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societyoftheblindeye · 1 day ago

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I feel like the way fidds and Stan are presented is so interesting like the masculinity they both give feels soooo very intentional and very modeled off of such specific ideals outside of their upbringings. They both come from areas that one would assume to be kind of hypermasculine in very specific ways like for instance a hog farm in rural Tennessee and very clean pressed neighborhood near the Jersey shore but they both kind of find themselves gravitating towards a more lax and artistic kind of vibe, specifically disco. And they still incorporate textures and patterns and staple pieces from the men of their upbringing into it while also branching out towards more flamboyant personas. Like, this is smth I wrote for a fiddlestan diddy a while back:

Stan was masculine in a way that Fiddleford wasn't used to. He was so used to masculinity being used as a shield. Something to hide behind; something rigid and and unchanging. A strict expectation that was the same from man to man, leaving little room for Fiddleford's silk shirts and flared jeans and shaggy hair. But Stanley's masculinity, in his tank top with his mullet and his curiosity, came off as more inviting. More fluid. It felt like a tide that kept flicking up around Fiddleford's ankles, and the looseness made his knees feel weak. Fiddleford licked his lips at the realization of how well they complimented each other.

Like they both have smth abt them that is so obviously “out of place” to a lot of potential random onlookers but is integral to how they feel abt themselves bc this is how they’re choosing to present themselves to the world ESPECIALLY Stan bc he lives so much of his life as a character rather than just as himself bc that’s the only way he feels he can survive bc being himself has hurt him so much in his life. But even when Fiddleford DOES achieve what the normal expectations for a man would be - a wife and a child and a home and a chance to own his own business - he still throws it all away for the chance to be close to ford. Who I think at this point is safe to call a canonically queer character. So there is smth in him that is very willing to forego all the traditional masculinity he’s managed to maintain for the chance to be close to someone who might understand why he feels TRAPPED by that traditional masculinity

“Oh but it was the 70’s, disco was popular, it was fine to dress like that” just… as someone who also grew up in Appalachia with family who were in their 20’s and 30’s in the 1970’s who still would have ridiculed or even threatened anyone who dressed like this… not always. Just because styles are popular in music or television doesn’t mean that they would be acceptable to someone’s upbringing or their peers, and I just know from growing up in the same kind of environment as Fiddleford that it would be likely and realistic that he rly was only able to dress like this BECAUSE of the distance he had put between himself and his family. And the reason I brought up disco specifically being a big source of inspiration for both of their fashion senses, in relation to them both having a kind of queer sense of masculinity, was bc disco was heavily influenced by ppl who were facing social persecution at the time (feminists and gay men and black ppl) and the genre was in itself a sense of community and social liberation. And even when it was at the height of its popularity disco was attacked and forced out of fashion by racist, misogynistic, and homophobic rock n roll fans in what ultimately became a riot led by a popular macho manliness preaching shock jock named Steve Dahl who started the “disco sucks” movement. So like… disco DID have its time in the spotlight, but it WAS still a source of sexual freedom in a time when that was very much not okay. There was a huge evangelical revival going on the 70’s that specifically attacked the small bit of sexual freedom that society experienced in the 60’s, and it was very much a time when ppl were saying that sexual freedom would turn ppl into actual murderers. So even tho disco was commercially successful, it still wasn’t ideal to be associated with it in a lot of places

But also i don’t think EITHER of them are Fem. I do think they’re both masc bc like… yeah. Like I said, even tho Fiddleford’s style is very disco heavy, he IS bringing in those textures and patterns and staples from his upbringing. And the way he was brought up, he would have most likely seen cowboys as the ideal masculine archetype. And while disco was a heated topic in the 70’s, the same silhouettes were still kind of floating around the country scene. Jeans were flared, just not full on bell bottoms. There were wide collared shirts, but not as deep a cut on the neck. And paisley was a pattern that kind of bridges the two groups. So he’s rly marrying the freedom from disco with the flair of 70’s country, which IS kind of a masculine approach to take when flirting with disco fashion. I also think a lot of ppl conflate body type with gender expression (waify, skinny = feminine/fat, broad = masculine) so they see a thinner guy who’s kind of faggy and go “oh he must be Fem” while disregarding EVERYTHING else abt him.

Like what was the point of us getting this picture if you’re just gonna ignore everything but ford’s stupid shorts?

