My Boyfriend Billy Hargrove Headcanons

Okay, hear me out.

After you and Billy has an argument over god knows, your crying on the couch whilst Billy had gone out to get some air. It’s his cooling down mechanism but you are too so he feels like even more shit for leaving you behind upset so every time he will without a doubt come home with flowers. Sometimes it might be one or the next it will be a bouquet but he always walks through the door maybe an hour later with a saddened look to see you so crushed.

He’ll put the flowers on a table or on the floor and sit at your feet, no words shared as his thumbs swipe away the tears, gentle eyes that was only given to you staring into your soul as he takes your hands next to kiss with such delicacy. He’s got a heavy touch so it feels like he’s grabbing you almost but it all gets made up for with his soft plump lips that he cares for with chapstick you give him every few months when he’s run out.

If you guys haven’t had dinner yet after your both calm, he’ll cook before going to bed with you in his arms. Though if you hadn’t forgiven him, he’s still at his knees for you, showering you and pampering you the rest of the night but if even that wasn’t enough; he’ll sleep on the couch till morning and make you breakfast in bed. He loves you a lot and shouting at you hurts even more than when his dad used to. He doesn’t want his girl feeling scared of him so if he has to carry you like one of them royals on a bed, he will do it.

Hope your feeling well, Lovely. <3

a/n: Okay so sorry this took so long; I write so slow and I've been writing multiple things but this was so cute I LOVE the idea of it sm. I wanted to do like every single thing in there, but I couldn't cause it'd be wayyyy too long and idk how many people wanna read that, and also just, I'd be making contradictions in the story asdfghjkl. I hope you're feeling well too bby! <3

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warnings: Text-heavy; not a lot of dialogue, mentions of arguments/yelling, trauma-related emotions, maybe OOC Billy? abuse mention

Pink Roses - B.H.

The moment Billy walked out the door, he regretted it.

He regretted fighting with you, he regretted the yelling and the words the both of you would hurl at one another in your anger. He regretted that he'd hurt you, knowingly too.

He regretted being like his father.

You always insisted he wasn't his father. He was Billy Hargrove, not Neil Hargrove. But sometimes, when things got hard, or when he was alone with too many thoughts, he'd find himself feeling like the man who made his life miserable before he'd met you.

Billy never hit you. He could never even imagine doing that. The closest he'd come to ever hurting you was grabbing your wrist, and he was stronger than he realized- it's what he got for weight lifting. And his bodies instinctual response to fight and defend. He needed to really pay attention to how heavy his hand was, even in moments of love. It was never intentional.

But he tortured himself. He told himself that maybe that was who he really was and he was just trying to hide it; that really, he was an abuser like his father, and that he would only ruin you. Like how his father ruined his mother, ruined him, ruined everything he ever touched.

As guilty as he felt leaving you in the house, the small home you two had gotten in Hawkins (as much as he wanted to go to California or something, the two of you were still young and Max was still here, still a teen), most definitely crying, alone, he wouldn't go back just yet. He knew better than that at this point.

Years together, being away from his father, you, surviving Starcourt, it all helped. It gave him the chance to work on himself without the heavy hand of a parent that despised him. Almost dying, not being able to control himself and his actions quite literally, everything, it made him think.

But he still struggled. An entire life thus far of abuse and abandonment wasn't something that could easily be undone. In fact, it was likely that even with time and change, there would still be parts of him that would peak through. Parts of him that would never trust properly, or would retain fear and anger in horrible ways.

So he knew, right now, he needed air. Even with regret, his blood was still pumping fast. He still felt the remnants of anger and adrenaline from the yelling match the two of you had just had. So staying away for now was better than walking back in. Even if he wanted to.

You always told him that was progress: the acknowledgement and realisation that his emotions were dangerous, and the willingness to separate himself for his own good and others.

He always just said it would be better if it never happened at all.

The cool air was a balm to his burning blood. The way it whipped around his Camaro as he drove aimlessly made him feel better. It quieted his thoughts and allowed him to breathe. The radio played a song, one he didn't really have any particular feelings for, but it was better than empty silence.

