does care about Cup's wellbeing that when she sees him about to get involved in her mess she prevents it from happening.

Now what took me by surprise is it wasn't Oswald that left, it was Fanny. Fanny was the one who left out of shame [who could blame her], and Fanny was the one who tells Cup to leave since she's in a toxic mindset. I was also curious as to why Mugs didn't try to follow her out instead of Cup, since Mugs is her bodyguard and seemed pretty insistent on keeping Cup uninvolved. Something tells me he's sticking around for the Oswald situation, or maybe that's wishful thinking.

Still maintaining my love hate relationship of Cup getting further and further involved with Fanny. He's trying hard to be a good friend to her, he cares a lot and he wants to help because Fanny's situation is one he can try to understand and help with. However it does mean it can get messy, especially with the divorce and people see the two together.

[planet-crait]

@eat-a-dicker

First off I am flattered and a little sad this subject hasn’t been talked about much given how prominently Dev is in the season and his major role in the season finale. Looking back I didn’t dive in as much as I probably should have on this point I did in other posts but as an analysis post for Dev I should have gone into it more.

But yes thank you for verbalizing that better than me. Dev is extremely traumatized and dealing with all kinds of issues stemming from his neglect and Hazel should not have to be the one to try and help Dev cope with this. But at the end of the day her lack of understanding what Dev is dealing with and how it emotionally affects him does harm Dev. She’s not a bad person or did anything wrong I need to make that clear but neither of those facts change the fact that it hurt Dev.

When Hazel ends their friendship over, in Devs eyes, a hat and being upset about her hat, that would hurt a lot because again, material things are being held in higher regard than him. Despite the fact that he disobeyed a direct order from his father and actively tried to hinder his efforts to find the anomaly to protect Hazel from his father. Again this is the man he is desperate to earn the love and affection from and he still defied him for Hazel who at the end of the day rejects him. She assumes the worst of him and won’t even give him a chance to explain himself despite very clearly wanting to talk and explain.

Hazel is 10 and doesn’t have a clue what Dev is dealing with which is good, but it makes things really hard for Dev who is not good at expressing his emotions well and needs someone who can understand what he’s dealing with and know how to approach him with these more touchy subjects and situations.

It makes this whole thing difficult because Hazel isn’t a bad person but I think in a lot of ways Hazel herself handled the Founders Day mess very poorly. Dev isn’t allowed to apologize or explain, she just runs off angrily and never tries to reach out, and acts in Battle of the Dimmasonian like it’s odd he thinks they aren’t friends despite her doing nothing to reach out despite basically telling him she doesn’t want him around anymore. It’s hard because Hazel is a kid as well and isn’t going to be great at navigating more difficult situations but it’s hard to fully hand wave how she acted in Lost and Founders Day. But also I have some bias here in this regard so that could definitely be clouding my view on this stuff.

It’s a very difficult situation for them both to navigate and neither really have the tools to deal with this stuff but it doesn’t negate the severe harm it’s causing Dev.

There is also the fact that at the end of the day, Dev is only a situational friend for lack of better words to Hazel which adds to the pain of it. From what I’ve seen, Dev cares a lot more about Hazel then Hazel cares about Dev, he only hangs out with her when fairies are involved or he invites her, otherwise he’s not seemingly welcome to join in which adds another layer of sadness to this whole thing. He loves with his whole heart and no one seems interested in returning that love he has to give. He gives and gives and no one is willing to give that same love in return, which might also be adding to how closed off he is at the beginning of the show. He’s so used to rejection he assumes that’s the default and needs someone willing to break down his walls.

At the end of the day, Dev is a hurt and traumatized kid who has no clue how to navigate social situations and everyone in his life is clueless to his lack of understanding and takes those fumbles as intentionally being hostile when that isn’t always the case. When he puts his heart out there it gets crushed in over and over again and no one in his life is willing to help out the pieces back together and in some cases just breaks him even more. And a ten year old trying to navigate this hurts so much.

Part 1 analysis of Dev Dimmadone from Fairly Oddparents A New Wish. A couple of things I want to mention before jumping into this, I have not finished the first season. Last episode I watched was Pattys Possum Party Playground, but I have thoughts and I decided to share them before I reach the end so I can see how my thoughts change as the season goes on or after I finish the finale. Second I recognize I have some bias regarding Dev. I’ll go into more detail why but I heavily empathize with Dev and his struggles so it’s something I wanted to make clear before I started. I’ll also put a Trigger Warning for discussing abuse and my own experiences with it so please keep that in mind. Apologies for how long this gets I didn’t realize how much I had to say about Dev until I started writing. With all of that said let’s get into it.

Something that caught my attention very very early on regarding Dale and Devs relationship is it is painfully and abundantly clear Dale has no love for Dev. We see Dev adores and looks up to his father but no matter how hard Dev tries that love is not reciprocated.

It is unfortunately common for kids who are neglected at home to lash out at school and misbehave, it gets to a point where even negative attention is better than no attention. This is of course not healthy or good behavior but more desperate acts of a kid desperate for any sort of attention.

Growing up, I was in a somewhat not necessarily similar situation to Dev but I can somewhat see parts of myself in Dev? I’m not sure the best wording for it but I was not wealthy nor my family, but I was largely outcasted by my peers and ignored and bullied by them. It was hell. And while Dev isn’t bullied by anyone, he certainly is more the bully, he’s also very alone.

Despite being bullied I had my family who at least cared and I had the occasional recess person? I can’t remember their official title but they wherent teachers lolz. But regardless they took pity on me and let me hang out with them. For Dev though….he doesn’t have anyone in his corner. His dad doesn’t care about him, he has no friends and the teachers don’t care about him. He’s just painfully alone. No one has his back. The sins of his father are put on Devs shoulders regardless of how realistic it is to blame him for things. We see Mr. Guzman glaring at Dev in Lost and Founders Day

All Dev did was hand out bracelets his dad made but Mr. Guzman is suspicious, it seems, of Dev himself as if he is up to something bad with them. The animators actively choose to have Mr. Guzman look at a nine year old this way. He could have been looking this way at the bracelets but no. It was directed towards Dev himself. Despite him, for now, being friends with Hazel and seemingly behaving better Mr. Guzman doesn’t trust that Dev is changing and improving. Instead of being glad something changed with Dev, Dev is met with distrust and suspicion.

In that same episode Hazel assumes the worst of Dev and assumes he was behind everything that happened at the Founders Day Festival. She refuses to listen to him and even give him a chance to explain and decides he’s a bad person. Now this isn’t to say Hazel is a bad person for this, more it was unfair and so far I haven’t seen any real resolution to this. Dev almost seems to be held to a different standard in this regard, we see Hazel screw up big time in The Wellsington Hotellsington in regards to Winn and Jasmine and they forgive her right after she apologizes despite Winn not knowing her for long. Hazel similarly hasn’t known Dev for that long but won’t even let him apologize and storms off very angrily and seemingly never reached out to him to try and work things out.

No Dev does not either but I don’t blame him as much in that regard because Dev clearly has never had friends before Hazel. He doesn’t know really it’s okay for friends to fight and make up and still be friends. And with how Hazel blew up at him I was kind of thinking as well Hazel decided the bridge was burned so to speak and was admittedly surprised when she said in Battle of the Dimmisonian that they could still be friends (which I…question how accurate a statement from Hazel that is but I’ll get their I promise). It’s interesting to me Dev is worried about how Hazel perceives him despite them not being friends. Even though Hazel turned her back on him, he still wants some sort of connection with her even if he’s going about it in an unhealthy manner. Again negative attention is better then no attention, so even if it means fighting and bickering he’d rather take that than have absolutely nothing.

This kid has sky high walls he’s built, but they’re shaky and crumble at the slightest pressure. After only two days of being friendly Dev is willing to disobey a direct order from his father and put himself in harms way to keep Hazel safe. This is very likely the first time Dev has ever disobeyed his father, the man he is desperate to prove himself to and get some sort of love and affection from. He risks ever getting that from his father to protect Hazel, someone he’s not been on friendly terms with for all that long. Which makes him being so alone all the sadder.