No parents, no wife, no small town church culture. It’s rly him at his most free and his mustache isn’t even the push broom style of mustache that was commonly associated with cowboys in the early 1970’s. This style of mustache was more associated with bikers at the time, and American biker culture has its roots in the post-war gay community. It’s the same origin as the leather community (as in leather daddy) which is why they share so many stylistic staples. So like… that’s yet another display of affinity towards a more masculine style

I don’t know… I just think they’re both so fascinating & I think considering a character’s wardrobe and styling is rly important to understanding them better

#fiddlestan #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #gravity falls #fiddleford friday #op is a visionary

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rafesfavouritegirl · 2 days ago

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ice rink ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

summary: you adore ice skating, and since it’s winter, the ice rinks back in town! you convince drew to go with you, and have the most amazing time!

warnings: none, just fluff!

notes: winter piece, not much but i changed my theme so ofc i had to write something wintery!! plus it was snowing so i was in my element . also mb for getting sloppy at the end

a few days back you were scrolling through your phone, mindlessly liking things and commenting on posts on instagram until you came across a post saying that the local ice rink had started up again, and you squealed with excitement

you had shown drew and convinced him to take you, because you just love and how could he say no to your cute little face? so, now you were making your way to the ice rink, forcing drew to let you two walk to take in all the christmasy magic

every shop window was light up with lights, as well as everything being decorated for christmas. you were squealing at nearly everything you saw, just so excited for it to finally be christmas. eventually you two made it to the ice rink, and as you were queued up to get you skates, you seen drew nervously biting his lip

you smirked and raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down as you saw this all of a sudden nervous demeanour. “what’s wrong?” you asked slyly, having a good idea already on what he was so nervous about

drew wasn’t a very good ice skater, as a kid he had fell once and never went back again, cringing at the thought of falling over again, especially since he was a grown man now. “just uh, just haven’t skated in a while…” he murmured, scratching the scruff on his chin

you giggled softly, finding it amusing how apprehensive he was about simple ice skating. “you’ll be fine drew, i’ll be there to help” you said, moving forward as it was now your turn to grab your skates

you two sat on a nearby bench, putting on your skates and lacing them up. you were done before drew, standing up and giggling as he struggled to do up his skates. “seriously? can’t even tie up his own skates” you tut as you slowly shake your head, bending down on one knee to help him with his skates

“hey! i said i haven’t been for awhile” drew defended himself, a small smile warming his face as he watched you easily tie up the laces. it was small things like that you did that he absolutely loved, and it reminded him of why he even fell in love with you in the first place

you tapped his foot when you were done, standing up and grabbing drew’s hand to drag him to the rink, sliding onto the ice with ease. drew on the other hand was like bambi, his legs wobbling as he hesitantly placed one foot on the white ice

“cmon, it’ll be fine” you giggled, lending him a hand. he accepted it immediately, gripping onto it like it was a lifeline.

after a few near falls, a couple giggles from you and grumpy grunts from drew, he gets the hang of it and you two are able to freely skate around the rink, all smiles and laughter floating around you two

“see you’ve got it!” you cheer as drew starts to speed up, now able to go a little faster for a more comfortable pace, instead of painfully slow. he smiled, feeling pretty proud of himself for getting over his nerves and actually being good at skating

“yeah, guess i do” he says, humble and polite as always. and that’s how you two end your day, skating, talking, playing around and just enjoying each others company and affection

the end 💕

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dietcokegirly12 · 16 hours ago

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"Beautifully Scarred"

featuring osamu dazai

｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊

art found on pinterest !! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊

synopsis: soft, intimate sex with dazai, where he unwraps his bandages and shows reader his scars for the first time, unveiling the most vulnerable parts of himself.

a/n: this idea has been in my head for a while now, so i had to write it, especially because this topic is kind of personal to me, and i truly can't imagine anything more romantic than the love that comes from accepting another's body, no matter how broken or scarred.

word count: 1.2k

tags: mentions of sh scars, intimate sex, slight teasing

₊˚⊹ ─ 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 ₊˚⊹ ─ 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 ₊˚⊹ ─

osamu dazai was always wearing bandages. always.

from the time that he was in the port mafia, to when he was in the detective agency, even around you, his loving girlfriend of a couple years now, he always had white gauze wrapped over his arms, neck, chest, even his legs.

not even when you would become intimate would he take them off, bandaged hands wrapping around your hips while saccharine moans slipped out of him, some of them becoming loose and unravelling around you two in flowy white strips, but never quite revealing the flawed skin that hid underneath.

which is why, one morning when the light of dawn was just barely peeking through the windows, illuminating you two in a warm glow, the sleepiness of morning still upon you, you decided to find out why.

you slung one leg over his slender frame, straddling him before nestling your face in his neck, to breathe in his warm, familiar scent.

when you feel him, hard and pulsing against your stomach, you look down to see his half-lidded gaze, mouth lazily curved up.