When the driving fast (something he knew you'd get angry at him for) and the loud music from his radio (if you were there right now, you'd be singing with it just as loud) ran it's course and he no longer felt as angry, or angry at all, he pulled his car into a strip of small stores.

He didn't even bother to turn his car off, leaving it on but locked as he entered one of the small stores. They sold various things inside, but the item he came for was the flowers; they always had so many different ones and you always mentioned how beautiful they were.

It felt juvenile as he picked out flowers. He knew nothing of the 'language of flowers' but he remembered Max mentioning that pink roses are a symbol of apology; asking for forgiveness and to show gratitude, appreciation.

And Max only knew that because Lucas had gotten them for her, on more than one occasion. Billy always knew when Max and Lucas had a fight, or broke up (again, god, he keeps asking her why she keeps going back if they've broken up at least six times already, she says he 'wouldn't get it,') he would see pink roses in the house when he still lived there.

He had gotten sick of the colour pink.

But now it wasn't so annoying to look at, not when he looked at the pink roses and thought to himself- thought about you and whatever it was you argued about. He couldn't even really pinpoint the exact reason for whatever triggered the argument, which made it all the more silly. He looked at the roses in his passenger seat where you always sat, driving back home to you.

He couldn't be sick of the colour pink. Not when it's meaning in those flowers was something he felt. He loved you, and he was thankful for you. Always sorry after a fight. It would always be you, no one else was meant for him like you were- no amount of arguments or sullied words could change the fact that it would always be you.

He understood Max more than she knew. More than he realised too.

---

Inside the small house, you lay curled up on the couch. It smells like him. Everything in the damn house smells like him; his cologne, cigarettes (he tried to smoke outside most of the time but it wasn't always) and it only made your eyes water once again.

You regret it the moment he walks out the door, slamming it shut behind him. You regret the volume of your voice and the words you spoke. You regret letting him walk out.

But you also respected that he did so. It could've easily went differently. His measuring of his own emotions, allowing him to remove himself from the situation; that was something more new.

You couldn't look at him and not say he made progress everyday.

Whatever the argument had been lost on you the moment you fall onto the couch in tears. Hagard breathes from anger and adrenaline. Angry tears become sad ones, lonely ones. And you just wish he was there. Even if you're mad.

Only Billy Hargrove knows how to make you this upset, and only Billy Hargrove knows how to make you feel better.

It's the double edged sword of being so close to someone; so close to him. You know each others flaws, you know their weak spots and the words to use to dig in deep- but you also know the words to make them feel better, the touch to comfort them and calm them down.

It's so contradictory. Your body and mind are angry with him, but at the same time, they want him there, to make you feel better.

It takes time for him to come back. However long had passed, you aren't sure, because the time blurs together as you lay on the couch, tears still spilling down your cheeks. You hate them because you can't control them and they just seem insistent on sticking around.

But you know it's late because the light isn't coming from the windows, and when he opens the front door, maybe a bit gingerly, you hear crickets, and no cars.

You hear his heavy steps; booted feet hitting the faded hardwood floor. Parts of you flood with relief now that he's back. The house feels fuller once more, but all the same, there is a pain and anger in you. The metaphorical temperature is still cool in the house as the memories of an argument too intense for its own good linger.

You're not facing him, rather, facing the inside back cushions of the couch, one of your arms under your head like a makeshift pillow while the other rests curled up into your chest. You smell is cologne when he walks closer; stronger than it was on the furniture. Invading your senses.

The crinkling from the flowers Billy brought back with him interrupt dead silence; he places them on the floor beside the couch before he lowers himself onto the floor as well, back to you, just as you had yours to his, resting an arm on his propped up knee.

It stays quiet. There's nothing neither your nor him can find it in you to say. Words that should be said, words that want to be said, stay locked behind your tongues. Stuck in your throats.

If he was still angry, Billy might've walked in, and scoffed at the sight of you crying on the couch. He might've rolled his eyes and ignored you. But he wasn't angry anymore. And it was something that he had worked on.