I mentioned it in another post but Dev has a lot of love to give people who are willing to put in honestly what feels like the bare minimum of work to break down his walls. And it seems no one has even tried to get past them. He’s written off by everyone as nothing but a rich bully that doesn’t care when that couldn’t be further from the truth when push comes to shove. He’s willing to disobey his father, someone he still is desperate to win the love and affection of, to protect someone that matters to him.

Circling back to the point I mentioned earlier about my doubts regarding Hazel still considering Dev her friend. Now this may just be an oversight but…it still happened so I feel it’s okay to discuss here. In Pattys Possum Party Playground we see pretty much all the classmates we’ve seen previously hanging out and having fun, Dev however is missing. I’m not saying anyone has to invite him, but if you consider someone a friend…why not invite them? Maybe the background characters were thrown in to make it seem more like a party and to emphasize them then being alone. Why not include Dev then as well? Why is he left out of the fun with everyone? A line from say Hazel commenting his dad wouldn’t let him come would do a lot of heavy lifting to show how terrible Dale is and how rough Dev has it and show Hazel is thinking about him.

Again, Hazel doesn’t have to be his friend. But she said they could be friends which is why I mention this. I will admit this is potentially where my own biases come into play. I was the kid people said was their “friend” to get teachers off of their backs and I just didn’t realize this is what was happening and it hurt when I was excluded from things. If I was in Devs shoes I’d feel hurt I wasn’t invited to something everyone else was invited to. And I imagine it would hurt even more as someone already struggling to try and get some sort of love and affection from anyone really.

I hope I’m wrong and I hope we see more of Hazel and Dev rebuilding their friendship, but I’m concerned we won’t really see that or any consequences to that really play out. Again could be wrong I’ll have to wait and see in that regard this is just how I’m seeing things with my own biases as of right now where I’m at in season 1.

We know that Dev gets Peri because he is miserable due to his and Hazels fight and his father’s very public rejection of him. Godparents are supposed to help make things easier to deal with for their kids and help them navigate their difficult lives. Unfortunately, so far from what I’ve seen Peri and Dev aren’t a great match for Godparent and Godchild. I’ve only seen their dynamic for one episode, but when they first met, we see Dev is extremely exited when he first meets Peri:

However, something things to go very wrong because he goes from being sad but not wearing his sunglasses to being back in his sunglasses and being overall disinterested in Peri while Peri seems very frustrated and disinterested in forming any sort of bond with Dev.

I don’t know what all has happened between the pair, but for me it’s notable he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses when he and Peri first met and are wearing them again next time we see him. He was so excited to met Peri and I wonder if he wanted to try and have some sort of bond with him that was shut down. We don’t know obviously and it’s just speculation on my end but it’s something I wonder about.

When Peri notices his parents later on in the episode he’s so focused on himself he’s not even acknowledging Dev or his questions and seems uninterested in sharing about himself. For me, it reads that Peri is really only focused on granting wishes and not about with forming any sort of bond with Dev, something Dev right now desperately needs. He’s lonely and sad and lashing out because he’s been denied real affection for so long and doesn’t know how to connect with other people. It’s sad that his AU Pairs seem to on some level recognize this as they try and comfort Dev after Lost and Founders Day and acknowledge that they cannot give Dev what he needs.

I honestly think Dev would be much better off with a Godparent like Cosmo and Wanda or even Juandissimo, he needs a Godparent who is willing and knows how to connect with a kid like Dev who has a seriously troubled homelife and Peri doesn’t have the tools or knowledge to really help Dev in the ways he needs. I imagine based on what we’ve seen recently of what Jorgan thinks Godparents need to be for their Godkids I am not surprised Peri isn’t handling Dev the best. He was likely taught granting wishes correctly and quickly for their kids is what makes a Godparent good, rather than forming a connection and understanding their godkid. This isn’t exactly Peri’s fault, he’s new and inexperienced but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s not helping Dev either and granting wishes isn’t what he needs, he needs love and someone to be their for him that loves and cares about him.

A side note, I realize again this is more of a gag and not meant to be taken seriously but since I’m looking at all of the things that has happened to Dev so far I just have to wonder. In Battle of the Dimmasonian, Peri’s first instinct is to hide Dev from his parents when they ask if he has a Godkid.

Again I know this is just for a gag but don’t we all love playing the game of “find ways to emotionally devastate our favorite characters even more so we can give them comfort and put them back together again? No? Just me? Well I’m gonna do it anyways. If I was in Devs shoes in this moment I would probably be thinking that my Godparent is ashamed of me, that they don’t want to be associated with me or anyone to know that they where assigned to help me. We know Peri is anxious and doesn’t want his parents smothering him or being weird about his first godkid but Dev definitely doesn’t know this given all the questions he asked that Peri didn’t answer. In Devs mind this could be just another person rejecting him without giving him a chance. Another public rejection of him.

Again I know this is a nothing burger moment in the grand scheme of things but it’s fun to imagine something for it. This being the moment Dev realizes Peri is just another adult in his life stuck with him who doesn’t care about him. Dev falling into the mindset of “if he doesn’t care about me, why should I care about him?” Because angst is just a little fun to think about.

Dev is so desperate for love and attention he tries to get something for his dad by trying to make it work related in the hopes of Dale noticing and agreeing to do “work”. Asking to throw merch boxes back and forth, testing proximity sensors by holding hands this kid will do anything to get something from Dale but it’s not enough.

It’s hard to properly describe the devastation that comes from realizing someone who should love you, who you thought loves you never did. It’s a gut punch over and over again every time you look at them. This recently happened to me and to be frank I’m still not okay from it. You think someone has your back and cares about you but then you come to realize that you’re nothing to them. For me I swing wildly between rage and crying uncontrollably, for a kid as young as Dev I can’t even imagine what that knowledge is doing to him. And what’s worse is even when knowing you don’t matter to this person and that they don’t love you, your love for them doesn’t just….go away. It lingers, longs for some sort of proof that it was just a fluke, that they love you, that you’re not unlovable and the smallest scraps they throw your way have you scrambling to hold onto that, to show them that you are worthy of their love, but it never works, and you’re just tossed away again like trash. You start to wonder if it’s you that’s the problem. You think there has to be something you’ve done to warrant being treated this way. There isn’t though, but to accept that you would also have to contend with the person you love being a monster and it’s not an easy pill to swallow, it’s almost easier to see yourself as the problem and try desperately to try and “fix” whatever your loved one thinks is wrong with you. You live in survival mode just trying to get through it all and it doesn’t just shut off when you’re not around the person or people causing the harm it’s constantly running.

Since this is a kids show I highly highly doubt they’ll really truly dive into the trauma and after affects of dealing with emotional abuse. When I was a kid shows where willing to dive into these topics but shows these days tend to shy away from it (something I have issue with but that’s not the focus of todays post). I just more am sharing because I think some aspects are applicable to Dev.

Again I have a support system, I have friends who worry and care and let me vent and cry and try and deal with it all. Dev has no one in his corner. No adults looking out for him, no friends to offer comfort, he’s painfully alone and dealing with this sheer devastation, pain so bad it’s the tipping point for him getting a Godparent who unfortunately seems overall disinterested in really engaging with Dev in any meaningful way.

Previous posts have somewhat discussed the Dale situation but it was very uh angry for Dev so maybe I can try and write out my thoughts without wanting to commit a crime. Dale is a horrible parent. There isn’t any other way to put it. He’s a shit parent who emotionally abuses and manipulates Dev, who is desperate for his love and affection. Dev tries to sell acts of affection as work related to try and get attention from his dad and is willing to do insane things if it’s what he wants (he seriously considers eating a lizard. This kid is just so desperate for love). Dale emotionally manipulates Dev and tries to use his own past to guilt trip Dev and deny letting him just be a kid. Kids shouldn’t ever have to work, they’re kids they should be able to just be kids but Dale has Dev so spun around and desperate for love he’ll work if it means maybe his dad will love him. It doesn’t work but Dev is desperate and willing to do anything if it means getting even crumbs of affection from his father who can’t even be bothered to great his son and walk away without him forcing Dev to run to catch up.

Dale clearly has been extremely absent from Devs life overall, we see in Peace of Pizza just how excited Dev was when he thought his dad actually came for Dev.