"mornin' wood," is all he says before capturing your lips with his, one delicate hand coming to slide up your body, shifting to grind against you in slow strokes.

you giggle softly into his mouth, spreading your legs wider for him, which he eagerly takes as an opportunity to cup your pussy, already wet and seeping, quickly pulling your panties aside to swirl his fingers over you, drawing out a small moan.

you reach for the loose sweats he always sleeps in, pushing them down past his hips and drawing an involuntary shudder, as your hands dip down to stroke him gently.

"f-fuck.." he whines as teasingly, your thumb sweeps across his slit, gathering the precum that had already started to spill out.

your hand pumps up and down lightly, never quite tightening enough to his liking, as he writhes slightly, gasping, with his hips bucking into your hand for more.

"s-stop teasing.." he groans out, and finally you relent, lining yourself up with his length, before finally beginning to sink down on him, your warm heat encasing him almost immediately.

your cunt throbs and flutters around him, as he sinks fully in to the hilt, his length pressing all the way to your cervix.

you groan, never quite getting used to your boyfriend's sheer size as he presses into you, already beginning shallow thrusts in and out with warm palms coming to cup your breasts, massaging and kneading eagerly.

you moan, leaning into him as his shirt slightly lifts up to show his toned, bandaged waist, unfurling slightly.

you quickly take the chance to lightly pull against the bandages lining him.

"why do you keep these on?" you question as his hips immediately slow, ever so slightly, hesitance clear in his eyes.

"hm? oh, I just have... scars." he admits quietly, hands coming to cover yours, where you’re toying with the bandaged strips. "not new." he rushes to add. "just.. there's a lot. i prefer to keep them covered.”

your eyes soften, as you gaze at him. “but why? there’s no reason to be ashamed of them, you know.”

“i know.” he swallows nervously, and you go to mouth kisses along his neck and collarbone.

“i’d never judge.” you murmur out. “but i understand if you’re not comfortable or you don’t trust..”

but before you can finish, dazai's nimble fingers are reaching around you and bandages are unwinding.

"i trust you."

long strips of gauze flutter around you two before settling, and then all you can see is dazai.

an expanse of pale white skin you've never laid eyes on before, marred with criss-crosses of all kind, scars, which to you, could not be more beautiful.

some pink, some white, all faded. there's so many, and almost unconsciously, your hand reaches for him, to run your hand lightly down along them, following the curve of every line.

he flinches, and you look to him, where he's averting his gaze, a blush covering his cheeks.

"oh dazai.." you breathe, beginning to kiss down along his scars. "i think you're beautiful."

he turns to you, lashes fluttering, lip pulled in between his teeth.

"so, so, so beautiful." you bury your face into his chest, nuzzling into him as your hands wander to everywhere you can reach, smoothing over the newly revealed skin that you're too eager to explore, unable to get enough.

he makes a strange sound under you, somewhere caught between a gasp and a moan. he pulls you closer, and you feel his cock twitching inside you faintly.

you smile into him, before beginning to move up and down atop him again, the sound of skin against skin quickly filling the room.

he groans, throwing his head back under you, his breathing growing heavier as his hips begin to thrust up into you, hands quickly coming to squeeze your plush thighs to lift you up and down.

you continue to trace over his scars lightly, as if you were committing them all to memory, and he arches under you, his cock hitting even deeper into your sweet spot relentlessly.

your hands come down to his sensitive nipples, rubbing and tweaking them slightly, knowing how whiney he gets when you do that.

"mmph.. m'gonna cum soon if you keep doing that, sweetheart."

you laugh, quickly breaking into a moan as his slender hips piston relentlessly into your drooling cunt, arousal dripping out of you.

you lean closer, your perky tits pressing against his bare skin for the first time, without scratchy bandages in the way, able to feel and see all of him, no matter how exposed.

you notice dazai trying to cover himself, shifting further into the blanket and lifting it over himself, but quickly you spread your hands across him, blocking it, as you ride him even faster.