He was only sad when he saw your body on the couch. He only felt heartbroken, and wanted to take back everything that happened. It was an emotion he was used to. Regret. But it was one he spent his entire life burying.

There hadn't been time to feel regret. Not when every action he made had been a response to the abuse he had experienced. Not when, in his life, he had only known the feeling of trying to survive in a world that seemed to be against him from the start. There was no place for regret then.

But now he was safer than he had been before. And he could feel regret for his actions; truly, deeply, feel them.

And hurting you, in any way, shape, or form, was something he regretted.

It was quiet. No noise save for the breathing from both of you. But eventually, the quiet breaks when he moves his body from where he sits at your feet, basically crawling his way to where your head sits. The sound of his leather jacket he had yet to take off evaded your senses as he brought himself closer.

You wanted to look at him. So you swallowed any embarrassment you felt for crying, or any lingering negative emotions and pettiness, and slowly maneuvered to turn over onto your other side.

His beautiful blue eyes met yours, and they looked sad. Your eyes could only fill with tears you had believed had dried up by now, but rather, they were waiting for something to trigger them again.

His larger hand, rings and all, reached up and he used his thumb to wipe the tears that built up from your eyes, barely giving them the chance to fall. He was heavy handed, as gentle as he tried to be, so the way he did it almost made you crack a sad smile. It was like he was getting ready to fight the tears away if he had to, like they were a physical opponent. It's as if he's grabbing your face more than wiping your tears away.

But you don't care, because it's him. It's absolutely, perfectly, Billy Hargrove. Heavy handed by nature, it is filled with emotion and care. He doesn't hurt you. And it feels like protection whenever he does touch you this way. You could fade away into his hands, you loved them so much. It made more tears fill your eyes. This man, you couldn't lose this man. And every time you argued you worried, maybe he won't come back.

He always did however.

His eyes look so gentle. Something that only you have ever gotten to experience. For Billy Hargrove was tough, he was angry in most things and empty eyes were an easy way to keep people at a distance. But you saw every emotion that no one else did. 

Engulfing your hand with his own after he takes it, it feels tingly. Warm. He's always been like a personal heater (something you loved in the cold but hated in the summer because he would wrap himself around you and not let go till you cried uncle) and it feels good in those moments to have his hand holding yours. It feels like he's holding your hand more than you're holding his, grabbing it. It's his heavy touch.

His plump lips touch the skin on your knuckles softly. They're soft, and warm, and you can tell he's still using the chapstick you get him every few months. Because as much as you loved feeling his lips on your own, he was definitely just stealing the chapstick off your lips at that point and it was only fair if you could do the same.

"...'m sorry."

It's so quiet and muffled when he says it that you almost miss it. But you're so close and it's so quiet around you that you do hear it. Words are hard for him, words of remorse and apologies, it's always been hard. But he's saying it, he's trying.

The pink roses on the floor beside him finally catch your eye and you feel your chest fill with an overwhelming love and warmth.

"I'm sorry too," you respond, voice wobbly as you pull yourself closer to him while also pulling his head closer to you where you can rest your forehead against his own.

One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your neck, holding it with some pressure as his fingers touch your hair and he digs his fingers into it if he can.

"I'll do better."

You shake your head abruptly, almost horrified that he thinks he's not doing better or not doing good enough at this pace right now.

"No, you are doing better," you say firmly, looking into his eyes sternly, still glossy with tears, "I'll do better too."

"Guess we both have to do better," he says with a hint of humour. His smile, it's so beautiful. It is one of your most favourite sights in the entire world.

"I love you Billy."

He's silent at first, as he slightly pulls back from you. It doesn't matter how many times you say it to him, it's still sometimes surreal. Since he was a child and his mother left, no one told him they loved him. But you came into his life, and told him more than he thought he deserved.

"Is this a shit time to say I got flowers?" He's good at changing the subject. He's said he loves you before, but sometimes its overwhelming. Giving love to someone and it being given back tenfold, "Cause they were expensive and need water, or whatever."

You laugh. A small, but genuine laugh. You love this man, and you know you always will.