He’s so happy and carefree and excited to see his dad come to support Dev and the anger when he realizes it’s not Dale hurts all the more. For just a moment he thought maybe his dad did care and want to be there for him but no, he doesn’t even care. It’s notable to me that when he finds out Hazel tried to trick him into thinking his dad came is when Dev really gets angry. He was mostly just playing games and such until that moment when he seems to get genuinely angry and I wonder if that comes from a place of deep hurt. The one thing he wants more then anything is for his dad to actually be there for him, and in his mind Hazel takes that desire and mocks him with it, trying to parade a pretend dad just to use him to get what she wants from him.

This next part is pure speculation but I just don’t know another way to explain this. After Dev revealed he’s lactose intolerant and him being forced to watch everyone else have fun and enjoy something he cannot have a why he was fighting so hard against letting them have one, Hazel mentions they could have ordered him a lactose free version which makes Dev freeze and comment he thought that was a myth. Now I know from a writing standpoint they wanted to make sure it’s Hazel who saves the day, however it carries a very painful implication of Dale likely actively lying to Dev about lactose free alternatives for Dev. I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing, maybe he thinks they taste or smell gross and don’t want them in the house? So he thinks it’s easier to just lie and say they don’t exist and eat pizza and such in front of Dev who can only watch in misery.

And yes I am assuming Dale likely would do this based off of when Dev talks about how he would have to sit and watch everyone enjoy pizza and not get any. He sounds like he’s talking from personal experience and with how sensitive to it he is it feels more like a reaction to something he’s had to deal with before vs a fear of it he has.

Regardless of it I’m correct or not, it is undeniable the school really spectacularly failed Dev in this regard and once again set him up for failure. What do I mean by that? In Peace of Pizza we see Dev show Hazel his allergy card.

(Yes I am going on a mini tangent here bare with me I didn’t know a better place to put this) now I don’t know about you but I have only ever seen allergy cards like this in either a school setting or perhaps at a large dinner where everyone is defaulted to being served the same plate of food and people with allergies or other dietary restrictions have a card so the server knows they have one of the special plates. This to me indicates the school knows or should reasonably know Dev can’t have lactose. Despite them reasonably knowing Dev can’t have pizza, they do not offer him any alternatives to enjoy as a reward. As a kid when something like this was done, an alternative was given to the kid with allergies so they could still participate in the fun and not feel left out, however for Dev it seems the default is he’s left out. He’s expected to and frowned upon for not participating in Kindness Day despite, in his eyes, him being actively punished if he does. While everyone else gets a reward to enjoy, he would have to watch and be miserable. No, this is not the end of the world obviously but it is incredibly unkind to Dev to not have anything for him that he can enjoy as a reward despite being expected to participate for a reward the school knows he cannot have and it carries an extra sting happening on a day literally called kindness day.

Yes I know that the school is trying to teach kids the importance of kindness so it shouldn’t be about the reward, but again it does feel wildly unfair to reward most students while seemingly singling out one to not get anything. They’re trying to teach kindness while refusing to be kind to one of their students. And further yes I understand this was done so we could see Hazel be a good negotiator and be the hero. Yes fine, but it is hard to ignore the implications this writing choice carries regarding Dev. It shows the school is extremely disinterested at best regarding Dev and his health needs and I don’t blame Dev for not wanting to participate if this is what the school does when Dev has an allergy restriction and can’t enjoy something for the entire class. Hazel has to be the one to wish for a pizza for Dev. It’s not Hazels job to make sure her classmates feel included and have fun. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to help her classmates, that should be on the teachers but they didn’t seem to notice or care Dev was feeling left out. The school could afford to buy a whole pile of pizzas it doesn’t feel unreasonable to think they could afford to do something so Dev doesn’t feel so left out.

Like I don’t know get him Oreos or something it doesn’t have to be big just something so he’s not the only one who doesn’t get anything. Again yes I realize the point was to have Hazel save the day and get her and Dev closer I understand this but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes the school seem to not care about a kid who is already severely emotionally neglected at home. They could have had the school offer an alternative that Dev didn’t like or if they wanted to keep this a secret have Mr. Guzman be the one to hand Dev the lactose free pizza and make some comment and realize he forget to tell Dev or something. Yes it’s not ideal to have him forget to say anything but for me it would be easier to hand wave away then absolutely nothing, and again it just adds onto Dev the feeling that he is unimportant and doesn’t matter. These moments of rejection and loneliness start to add up and get harder and harder to deal with emotionally.

Rewinding some for just a second but in Stanky Danky we do see a brief moment of Dale showing more love and affection to a sentient trash can than Dev. Once again it’s a short moment on screen for us but we can see Dev is pretty upset and hurt by this rejection.

Dev seems to bounce back from this pretty quickly, possibly he’s used to his dad behaving this way which is a whole other can of worms to open up but at this point, he’s not friends with Hazel and still has his walls up which I think potentially plays a part in this but I’ll circle back to that.

Then theirs the uh infamous statue scene that is emotionally devastating and no one besides Hazel and sort of Wanda seem to recognize how fucked up it is. Even still Hazel forgets all about Dev the second she wins the hat and once again, Dev is a lower priority than an inanimate object. Let me be clear, I am not angry at Hazel, she’s a kid at the end of the day and frankly it’s very easy to distract kids. She’s not a bad kid or friend here for getting distracted I’m just discussing from the Dev side of things that in this episode the two people that matter most to him have placed an inanimate object as their priority over Dev. Whether or not Dev realizes Hazel forgot about him for her hat isn’t exactly clear, but it happened and I talk about it solely because it makes my heart hurt and if I have to suffer so do you.

What’s interesting to me is we see Dev has been suffering for some time, but it’s only after Founders Day that he finally is given a Godparent. Arguably it’s likely the getting direct confirmation that boots are more important to his father then his own son, he bought them on the day Dev was born, seemingly if Devs math is correct, and that overshadowed Devs birth, but I find it interesting to explore some other factors that maybe make the blow feel even worse.

We know Dev hasn’t had a friend before Hazel, she’s really the first person that he called a friend. She helped bring down his sky high walls that his classmates seemed to intimidated by to even attempt to cross over. (I also wonder if somehow a fear of Dale maybe also involved with his lack of friends). And we also know Dale is at best emotionally distant which likely Dev impersonated to try and fit in better with his dad and to try and protect himself from getting hurt. However, Hazel breaks down that protective barrier he’s had on so when his dads statue is revealed and he and Hazel fight, it hurts more then it did previously because he doesn’t have that protection anymore and has to face the full brunt of that pain and rejection. Not only that but he is also, in his mind, losing his first and only friend despite him risking so much trying to keep her safe from his dad. Being rejected hurts, but being rejected while trying to do the right thing? Thats got to be an even bigger emotional blow.

I know some of what happens in the season 1 finale, I don’t know all the details or how we get their but I have a feeling Devs feelings of being unwanted and unloved potentially play a massive role in his breakdown. His school couldn’t care less about him, his dad is emotionally abusive, he doesn’t have any friends and every time he gets a glimpse of happiness it’s brutally ripped away from him. This is a literal 9 year old child, and he’s having to deal with being neglected and ignored by any person in his life who is supposed to really be there for him. It’s realistic to life kids slip through the cracks far too often, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, especially knowing that things just get worse for him from here. All I can hope is season 2 gives him some relief and he gets someone in his life who genuinely cares about him and will be there for him.

That’s everything so far I have in regards to thoughts about Dev. I always love hearing other people’s thoughts and I certainly will have more as I continue with the season.

[barbie-tings]

I am SO fucking tired of people giggling and laughing over Miguel’s astv backstory and brushing it off as “teehee funny dude adopted random girl, can adopt spider kids too🤭”

Like can we acknowledge the absolute INSANITY that Miguel portrayed??

Like this man witnessed HIS OWN MURDER, hid his OWN BODY and fucking-just stole this dudes entire life!!??? IS THAT NOT CRAZY? He hid a child’s own father’s death from her and assumed his identity, laying in a bed with a woman he does not know, slowly piecing together the personality and history of the man he pretended to be. Did he break into his wife’s phone, obsessively read messages and private notes to determine what type of husband he was? Did he sneak into his daughter’s room, crack open her journal to craft the mask he needed, carefully putting everything back as it was when he was done? Did he practice the flaws and temperament of this human Miguel in the mirror? How did he explain away his fits of rage, his sudden interest flips, his drug addiction? How many times did he gaslight his own fucking family into thinking they forgot to tell him something or that they forgot an aspect of their dad/partner? How many times did his wife and daughter beat themselves up for forgetting a core aspect of a family member because Miguel convinced them that he always wanted this/had this stance/hated that? Miguel’s daughter faded from existence not knowing that her real daddy, the one who helped her take her first steps, who was there at her first soccer game, who loved and cherished her, was rotting in the fucking ground while the man who went through great lengths to hide this from her, who carried her beloved father out into the woods or the river or wherever to lay him to rest in dishonor, held her with teary eyes, knowing he caused this with his own greed.