"i mean it, dazai. i want to see all of you, no matter how broken. you're perfect. so, so perfect."

he stares at you, breaths heaving. "you don't think i'm repulsive?"

"how could I?" you shake your head dismissively, like the thought had never even occurred to you. "i love you."

the second the words leave your mouth, it has him gasping, eyes searching yours frantically, as he bounces you on him, almost feral with desperation. "say it again." his voice is hoarse, almost strange coming from him.

you lean closer, hips rutting almost animalistically, as your lips ghost over his. "i love you. i love you. i love you."

and then with a shudder, he's cumming, pumping you full of ribbon after ribbon of his milky white load, so much of it that it forms a creamy ring around his base.

you're not far behind, letting go with a loud moan, as your cunt twitches around him, sucking him deeper before absolutely soaking him in the wet, warmth of your release.

he's still pulsing inside you as you come back down, both of you panting with exertion, as you lay on his chest, content weighing down your limbs.

absently, you trace over his pretty scars gently, and he lets out a final moan before settling.

he glances over at you, tired eyes gazing at you with drowsy affection. "can't believe you, of all people, could love this body of mine."

you smile, moving downward to press your mouth over his warm skin. "and m'gonna kiss every scar until you do."

#fanfic #bsd #bungou stray dogs #smut #bsd smut #smutshot #fem reader #armed detective agency #smut smut smut #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai smut #gentle sex #soft sex #dazai analysis #dazai angst

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yoomiwrites · 1 day ago

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We won⁶

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. Between friendship and love, what will you—what will Ekko—pick?

Note: And there we go, the last chapter of this little mini-series. I enjoyed it a lot & am sure it won't be the last time I'll write something for Ekko. The next character will be Silco, though! Maybe I'll see some of you there. The Teaser-Chapter will be posted today and then updated every week (not friday though). But we all agree that Ekko is giving his best to be a green flag, yeah?? Happy reading!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Ekko didn’t know when he’d become the one chasing, but now that he was, he realized how much he wanted it. You had moved on—or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. And yet, there was a sliver of hope he clung to, a belief that maybe, just maybe, he could prove himself worthy of the place in your heart you had once reserved for him.

It wasn’t easy.

At first, things felt awkward between you. You were close again, but not like before. Conversations weren’t as effortless, your smiles not as lingering. Still, Ekko didn’t let it deter him. Instead, he decided to show you how much he cared in ways that words couldn’t.

He started small. A carved charm you could wear on a necklace, shaped like the Firelights' sigil. A meal he’d cooked, albeit clumsily, when he heard you’d skipped dinner working on repairs. Even a patch for your jacket that matched one he’d sewn into his own.

“Just thought you could use it,” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes searching yours for a hint of approval.

You always accepted his gestures with a warm smile and a thank you, but he could tell you were cautious. He’d earned your trust once before, and now he had to earn it again.

Beyond the gifts, Ekko worked on being honest with his feelings, even when it made him feel vulnerable. He told you about his struggles, his fears, and his regrets—especially the regret of not seeing you sooner.

“I know I messed up,” he said one evening, his voice steady but soft. “But I’m trying. For you. For us. I just… I need you to know that.”

You didn’t respond immediately, but the way your expression softened gave him hope.

Weeks turned into a month, and the distance between you began to shrink. You lingered longer during visits, laughed more freely at his jokes, and even surprised him with small gifts of your own. One evening, as you both worked side by side fixing a drone, your hand brushed his. Neither of you moved away.

For Ekko, it was enough. He wasn’t in a rush anymore. Winning your heart wasn’t about a grand gesture or a perfect moment. It was about showing you, day by day, that he was someone worth trusting again.

It had been another long day. The streets of Zaun were alive, but the heavy haze of loss still lingered in the air. You had spent hours helping organize supplies, your hands raw and your body aching. Ekko had spent his day in the Firelight base, making repairs and tending to the drones that patrolled the streets.

You stopped by the base as the sun dipped below the horizon. The door creaked open, and he looked up, his face lighting up when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, setting down a wrench. “You’re late.”

“Blame Vi,” you said, smiling as you stepped inside. “She thought it’d be funny to put me in charge of inventory. I think she just wanted to get out of doing it herself.”