"They're beautiful; the Lucas and Max special? I'll put them in a vase if you go get dinner started- unless you ate when you left?" You say as you begin sitting up, Billy moving back and getting up himself, dropping a heavy kiss to your lips as he does so.

"Screw off," he responds with no malice, rolling his eyes playfully, "Max only gets one of these shits at a time from her boyfriend, I got you the whole bouquet. And no, I didn't."

"A real man," you jokingly say, plucking the bouquet that he had picked up when he stood up himself from his hands, you stand there for a moment looking at them. They smell amazing, and it's mixed with his scent. Smells like his car, like his cologne. They're beautiful. You almost get lost in them, "...thank you."

He's already going to your small open kitchen when you speak again, grabbing the singular glass that is tall enough for the flowers and putting it on the small table for you while he's also grabbing a pan.

"Don't tell Max, for Christ's sake," he bemoans, "I won't hear the end of that shit."

"Good thing I invited her for dinner tomorrow."

"What? Babe, come on..."

You don't offer him a response as you smile to yourself; he's sulking only a bit and mumbling to himself as he grabs things to start cooking. Things go quiet once more as you unwrap the flowers and cut off their thorns.

"...love you too."

Yeah. He was the only man you'd ever love.

DREAM SMP CHARACTERS | TECHNOBLADE

☆°.Pairing: Bakugou x reader

☆°.Summary: A gender swap quirk allows you to live your fantasies..

☆°.Note: it's not a body swap quirk, Bakugou is still in his body, you are still in yours except genders have been swapped...

Bakugou can feel your eyes on him, it's matter of time before you verbalize your thoughts to him, he just hope he has long enough to get out of here before you do.

"So..." He doesn't, internal turmoil interrupted by your voice, as he looks up to a sleazy expression painting on your face.

"Stop fucking mewing." He grits out, teeth grinding against each other, you let out a snort, the quirk mishap really turned one of your fantasies real, you'll just have to convince Bakugou.

"Please, baby." You pouted, hands reaching out for his cheek, not much softer then usual, his expansive skincare routine to thank. Your eyes dart down, glancing at his cleavage, they were bigger though, bigger than usual. Feeling your pants tightening, you knew you had to hurry.

For a moment, he contemplated, it was still you and him, letting out a sigh, he uncrossed his arm, tentatively meeting your eyes only to see you oogling his tits.

"Fucking perver-"

"No, baby please." You wrap your arms around him,"we don't get these opportunities often, think about it." You try to convince him, prospect of having sex like this making precum ooze out of your cock.

He can already feel his underwear sticking to his folds, the quirk last for 3 days, 2 have already gone by, so this really is the last day to try it. He hadn't allowed you to touch him at all, stating all this was too weird, that doesn't mean he didn't touch himself, the thought of having sex is this state made him abuse his clit in the silent hours of the night.

Fuck it, he thinks before pulling your hairs and pressing his lips against yours, wasting no time you tightened your arm around his waist, other hand reaching to cradle his cheek.

He lets out a hiss, feeling an unfamiliar heat bubbling in his belly, he pulls away to breathe, you take the opportunity to litter kisses along his jaw, hand sliding down to squeeze his boob, fingers swirling around his nipple.

You hands reach down, grasping the edges of his shirt, slowly lifting it, he pulls away, hands pushing at your chest, face flushed red, chest heaving as he tired to slow his rapid breathes.

"You take your shirt off first," he mumbles, eyes refusing to meet yours, you want to tease him, but you bite your tongue, instead wordlessly moving to pull your shirt over your head and shimmying out of your pants. You stand infront of him, clad on in tight boxers, the stain due to precum more prominent than the outline of your hardened cock.

"This good, baby?" You move towards him, taking his palms and pressing them against your chest, "Feel this," you shift his hands to press against your racing heart, "and that." Dragging his hands down all the way to your cock, "all this for you, because of you."

His breath hitches, head lolling to the side, he slowly pushes his shorts along with underwear down, "I want to keep the shirt on." He mutters, finally meeting your eyes, moving to stand on his toes to press a kiss against your jaw.