That’s literal psychotic behavior at it’s FINEST

[aadmelioraa]

Eärien and Valandil parallels Rings of Power Season 1

[hauntingblue]

"Would you like me to translate that? Or was it for me?" The show's thesis

[clownprince]

"you can't just ignore massive narratively consequential chunks of a characters' story that you don't like or disagree with" actually i can. and i do. and it's very easy ^_^

[disillusionedjudge]

{Hero Archetypes: The More... something version}

The Fallen Hero You are the Fallen Hero, a tragic embodiment of betrayal, vengeance, or perhaps a heart-wrenching love story turned awry. Whether exposed to corrupting influences, manipulated by deal-makers, brainwashed, extorted, blackmailed, or witnessing the destruction of sacred bonds, your descent into darkness is marked by profound sorrow and loss. You might have turned for the sake of greed. Yet within, a lingering spark of hope remains, compelling you to reluctantly extend assistance to the newcomers. Motivated by the sincere desire to shield them from the same tragic fate you endured, you find yourself driven to guide and protect, despite the shadows of your own past.

tagged by: @tarnishedxknight tagging: anyone!!

[mekatrio]

this fanart

[room-surprise]

This is just my opinion on it, but I think Kui repeatedly shows us that Dungeon Masters are irrational and delusional, and that the dungeon cannot create "real" copies of existing people, and that any people it does create are just monsters pretending to be people.

I don't think it makes sense for Kui to repeatedly show us this behavior if she didn't want us to think that all dungeon masters, as they lose their minds, struggle to tell humans and monsters apart, and struggle to know if the things around them are real or fake.

Thistle can't tell that the red dragon is different after [spoilers], he keeps acting like it's an animal, and despite the change being extremely obvious he acts like he can't even see it. It's like he said "Did you get a new haircut?" to someone who had their legs and arms cut off.

Marcille doesn't banish or complain about the fake father, she summons and orders him around even though she said she doesn't want him, most likely because the demon is giving her what she wants (or rather, doing the best it can) even if her conscious mind rejects it. The demon also offers to make a new Falin rather than revive the old one, probably because it knows the actual Falin would cause trouble for it's agenda, while a fake Falin would just keep Marcille pacified long enough for the demon to get what it wants.

I think from this it should be pretty clear that the dungeon can't make convincing copies of real people, but that it doesn't matter because the dungeon lord isn't able to tell the difference. There might be times when they "wake up" and go "Wait! This is awful! This isn't what I want!" but then they are pulled back under by the seduction of the demon and they forget again.

And it doesn't matter if the lord is a good or bad person, smart or stupid, young or old, nobody can resist being given the things they truly, deeply want.

Mithrun wants these people to like him, and so the dungeon gives him a version of all those people, created via monsters (since the other times we see the dungeon doing this, that's how it's done), who are perfectly agreeable, who want what Mithrun wants, and who only reflect how he sees those people.

I don't personally think he knew they were monsters when it was happening, and I think if any of them were real, they were in a deluded, mentally compromised state, and then were killed off over time, and were either just gone after that, or replaced by monster doubles without Mithrun knowing...

It's also important to remember that most dungeon lords do NOT seem to stay lord very long! Thistle is very abnormal. Mithrun was only lord for five years, which is like 1 year by elf standards, so a really short amount of time before the demon decided to eat him.

So the lords are delusional, and in a confused state of mind, and then they get eaten before they have time to question it too much or fight against the demon's control.

Anyway, again this is just my opinion, based on how Kui keeps showing us that the dungeon lords aren't in their right minds, and that the demon usually wants to make monster copies of people rather than risk having the real person around (not reviving Falin and wanting to copy her instead).

Personally I agree with you that Mithrun knew his friends were all illusions, and tbh, I think he was very okay with it

About Mithrun vs Marcille on the demon's copies of real-life people: Mithrun's desires were all related to image and self-worth, never the actual people in his dungeon. He didn't necessarily want the real thing - arguably he doesn't even like Sultha since he thought of the real one as "sketchy" - he just wanted the image of her, he wanted the image of being better than his brother, he wanted the image of having friends, etc. I believe that's why he was so okay with the demon making fake copies of his friends. It contrasts Marcille being so against the lion's attempt to make a copy of her dad. She wanted her actual father, so she strongly rejected the copy. But Mithrun didn't necessarily want Sultha, he wanted the image of her and the pride that came with her choosing him over his brother, so he likely didn't care that the demon was just making illusions. I agree with you that he was aware, at least on a subconscious level, that he was just playing pretend.

There's also that quote where it said his desire was to be safe from anyone who could harm him. It's possible that he was a bit afraid/paranoid of the real-life counterparts, and thought the illusion people couldn't possibly hurt him, so he felt safer around the fake people and ended up preferring them. This way he could have his friends and his girlfriend without the constant fear of getting hurt. He could feel wanted and important and loved without being on edge about what they secretly thought of him, or if they secretly wanted to hurt him. That's exactly what he wanted - the illusions fulfilled his desires better than the real counterparts ever could.

I don't really think it's a matter of image, there was nobody there to put on a show for, the show of having friends was before her became a dungeon lord, to me it's more that If you really believe nobody could ever love the real you, fake friends created by the demon is ok

Marcille had a father that truly loved her and friends that she wanted to protect, so it makes sense she was averse to the version made up by the demon at first, from the hints we get Mithrun had nobody he had a real connection with (here exemplified by what he thought of his teamates and the impression Milsiril had of him contrasted with the dungeon)

I don't really understand if other than Sultha the others are real canaries that ended up being driven away just like people were driven away from Thistle, I don't really put it past them to fall for the demon with the promise of a safer life where they don't have to risk their lives only to realize the downwards spiral is inescapable for the dungeon lord.

I don't think it's as important if he "really liked" Sultha or not, I think it's more related to insecurity and fear of rejection, having his brother chosen over him even tho "he's better" (the "perfect youth" image)

Mithrun was thrown away for being a bastard so being faced with the life he could have had probably broke him, I think there's some pride involved too in a twisted way but I read more like something related to "the life I wish I had", envy/jealousy like Milsiril describes. Being able to love and be loved back was never an option especially after joining the canaries

The illusion of this wasn't perfect as we can see, and with the paranoia and everything I doubt he ever really "preferred" the fakes to real life but rather it was all he had?

Idk I'm not good with words hope this made some sense, but even Marcille who said the recreation of her dad was "unnecessary" (quite the underreaction) still kept him around until the others defeated him so I don't really know what it says about Mithrun, maybe if he wasn't imprisoned into the book he could have manipulated Thistle into accepting a fake Delgal too?

[fushiguho]

You Have a New Match ☆ Toji Fushiguro

☆ SYNOPSIS After several, agonizing weeks of your relentless torment, Toji has finally had it with your teasing antics. As ambiguous as dating apps can be, he wants to ensure that his intentions are very clear — he’s only here for one thing, to fuck. So why are you wasting his time? What are you, scared? ☆ WORD COUNT 6.6k (holy fuck) ☆ CONTENT WARNINGS Dilf!Toji, femme reader, rough-ish sex, kinda feral, strangers to lovers, Toji has a FILTHY mouth ☆ A/N okay guys so this is actually kind of insane and i do apologize for my absence to those who care LOL (boooo school and life.) but this was actually an anon request for dilf toji but i thought i’d take it in different direction?? this is honestly a personal best for me so i really hope whoever is reading this feels something :p also, thank u for 1k follows. means the world! :)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Toji swears, it’s always the same song and dance with you younger women, yet time and time again he’ll find himself  enwrapped in a meaningless dalliance. Currently, that’s you, and you’ve been driving him up a fucking wall. For weeks, you’ll sweet talk him, go on and on about how deep you can take it, how wet your pretty pussy gets just from texting him, even how nasty you’ll get for him when you see him, but it’s always when. That’s the very thing, you’re all talk.

They say patience is a virtue, yet his runs thinner than cheap thread. Toji has never been known for bullshit, and after becoming a father, that fact has never been truer. For most, bringing children into this godforsaken world serves as means for betterment — change, but Toji isn’t like most. Oh, and he’s tried to be respectful about it too, but how can you ever expect him to be a gentleman when you act like… that.

Ever since you matched on Tinder, it’s been several, agonizing months of slutty messages and lewd pictures. God, and what a filthy mouth you have, detailing all the sick ways you’d let him use you, how you’d take it all like a good, obedient slut, how you’d do anything he wants. Yet, when he video calls you in response, huffing your name as the monstrous length of his cock glides through his slick fingers, you realize that maybe you’re not as grown as you thought.

So, you pull away, ghosting him, leaving behind nothing but the silence of uncertainty — purgatory. Whenever you inevitably decide to message him again, whether it be days or weeks later, it’s the same bullshit excuse every time, and quite frankly, Toji has had it. Of course you read his profile when you matched. He made his intentions very clear — that he’s only here for one thing, so why are you wasting his time? What are you, scared?

Toji F.

05:39 PM You scared? Is that it? 05:42 PM Scared of what this cock will do to you? What it could turn you into? Is that why you keep disappearing on me? 05:42 PM You’re breaking my heart here, girl.

Read at 5:43 PM

The audacity. Taken aback is an understatement, yet his message makes your stomach sink in arousal. You can hardly help the dramatic roll of your eyes, an incredulous scoff following as you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. As you trudge toward your last class of the day, his messages linger on your mind, igniting a flame of refutation that begs to be doused, because you? Scared? Please.

Boredom is a strange thing. It tends to bring out the worst, turning people into versions of themselves they weren’t sure could ever exist within the same universe — versions of themselves that defy the being they’ve worked tirelessly to become. But when there’s nothing left to do, nowhere else to turn, and everything else has been exhausted, we result to desperation; desperate times call for desperate measures.

Tinder.

If university has taught you anything, it’s that men don’t mature overnight… or ever. Even being four, entire years into your overpriced degree, it’s evident that maturity doesn’t exist within the minds of frat hopping, beer chugging, striped polo wearing college boys. You crave more. You crave experience and wisdom, but at the end of the day, you’re still just bored and in desperate need of something that’ll abide your time in university — Toji Fushiguro.

So really, is there truly anything wrong with downloading a dating app with the sole intention of fucking? Is it so wrong to toggle your age preference a little too high? Your preferred mile radius a little too far? You’re not sure, not really. All you know is that there is a point to be proven and a void to be filled, and maybe Toji isn’t the answer you should be seeking, but he damn sure is the easiest and most willing recourse.

That’s the exact reason you’re finally messaging him back, inviting him over to your apartment to chill. It’s nearly embarrassing how fast he responds. An obscure, upside down, smiling emoji at the end of his text masks his ever-growing anticipation with cordiality, though it’s a stark contrast to the way he’ll have you pried apart later on, fucking you rudely with the sole intention gutting you out completely, but you’ll find out soon enough. Curiosity kills cats anyways.

As the day grows on, your excitement grows beyond you. The rapid tap of your anxious feet strike against the tiled floor of the lecture hall, reverberating throughout the frigid, drab room. An exasperated sigh drags from your pouting lips, chin resting within the palm of your hand. Back and forth your eyes flit from the digital clock abut the wall to your monotone professor who paces through the aisles, blathering on about environmental law.

You can hardly help the way you’re beginning to eagerly gather your belongings, slinging your backpack over one shoulder before discretely slipping out of the room, scurrying home with a girlish grin long before class is said and done. Immediately, you’re fishing for your phone, informing Toji that you’re finally free and again, his response is embarrassingly quick. He’s on his way.

It feels like an eternity and you’re impatient. Your stomach lurches in excitement as you sit cross legged on the couch. The large television before you hums monotonously, a show you’ve never cared for flitting across the crystal display, but then, there’s a knock — three, hard, heavy-handed knocks. Your feet are moving faster than your brain can register, nearly tripping over your own feet on your way to the door. As you’re reaching for the knob, it feels like you can’t breathe — like you forgot how to breathe, but that doesn’t stop the hand that’s slowly creaking the heavy, wooden door open just enough to peek your head out and then up, up, up.

“Oh.” You breathe, huffing a breath you weren’t aware you held, your curious gaze shamelessly devouring the burly, heavy-set figure that fills your doorway. “Hi, Toji.” The door creeps wider as you step aside, granting him access into your home.

“Hi, pretty.” His gruff, baritone voice reverberates throughout your entire being, sending a cruel, unintentional rush of heat between your clamped thighs. A mischievous smile pries his scarred lips open, his sharp, sable eyes curiously falling to the cleavage that spills from your low-cut top.

Toji straggles behind as you pad through the archway leading to your small kitchen. He slips out of his shoes, wordlessly admiring your girlishly ornamented apartment, cock nearly throbbing from the overwhelming scent of you — so cloying and honeyed and edible. God, he’d only be lying if he said he hasn’t imagine what you’d taste like, fucking his fist like feral caveman to the pretty pictures on your Tinder profile.

“Uh, you hungry?” You observe your barren fridge, lips twisting in thought. “I have leftovers from last night.” You peer over your shoulder, watching as he observes your carefully thought out space.

He shakes his head in response, a slow, crooked smirk playing his slick lips. Slowly, he’s leaning back, legs crossing idly in front of him as his large hands reach backwards to prop himself against the cold, marble island that sits in the middle of the kitchen. He eyes you silently, watching intently as you stumble throughout your kitchen, fixing him a complimentary glass of iced water. You can hardly meet his intense gaze as you present him with the tall, overfilled glass, far too nervous to truly observe the way he practically devours you with his prey-like stare.

“What?” You finally croak, a nervous laugh tumbling past your lips. You’re stepping away to crane your head back, reluctantly registering the overwhelming sight before you.

Toji shrugs wordlessly before taking a long, ponderous sip from his condensating glass. He swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing before humming melodically, pondering in thought. His seemingly cruel gaze never leaves yours, even as you’re slowly backing away to lean against the opposing counter, subconsciously mirroring his stance as you prop yourself on the palms of your hands.

“You nervous or somethin’?” Toji smiles wide, cocking his head to the right. An intense set of dark eyes pierce yours, reading directly through your timid expression. Contrary to your fidgeting fingers, you shake your head in refutation as you peer down at your feet in a desperate attempt to avoid his relentless gaze.

Liar.

“No? Why are you so far then?” He observes, taking another sip from his dwindling glass before setting it against the marble. You hardly notice the way he shuffles closer, slyly inching toward your side of the kitchen. “After all that shit you talked, I was sure you’d be all over me… what changed, pretty?” Now, he stands hair's breadth away, looking down on you as if you’re prey to be devoured.

“Nothing.” You mutter, still averting your gaze. It’s hardly a whisper.

The slow, subconscious clamp of your thighs as you fruitlessly attempt to dull the throb of your poor, aching pussy doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, a burly knee is subtly creeping between your legs, deliberately forcing them back apart. There’s nowhere to run — nowhere to cower and writhe in fear or embarrassment; he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

You’re completely caged in, stretching to the tips of your toes in escape, but oh, sweet gravity — it’s pulling you down, down, down, driving your clothed cunt against the stiff muscles of his thigh. You gasp, hardly able to chase the breaths that tumble past your lips. Still, you can’t bear the thought of facing him, not after all that shit you talked, not even as you grind yourself against his thigh.

Toji pouts feignedly. “C’monnn, you won’t even look at me?” A large hand is cupping your chin, gingerly forcing your gaze onto his. “This can’t be the same girl who promised she’d let me slut her out… right?” His warm breath fans your parted lips, a fat thumb blindly grazing the lower half of your face. “No, you can’t possibly be the same girl who sent me a video of her noisy, little pussy cryin’ fa’me either… right?”

You’ve never felt so… small. The way your stomach sinks in arousal nearly forces a helpless whine past your lips. It almost feels like you’re in trouble, like you’ve done something horribly wrong and now, you await your inescapable punishment, yet your core aches at the very thought — it burns with an inextinguishable desire to be filled, to be punished.