"Whatever you want, baby." You let out a sigh, his trail of kisses leaving you light headed, his hands reach your underwear, fingertips grazing your cock, you take the hint, pulling them off.

Bakugou takes your cock in his hands, caressing the pink tip with his thumb, kneeling down he locks his eyes with you, pretty little tongue coming out to lick at your precum, he suckles on head of your cock, before spitting on his palms and stroking the base of it.

The sight of him on his knees ends up being too much for you, he chokes a little at the spontaneity of your orgasm, thick gooey cream spurted against his lips. You stare at him, eyes wide trying to decipher what happened.

"You didn't really get time to learn how to hold back eh," he spoke cheekily, fingers wiping away your cum from his jaw before his hand trails down to his pussy, smearing the cum on his clit, letting out low moans as he his pace quickened.

"You looked pretty," you pouted, proceeding to kneel in front of him, pulling his hand away from his clit and bringing it to your mouth, "let me make you cum." You pull him closer, one arm around his waist pulling his body flush to yours, other hand pressing quick circles on his clit.

You trace his hole, lathering your fingers up in his slick, before sinking them in, he lets out a moan, hand coming to grasp at your shoulders. You hum against his neck, curling your fingers inside him, thumb pressing against his clit.

"Ple-please," he begs, hips rutting forward, greedy little cunt chasing after your fingers.

"gonna cum, baby," you fasten your finger, thumb abusing his clit,"gonna soak my hand, huh?"

"-m gonna cum, plea-" he barely even finishes, before his cums around your finger, body stiffening as he rides out his high, toes curling when you don't ease up your thumb, poor clit stimulated to the point where he is clawing at your wrists.

"Sto- stop, please, I came," clear fluid gushes out of his hole, puddling on the floor, his head lolling back, eyes crossing.

You slow down your hand, before slowly pulling away, him frame still cradled in your arms, breathing heavy.

He lifts his head, hazy eyes locking with yours, "yer' mean," he pouts, fully settling his weight onto your body, too weak to move around.

"had to cherish her," your fingers glid through his folds, before he smacks your hand away, cunt too sore for any stimulation.

"perv" he mumbles sleepily, getting too comfortable in your arms.

"we still have to clean up, ya know." You don't get an answer back, looking down only to find him fast asleep against your chest.

You grab a discarded shirt, wiping away your hands, before running them through his hairs, slowly moving so you were laying down comfortably away from the bodily fluids.

For your listening pleasure...

doing the "a boy who's jacked and kind" trend with bf! katsuki bakugo.

you were sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through tiktok. a mischievous grin crept onto your face when you come across a video. you glanced at your boyfriend, katsuki, who was nuzzling your neck with his arms wrapped around you, looking as grumpy as ever.

“katsukiii,” you called sweetly, holding up your phone.

katsuki sighs, pulling away from your neck that he declared his haven, looking at you with a deadpanned look. "yes, sweets?”

“seen this yet?" you turn the screen toward him. the video showed a guy easily picking up his girlfriend and carrying her over his shoulders.

katsuki eyes the screen before shaking his head. “no. what about it?”

“so… think you could do it? or are these muscles just for show?” you reach out to squeeze his bicep appreciatively.

his crimson eyes narrowed at you. he did not live to train his ass off and survive a war just for you to say this. “you think i can’t pick up your ass?”

“oh, i don’t know. can you?" you look at him with a grin. "i mean, i’m not exactly light. you might not be strong enough."

his glare deepened, and he stood up, standing across from you. “you’re really asking for it, sweets.”

you giggled, leaning back against the couch. “i’m just saying! might be too much for the great bakugo katsuki to—”

but before you could finish, katsuki reached down, gripping your waist with one arm and hooking his other arm under your knees. in one swift motion, he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing, planting your lap on his shoulders.

you let out a startled squeal, hands flying to his shoulders for balance. “katsuki!”

“what was it you said again?” he asked, smirking as he wrapped an arm around your legs, squeezing your thigh. “not strong enough?”

you stared down at him with flushing cheeks, laughing. “ohmygod, okay, fine! you can lift me, big deal!”