As a father, Toji can’t help but to default back to his intrinsic lust for control, to assume authority. So really, can you blame him when he’s wordlessly pulling you up the counter you lean against? Two, strong hands finding purchase on your hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the frigid marble. He definitely doesn’t miss the way your legs practically fall open for him, naturally spreading to accommodate the girth of his hips as he creeps closer.

A slow and beautifully sinful grin is marring his face. “Are you a woman of your word?” It’s a low, gravelly hum, one that has you nodding desperately, lips parting sweetly. His head cocks to the right in query. “Yeah? So you’re gonna let me slut that pretty pussy out like you promised, hm?” A singular hand pushing your thighs further apart so that he can insert himself between them to which you audibly moan, nodding once again.

“I am a woman of my word,” you breathe, falling back to catch yourself on your hands as a newfound sense of confidence brews within you, “I meant it, you can have me however you want… please.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He subtly warns, slipping a large, intentional hand between your searing bodies. “Can you handle that?” Several, warm fingers are trailing against the fabric that hugs your cunt, eliciting a beautiful string of wanton moans from your pretty, parted lips — moans that make his cock twitch to life, eager to ruin you.

“Mhmmm, yes… yes,” you’re nodding, gasping out for more, head rolling deliriously from side to side as his fingers press firmly against your clothed cunt, “I can take anything, I swear! I’ll be s-so good.”

The subconscious roll of your body against the stocky hand that cups your pussy is pathetic; it’s dragging endless hums of pleasure and little gasps of air from your stupidly gaped mouth. You’re insatiable as you buck your hips, desperate to get more out of his teasing fingers, yet still, it isn’t enough. So truly, can Toji blame you for the way you’re beaming forward to catch his lips in a sloppy, haphazard kiss?

No, he can’t, because the way he kisses you back is nothing short of animalistic. It’s the way your teeth nearly clash; the way his fingers are threading through the hair at the back of your head, tugging you back to hold you still, kissing you exactly how he wants; even the way he’s huffing out hot, raptured breaths against your lips as if he can’t breathe, as if you’re the last, fleeting breath of air, nursing him back to life.

Your hands are everywhere. They’re wrapping around his slutty waist, pulling him closer; creeping up the hem of his shirt, into the waistband of his sweatpants, and over the unmistakable bulge of his warm cock again, and again, and again. It throbs against the palm of your hand, wordlessly begging to be heard, to be seen, to be touched.

“Take it out.” He breathes, stepping away just far enough for you to untie the drawstring. In a fruitless attempt to hide your grin of excitement, you bite your lip, wholeheartedly obliging as you fiddle to undo the tightly knotted bow that hides his most sacred possession. “Yeaaaah, take that cock out, sweetheart. Look at you… you’re excited for it, huh?”  He laughs at your fervid eagerness — a sharp gust of air through his nose.

As you’re tugging down both waistbands, a deep, guttural groan of relief is belting from the depths of his chest; he inhales a sharp breath through gritted teeth. His cock springs free, bouncing to kiss his lower abdomen in a smeared mess of arousal. Your mouth gapes as rivulets of precum spill down the length of his cock, lewdly pooling near his fat, swollen balls.

God, it’s pretty. It stands so proud and tall, longing to be seen — to be known. It literally weeps tears of desperation, begging for something, anything. How long has it been? Is he just as deprived? Your head burns with questions that yearn to be answered, but you’re determined.

Out of intrinsic instinct, you’re wrapping a hand around the base of his cock as if it’d explode if not dealt with immediately. Never in your life have you held something so… heavy. It’s warm and dense and wet. God, why is he so wet? Why is his precum slobbering down your fingers as you begin to pump him in your hand? Why does such a cruel, deafening schlop! ring out each time you drag your fist toward the leaking head? Why is it making you wet?

As if he can read your mind, Toji coos. “You like it, huh?” He’s amused, a smug grin plaguing his face. “You hungry, pretty? You wanna taste it?” Even the subtle lilt of enthusiasm that soothes his teasing tone makes your mouth sag in a whimper so you nod, of course. “You’ll just say yes to anything, won’t you?”

Duh.

Again, you nod dumbly before eagerly slipping off of the counter and falling to your knees with a thud! Like the good girl you promised you are, you’re lolling out your tongue to drool onto the tip of his cock without hesitation. A longgg, throaty moan drags from Toji’s gaped mouth when you gently tap the drooling head against the plush center of your tongue.

“Fuuuck yes, sweetheart. I knew just from your pictures that you’d be a nasty girl,” his hips are intentionally bucking toward your face, rudely forcing his cock deeper, “and you’re so obedient too… fell to your knees for my cock and you hardly know me.”

A cruel, wet gurgle spills from your mouth as you attempt to swallow around him. He fills your mouth perfectly, like the missing piece to a forgotten puzzle. You wail a muffled, helpless whine, jaw aching from the sheer weight of his cock as it rests against your eager tongue. His swollen balls throb painfully as he tucks himself deeper, forcing a proper gag from pretty lips.

The short, sable tufts of hair that adorn the thick base of his cock tickle your chin. A large hand holds your head taut, keeping you close as he presses the swollen fat of his balls against your trembling bottom lip. Your eyes well with tears as you gag again, throat tightening around the head of his cock when it prods your uvula. The achey, protruding vein that runs along the underside of his shaft throbs against your tongue as you gasp for air.

“Thaaaaat’s it. Hah — oh my god, are you drooling?” Two, deft fingers are swiping along your chin, collecting the saliva that dribbles down your face. “You are so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth… you gonna let me fuck it just a little?” The crooked smile that mars his face is sick, but it makes your stomach cave in arousal.

Toji doesn’t wait for a response as he’s reeling his hips back, two heavy hands steady on the back of your head, holding you in place. You gasp for a desperate breath before he pummels forward, tucking himself as deep as possible. He’s slow to pull out of your mouth, his thick cock leisurely grazing along every inch of your tongue. A timbre, wanton groan of pleasure drags from his slacked jaw.

“Suuuch a p— perfect throat for cock, holy fuck,” his hips are drawing back again, cock throbbing painfully when you cease the opportunity to gasp for air, “breeeathe, sweetheart… don’t you die on me. I’m not done with you yet, c’mere.” He’s abruptly yanking you to your feet, surely taking notice of the way your knees buckle beneath you.

He’s taking you by the wrist, leading you throughout your apartment as if it’s his own — as if he’s been here before. You follow him like a lost puppy, biting your inner cheek in anticipation as you trail behind him, warm arousal pooling between your thighs. It doesn’t take long for him to find your comfortable, eclectically garnished bedroom.

A large, curious hand is creaking the ajar door wider. He simpers to himself, inhaling the sweet, gourmand scent of everything you. Toji scoffs in what you can only hope astonishment as he peaks his head inside of the warm, dimly lit room. You follow his equivocal gaze, reimagining your sacred space from his fresh, much elder perspective.

“I wish my son would keep his room this neat,” he laughs and you follow him inside, watching as he curiously prowls your girlish room, "couldn't even pay him to wash his shit-stained boxers." A unique collection of trinkets entraps his gaze.

Son?

"Oh," you're taking a seat at the foot of your bed, wordlessly observing the grown, burly man that paces your carpeted room of light pink hues — a man who has to squat to even hear your sweet voice as you speak, "what's his name?"

Annoyed, Toji shakes his head, sucking his teeth. "Doesn't matter," he stalks closer, a subtle gleam of lust dancing across his gradually darkening irises, “I just wanna see how wet that pussy got from tasting my cock… you gonna show me, pretty?” The devilish, scarred smirk that pries his mouth open makes your sobbing pussy throb.

He kneels onto the edge of the mattress and you scoot further onto the bed; the soft, baby pink sheets ruffling as you eagerly peel your lounge shorts down your legs, kicking them to the floor. As you lie on your back, you rest on your forearms, bent legs falling open so sluttily for a man you hardly know. A dark, ever-growing patch of arousal soils your pretty, laced panties. The dim, twinkling lights that hang over your bed reveal such an embarrassingly wet mess — the sheer, drooling material that clings to your swollen lips for dear life, begging to be touched.

“Oh, fuck,” he audibly gasps, inching closer to the palpable heat that radiates between your legs, “yeeeeeah, show me that sloppy, little pussy, baby… holy fuck.” You can hear the sheer degree of arousal in his tone — the way he can’t help but to moan out his words; so overcome by his innate need to fuck that it exudes in the way he pronounces his vowels and consonants.

And then, he’s speechless, utterly enthralled by the several, glistening gossamers of arousal that stretch and snap erotically as you pull the damp fabric down your thighs. You’re obediently sprawled apart for him, pretty, slobbering cunt spread so sinfully for a mere stranger. His cock aches at the sight, jerking lewdly in tandem with the visible tightening of your leaking hole.

Three, longgg digits are dragging up the expanse of your cunt, collecting your prolific arousal. He’s smearing it between your swollen lips, across your quivering clit, then deep inside of your greedy pussy. Over and over and over again, his burly knuckles disappear into your endless slick, the pads of his fingers dragging so sinfully along your tensing walls.

“Such a pretty pussy… oh my god, listen to her,” his hoarse groan is so plainly conquered by his lust, he nearly moans as his jaw hangs in astonishment, sable brows furrowing deeply, “listen to how wet she is. Such a noisy girl, huh?”

And oh god, do you listen. A cruel, deafening squelch! cries from between your plush thighs each time his fingers disappear into your cunt. A familiar, palpable heat is creeping up your neck, spilling across your flustered face in a deep, crimson hue. Embarrassed by your bountiful arousal, your legs are flying shut, halting the hand that teases you. Almost immediately, Toji is wordlessly prying your thighs apart, pinning them to the sheets with a disapproving grunt.

Toji doesn’t miss the slack of your jaw or the sweet, little whimpers that fall so shamelessly from your raptured tongue. He can hardly help the way he’s subconsciously mimicking your expressions — his lips parting in tandem with yours, thick brows furrowing subtly, just as yours do, he’s even cooing in response to your pathetic whines and gasps of ever-growing pleasure.

Like a flower growing toward the warmth of the sun, you’re coiling into his touch, back arching up and off of the unkempt sheets. Your head deliriously falls back to press against the pillow. The repetitive batter of his thick, beckoning fingers is the only thing you can hear, feel, think. Your hips buck so nastily against the hand that paws at you, pretty little sighs and hums of pleasure dragging from your stupidly gaped mouth.

“I just know you wanna fuck, look at your back arch for my cock like that… such a hungry girl,” a big hand is creeping beneath the small of your back, helping you maintain that beautiful, fleeting arch and he inches closer, eyes narrowing so that he can read directly through your greedy expression, “yeah, look at that pretty face… you wanna fuck, huh?”

You can hardly nod before he’s whorishly pulling his cock out, a hiss of relief escaping his gritted teeth. Pearlescent beads of precum drool from the head as he stalks closer, a lazy, idle fist pumping his length. A singular hand is prying you open, burly fingers digging into the plush, underside of your thigh, rudely spreading you apart, and then, cries a lewd, deafening plap!

Not once, twice, but three fucking times, Toji spits into your quivering cunt; three, fat globs of saliva pool into one, sinful puddle, erotically dribbling down the expanse of your swollen lips, toward your endlessly drooling hole, then it creeps even lower, spilling between the slit of your ass, kissing the puckering hole that sits just below.

“Touch her,” he breathes, a hand reaches for yours, pulling it over the mess of slick that coats your pussy, “fuck my spit into your cunt so I can make you feel good, baby. Get her ready for me, c’mon,” he watches with a low, hooded eyes as you collect the mound of saliva on your clit, swirling the pads of your fingers around it before sinking them inside with a pretty gasp, “yeaaahhh, that’s a good girl, spread that slutty pussy open for me.”

As you spread yourself apart with your fingers, Toji is prodding his fat, mushroom head against your clit and it’s dragging the sweetest cries from your parted lips. He’s moving your fingers out of the way with his cock, smearing the precum that weeps endlessly, hips bucking ever so slightly to fuck against the slick that laminates your pretty pussy.

The pad of his thumb is guiding the head of his cock inside of you, a synchronous, drawn out moan echoing from your gaped mouths as he sinks deeper and deeper and deeper. The gradual widening of your eyes is drawing a dark, breathy chuckle from the pit of his sternum. You’re fighting the gnawing urge to run, to wriggle out of his grip and cower in fear, but you can’t fucking move.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… oh my god.” You feel helpless as you whimper, wanting so desperately to clamp your thighs shut, but Toji has you pressed apart on the sheets.

A longgg, slutty groan is falling from his slacked jaw as he reels his hips back, pupils dilating when he catches sight of the warm, glistening arousal that sheathes his cock. Never in his life has he felt something so… wet. Your syrupy, drooling lips stretch so wide for him, effortlessly swallowing each and everyone one of his languid, torturous thrusts.

Toji is so large, it nearly feels like there’s two of him. You feel him everywhere — he is everywhere. His fat, drooling cock is splitting you open while his calloused palms are pawing anywhere they can reach; they’re creeping up your pretty waist, pushing your shirt up, taking it off. His lips are parting, an unintentional gasp ensuing when your tits are spilling out for him.

Another big hand is reaching for your face, cupping your jaw as a warm, curious thumb grazes your bottom lip. Instinctively, your lips are parting, wordlessly inviting him into your sweet mouth. Obeying your silent needs, the salty digit is pushing past your parted lips to pry your jaw open. He can’t help the throaty moan that bellows from his lungs as you swallow around his finger, sucking so whorishly as your eyes threaten to cross.

He’s so entranced by the warmth of your mouth that he can’t help but to replace his thumb with his two middle fingers. The long, burly digits creep farther and farther down the length of your tongue, forcing a loud, helpless gag from your swollen lips. Your delirious eyes are welling with tears, brows furrowing deeply when your pussy throbs in response. A slow, devilish grin is marring his handsome face.

“Oh?” He gasps in near astonishment, taking notice of the undeniable pulse of your cunt. “You like my fingers in your mouth, don’t you?”

You nod, drool spilling from the corners of your lips. Never in your life have you been so aroused. It’s almost too much to bear, you can hardly think anymore. All you feel is him — his big hands that control you, his fingers that rest against your tongue, the heat his body radiates, even the repetitive strike of his full balls against the fat of your ass has you babbling nonsense.

Every deep, elongated thrust is pulling the nastiest sounds out of you, even the overwhelming pressure of the heavy thumb that’s pressed to your clit has you mewling in rapture. Your pretty pussy leaks like a broken faucet that begs to be mended — so sloppy and needy, poor legs spread achingly wide as he sinks into your slutty little hole over and over and over again like a madman on the brink of utter insanity.

“Were you thinkin’ about me in class, hm?” He’s abruptly jerking you closer, pulling your legs on either side of his waist. You nod dumbly, mouth falling open for your sweet, broken whimpers to escape. “Yeah, sweet girl? Were you thinkin’ about me comin’ over and stretching this perfect pussy out like this, huh?” A guttural groan tumbling past his lips when your hips buck weakly to meet his heavy thrusts. “Oh my god, baby, come here… you want more?” He’s nearly growling as he yanks you impossibly closer.

Two, strong hands are gripping at the thick of your hips, selfishly pulling you onto his cock, impaling you. He deftly drills himself into your pussy like a weightless fleshlight whose only purpose is to take cock. All of his noisy, ragged breaths come out in short huffs each time he bottoms out, fucking the literal breath out of himself. His bruising grip holds you still, long fingers splayed across your waist and hips as he continues to stuff you with the entirety of his fat cock.

The hypnotic rebound of your chest is killing him; they sit so perfectly and he’s feral. He’s leaning down to audibly inhale your sweet, gourmand perfume as it permeates throughout the sweltering air. His handsome face is tucked between your pretty breasts, greedy tongue darting past his lips to lick along the expanse of your chest. You’re panting out hums of pleasure, breath hitching discernibly when he begins to sink his teeth into the supple flesh.

“F— fuuuuckkk,” you’re deliriously wailing in rapture, hips rolling in tandem with his furious thrusts, “so good, so gooood… your cock feels s’fucking good. Hah—oh my god, Toji.” You’re slurring over yourself, truly intoxicated from the punishing buck of his hips.