“oh, sweets. you're so cute," he said, his smirk widening. he shifted your weight, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "but we’re not done yet."

you let out an indignant laugh, pounding lightly on his back. “katsuki! put me down, you caveman!”

“nah,” katsuki said, carrying you to your shared bedroom. “not until you admit i'm the strongest guy you’ve ever met.”

"never!” you declared, still laughing.

he stopped abruptly, spinning you around so you were cradled in his arms like a newly-wed couple. his face was smug as he raised an eyebrow at her. “still doubting me, sweets?”

you huffed, trying to keep a straight face. “okay, okay," you reach to kiss his cheek. "you’re the strongest man i know. okay? hottest one at that, too.”

"hmph. you know other men?"

"katsuki!"

he grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “next time, sweets, think twice before talking shit.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “so cocky.”

he scoffs, carrying you across the room and dropped you onto the bed, your laughter turning into a surprised yelp as you landed among the pillows.

katsuki leaned over you, his hand planted on your waist, the other on the side of your head, his smirk growing. “still think i can’t handle it?”

you smile at him, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. "you can handle it just fine."

“damn right i do,” he said, leaning down and capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

youe fingers tangled in his hair as you kissed him back, the playful energy between them simmering into something deeper, more heated. while you might have started the teasing, katsuki always had the last word, and the last kiss.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ LISTEN. HE CAN DO IT, OKAY? HE SUCCESFULLY CARRIED 118KG ADULT PRO HERO ENDEAVOR WITHOUT FAIL. WHEN HE WAS A TEEN!! HES MORE CAPABLE NOW THATS HES A PRO HERO, OBVIOUSLY. SELF-INDULGENT BECAUSE IM A PLUS-SIZED GIRLIE. I LOVE MY MAN SM 💜💜

Hear me out. Billy Hargrove falling for a gal with a toddler. This has been rolling around in my head for DAYS! Am I the only one that can see him just being completely wrapped around a 2-year-old little girl's finger? Or beating the shit out of a douchebag for insulting HIS family?!

Okay hear me out.

Billy doesn’t want to be a parent. As he starts healing from the abuse he’s suffered his whole life, he can’t stomach the possibility that he’ll turn out just like his father. He doesn’t LIKE kids, either, and besides Max and the little shits who run around at the pool and make his job harder, he doesn’t have any experience with them. He barely even got to be a kid himself, after his mom left, and he really doesn’t have any desire to ever have any.

But then he meets you one day, and he’s enamored. Maybe he runs into you at the store or something, and something about you just…clicks. So, naturally, he wants to take you out on a date, and you agree. He takes you out for dinner one night and everything is going so well, he doesn’t even try to Fuck you in the back of his car so he can get the intimacy he so desperately craves and then leave it at that. No, he takes you out on a second date, and a third…and at this point, he’s head over heels.

It’s also at this point that you decide this guy might be worth keeping around. You’re cautious, ever since your ex up and left, and at first, Billy seemed like he had the potential to be the same way. But he’s sticking by you and he isn’t even trying to overstep his bounds, reminding you more of a lost puppy than a sleazy dirtbag. So, you decide that he’s a keeper, and you tell him the truth:

You’ve got a kid.

At first, his eyes go wide. He’s surprised, because you don’t SEEM like a mom. You aren’t like Karen Wheeler or Susan. You’re his age, and you’re nice and you’re fun. It scares him a little, and you both think that he’s gonna run for it—until he pauses, and he asks himself WHY he’s scared. And he realizes that it’s because of himself, and his dad. And you don’t know anything about any of that, so how could he drag you into his own shit?

“I, uh, I gotta say…I don’t think I’m exactly father material,” he says, avoiding your gaze as he anxiously chews on a toothpick.

“Why?”

“Because…”

And suddenly he’s telling you everything. You, this person he only met a few weeks ago. And you’re not running, either, because you can see that he’s scared, but he’s trying to bounce back from everything life has thrown at him—and you don’t think he’s a danger. At all. You think he can break that cycle his father got so stuck in.

So, one hot summer day, you bring your daughter with you to the community pool, so Billy can meet her without the potential awkwardness of being stuck in your house.