His cock throbs at your drunken words, balls swelling painfully when you grasp for his shirt to ground yourself. Both of your mouths sag open, brows furrowing identically as you pant in loud, harmonious breaths. The wet, gut-wrenching smack! of skin against skin that reverberates throughout your bedroom is deafening, nothing else can be heard.

Your hips buck wildly, desperately fucking him back as sweet cries of his name spill from your tongue. His gaze is steady and unwavering, observing as you reach for anything you can — his face, his bulging biceps, the fabric of his shirt; but it’s when you reach for the small of his back, driving him impossibly deeper each time he bottoms out that makes the vein running along the underside of his cock throb painfully, his leaking head bullying your cervix over and over and over again.

“God, you tryna make me cum, huh?” He’s slipping out of you to hastily pull you on top of him, handling you just the way he needs. “Do it then, show me how you like to fuck, c’mon.” Two hands are gripping at the thick of your hips, encouraging you to use him.

With both hands, you reach for his chest, stabilizing yourself as you raise your hips. Warm palms are creeping up the fat of your thighs to soothe the discernible trembling of your aching muscles. He kneads the plush skin absentmindedly, mouth gaping incredulously when you slowly begin to sink down the length of his stiff cock, your pretty pussy slobbering all over him.

“Fuck me like a slut, c’mon,” it’s a low, demanding whisper as his hands are reaching forward to find purchase on your hips, subtly guiding your frantic movements, “show me how good, slutty girls are supposed to ride cock.” A nasty, crooked smirk plagues his face, crinkling the corners of his beautifully aged, darkened eyes.

Your mouth sags in a string of helpless whimpers when you sink down onto him again, and again, and again and each time your hips collide, he’s forcing you deeper. The large hands glued to your waist are pushing you back and forth, wordlessly commanding you. The dull, achy stretch of his cock as it drags along your sopping walls is pulling the filthiest sounds from your gaped mouth — beautiful cries of pleasure, desperate pleads for more, and short huffs of air that only make him harder.

Even under you, he’s still massive, taking up the entirety of your bed as you sit so prettily atop him, thighs aching from the width of his hips. Sticky beads of sweat adorn his face and several tussled strands of short, inky hair dance haphazardly along his forehead, partially occluding his vision as he peers up at you through thick, furrowing brows.

“C’mereee, baby, fuck,” a greedy hand is reaching for your throat, deft fingers wrapping so possessively around the expanse of your neck, pulling you close.

His lips deliriously catch yours, tasting you so desperately — so sluttily. His warm tongue is creeping into your mouth, shamelessly exploring the sweet cavity. He swallows each and every gasp and whimper that he fucks out of you, intentionally storing them in the depths of his mind for later retrieval whenever he’d inevitably think about this very moment again. Your mouth hangs wide as you mindlessly kiss him back, obediently taking all of his tongue, all of his hot, raptured breaths, all of his wanton groans of pleasure — everything. 

Toji can hardly help the feral buck of his hips beneath you, he doesn’t want to help it. He needs for you to remember the feeling of his cock — how it pries you open and guts you out, how it stupidly pulls your mouth wide, even the way it creates the slightest bulge in your abdomen each time he’s at a hilt. He needs for your cunt to remember the shape of him.

If you don’t go to class with his cock in the forefront of your mind, if it isn’t what you envision when you pleasure yourself during ungodly hours of the night, if you’re not drawn to tears because you can’t possibly replicate the feeling of his punishing thrusts, then it’s a job poorly done and Toji won’t have that. Not now. Not ever.

The sheer force of his thrusts are jerking you forward, toppling you onto his chest and into his arms; they’re wrapping around you, pulling you impossibly closer as the mind-numbing buck of his hips only intensifies. Every frantic breath and throaty groan is lost in the crook of your neck, the close range of his moans like kindle to a rampant flame.

“Is anyone on campus fucking you like this?” It’s a strained, breathless whisper against the shell of your ear, his wet lips grazing your skin. “Who else is fucking you like this, huh?” He reiterates, a hand creeping up your jaw, holding you still so that he can observe your drunken gaze.

“No… no one,” you cry, shaking your head as best you can under his tightening grip, “nobody knows how to f-fuck me right.” The quiver of your sweet, honeyed voice makes his stomach sink in his ever growing arousal, cock twitching, begging for release.

Toji frowns, his darkened eyes softening. “Awwww, nobody knows how to please this slutty little pussy huh, sweetheart?” The hand that holds your face caresses your flushed cheek, a fat thumb slipping into the corner of your parted lips. “You needed a stranger to come over and fuck the shit out of you like this?” As if to accentuate his point, he’s tucking himself unbearably deeper, the lewd plap! of his balls echoing each time he bottoms out.

A big, heavy hand is landing on the fat of your ass with an experimental, earsplitting smack! You yelp incredulously, hissing through your gritted teeth as you brace yourself for another impact, but it doesn’t come. Immediately, your lust-stricken eyes are searching for his, a desperate cry dragging for your kiss-bitten lips as you plead for another.

“A-again,” you mumble, reaching for his hand to pull it over the reddening fat of your ass, enticing him, “hit me again… please.”

Wordlessly, he obliges, his heavy hand coming down once, twice, thrice, and then, you feel the gut wrenching coil in the pit of your stomach grow impossibly tighter, yearning for release. As you stupidly bounce up and down the length of his cock, you’re drunkenly babbling, but it’s the slutty, breathless whine of his name that’s dragging his mouth open in pure arousal; every breath he huffs is now a whorish moan or a guttural groan of pleasure.

“Oh, god,” he groans, his head sinking deeper into your cushiony, pink pillow, “rub that clit for me, sweetheart… I wanna see how you cum on it,” his shameless, drunken gaze is flitting between your rolling eyes and the way his twitching cock disappears into your cunt, “be a good girl ‘n make yourself cum on my cock.”

A frantic hand is reaching down to play with your poor, swollen clit, your entire being shuddering so violently from the feeling your own, overwhelming touch; It’s too much, too sensitive. Sinful rivulets of drool spill down your chin, your head falling to the side so stupidly as you trace haphazard circles around the ravaged bundle of nerves. 

“M’gonna c-cum,” you gasp, stomach sinking as your orgasm swells in the pit of your core, “hah —ohhh my fucking god… f-fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah? Are you cumming for me, pretty girl?” He’s coos as he draws you closer, the tip of his large nose brushing yours. “Do it then, make a mess on my cock, sweetheart c’mon,” his lips are on yours once again, kissing you so fucking sloppily, nothing but wet tongue and clashing teeth, “fuuuckkk yes, c’mon baby. Thaaaat’s it… cum on my cock just like that, such a good fucking girl.”

His mouth gapes as you buck against him, desperate, uninhibited moans dragging from your sore throat. With nothing but a strangled whimper in his throat, Toji is reluctantly slipping out of you, feverishly pumping the length of his cock in his tight fist. It’s so fucking wet; your arousal adorns the entirety of his cock and his drooling tip leaks desperately for you, making for an obscenely loud schlop! that reverberates throughout the sweltering atmosphere.

Toji’s head is pressing deeper into your pillow, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly. His kiss-bitten lips are pursing together as he hums in rapture, whimpering strangled, erratic breaths through his nostrils. His forearm tenses as he hastily strokes his slick cock, sweet mutters of your name and lewd profanities spilling from his tongue.

“Help me, fuck, don’t just watch,” he gasps breathlessly, his vacant hand blindly searching for yours to wrap it around the fist that holds his cock, “fuck, fuck, fuck… yeah, make me cum like a good slut.”

The feeling of your smaller, less adept fingers wrapping around his fist and cock is what has him spilling an obscene amount of warm, syrupy cum between your searing bodies. It coats the expanse of your tits and abdomen, dripping so sinfully down your soft, perspiring skin. Toji thinks this is the hardest he’s ever cum in his life; even the day he lost his virginity pales in comparison.

It’s the look of utter enthrallment that’s written in your widening eyes as you observe his full body shudders that ensue with each viscous spurt of cum. It’s the way you’re beaming down at him, a content smile slowly spreading across your pretty, post-sex face. It’s the way you’re swiping a swift, curious finger to collect the cum that trickles down your chest, popping the digit in your mouth with a pleasureful hum of satisfaction.

Dumbfounded, Toji smiles. “You really are a woman of your word, huh?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･