He spots you immediately from his perch on the lifeguard chair, and he’s shocked at the way that he isn’t afraid of the interaction that he knows is coming. For some reason, his first instinct isn’t to run, but to yell for heather to come take his spot for a minute as he climbs down to meet you.

You’ve got your daughter on your hip, your tote bag over your other shoulder. You’ve got a wide hat that’s shielding both of you from the sun, and a swimsuit that’s a little too hot and trendy for a MOM to be wearing at the COMMUNITY POOL.

(Mrs. wheeler and the other mothers are watching you with judgmental eyes. When Billy walks up to you, their jaws drop. They can’t decide if they love seeing him kiss you because suddenly he looks like a family man, or if they hate it because it’s YOU)

You can tell he’s nervous as he says hi, both to you and to your daughter. She’s fascinated by the whistle hanging around his neck. He’s fascinated by the way that he isn’t terrified of holding her when you pick out a chair to hang out in and hand her off to him for a moment. When you glance back up at the two of them, you see that your daughter is grabbing at his curls, and he’s staring at her in absolute wonder, and you know that things are gonna go well.

And they do.

You and Billy get more serious. He moves in, and keeps you as far away from his dad as possible. Max is allowed over, though, because she’s a good (ish) babysitter. And Billy discovers that he’s kind of about this whole family life thing, after all. He keeps the Camaro, of course, because he’s not about to change his style and you’re not about to ask him to because it’s what you fell in love with in the first place, and the two of you are the coolest parents on the block. Your daughter sits outside as Billy works on his car. She grows up listening to Motley Crue and The Scorpions and everything else he likes. She never has to worry about bullies, because the other kids know who her dad is and they’re not about to incur his wrath. He never ever raises so much as a finger towards either of you, because he’s learned what love is and he’s learned to be gentle…but he’ll absolutely rock somebody’s shit if they make a snide comment about your little family.

AA!!!!

ok it’s time to get weirder everyone.

you don’t see selena gomez talking about the shittiness of north korea and it’s autocratic government. you don’t see bts speaking on the issues palestinians are facing right now. you don’t see harry styles talking about income inequality in the united states.

so why are these fucking minecraft youtubers expected to know absolutely everything about every possible problem going on in the world right now as well as being expected to speak on it whenever people bring it up.

half of these people are fucking teenagers who wanted to make content on the internet because it interested them. they aren’t activists. they didn’t sign up to be activists. stop treating them like one.

they are content creators existing to provide content. entertainment. if they want to use their platform that they built to speak on issues that they’re passionate about? great! amazing! but this entire belief that if they don’t speak on something or aren’t educated on a problem means they’re racist or homophobic or transphobic or literally anything else is such a dangerous mindset to have.

content creators are not activists. they don’t owe you anything. it’s great if they feel they are responsible and educated enough to speak on these issues and help people, but expecting them to do anything other than what they’re signed up for, which is creating content for entertainment is a fools dream that shouldn’t be indulged.

you don’t see older fandoms asking their ccs to say “can you please say gay rights?” or asking for their opinion on racial issues.

BECAUSE IT’S NOT THEIR FUCKING JOB

of course fucking gay rights. of course racial issues are valid and should be talked about. BUT THEY’RE PLAYING A VIDEO GAME ABOUT FUCKING BLOCKS.

TALK TO AN ACTIVIST IF YOU WANT AN INFORMED OPINION. THAT’S THEIR JOB. NOT A MINECRAFT YOUTUBER. NOT ANY YOUTUBER UNLESS THEY HAVE ALREADY EXPLICITLY SAID THEY BELIEVE THEMSELVES MATURE ENOUGH TO TALK ABOUT IT.

i am sick and fucking tired of everyone using twitter as a way to educate people. twitter threads are not reliable sources of information. you know what are?

ted talks

websites formatted specifically by activists

organization pages without fucking character limits

stop expecting content creators to know everything. they don’t. they never will. they’ll mess up. they’ll make mistakes. that doesn’t make them fucking racist.

mcyttwt is a fucking joke and i hope that app burns