He chuckled, brushing his hands on his pants. “Classic Vi.”

There was a comfortable silence as you leaned against the workbench, watching him fiddle with a half-disassembled drone. The low hum of the Firelight base filled the air, and for a moment, it was enough just to be near him.

But then he stopped, his hands falling still. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quiet but steady, “can we talk?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You nodded, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest. “Of course. What’s up?”

He turned to face you fully, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About us.”

You froze, your mind racing. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without messing it up, but... I can’t keep holding it in.” He paused, searching your face. “I love you, Y/N. I think I have for a long time—I was just too stupid to see it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “And I know I might’ve missed my chance. But I need you to know how I feel, even if it’s too late.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding. “Ekko… it’s not too late.”

His eyes widened slightly, hope flickering across his face. “It’s not?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your disbelief. “I waited for you for so long, and I thought… I thought you’d never feel the same way. But I never stopped caring about you. I have never stopped loving you.”

His breath hitched, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you. His hands found your face, cradling it gently as he leaned in. His lips met yours, and the world seemed to fade away. The kiss was soft but charged with emotion—a mixture of relief and longing. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laughed, your cheeks warm. “You’re lucky I let you.”

He chuckled, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

The days that followed felt like a dream. The awkwardness that had lingered between you dissolved, replaced by a new sense of closeness. Ekko still left little gifts for you—flowers he’d found, a charm he’d carved—but now they came with lingering kisses and soft whispers.

Together, you began planning for the future. Not just for Zaun, but for yourselves. The world was still a mess, and there was so much work to be done, but you faced it together.

As you sat on the rooftop one evening, the city spread out below you, Ekko reached for your hand.

“You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “we’ve been through hell and back. But I think... we’re gonna be okay.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, we are.”

And in that moment, with the stars overhead and his hand in yours, you believed it. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: you wouldn’t face it alone.

#ekko arcane #arcane x reader #arcane #ekko x reader #ekko

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scary-grace · 1 day ago

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what I don't remember now - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters, so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

one

It’s cold. Tomura lies still in the half-darkness of his cell, willing himself not to shiver. If he shivers, that’s it. That’s an admission that he can’t hack it, that being here is getting to him, that he can’t swallow the fistful of bitter pills that have been shoved down his throat. Tomura made a decision, somewhere between his sentencing and when he was shoved out of an armored transport in the yard of an unnamed prison, that he’s not going to give a nanometer. He’s not going to blink, or flinch, or whatever the fuck. Do that, and it’ll look like acceptance. And Tomura’s not going to accept being sentenced to death for something he didn’t fucking do.

Tomura’s not a good person. On his best day he’s lazy and on his worst he’s an unapologetic asshole. The most redeeming feature he has is the fact that better people than him want to be around him for some reason, and it’s not because he’s good-looking or ambitious or rich. Since birth Tomura’s been a disappointment. That’s not the same thing as being a murderer, and as many good reasons as Tomura has to hate the house he grew up in and the family who lived there with him, none of them are enough to make him kill them all.

He doesn’t remember what he was doing the night of the murders, except that he spent part of it in the hospital. He doesn’t remember confessing, which he apparently did, and when he tries to think about any of it, he gets a splitting headache and the kind of nausea that means he’s gotten hosed down in his cell eight times since he arrived three weeks ago. Tomura’s trial is a blur, too. The only thing that’s clear in his head is the memory of you – you, and your hands clasped tight around his, holding on so hard that Tomura thought his fingers would break. Your hands are smaller than his. Your hands were strong. Your hands are warm.

Thinking of you is one way to warm up, but it comes at a cost. A shiver runs through Tomura from his fingers up, and he lurches upright on his cot to hide the motion. A split second later, the lights in his cell go on, so bright that he’s blinded for a second. He raises his hand to shield his eyes, and a guard barks at him over the intercom. “Inmate 230385, return to the rest position immediately.”

“I just sat up,” Tomura says. “Is that illegal or something?”

“Return to the rest position.”

“Why?”

“Return to the rest position or corrective action will be taken.”

Corrective action? Tomura’s already on death row. What the hell do they think they can do to him that will make a difference? Take him out of his cell, probably. And put him somewhere colder. Tomura’s blanket slid down when he sat up. He hitches it back up and lies down again.

He doesn’t need to cause trouble. He’s not going to be here long. He’s got appeals pending, and there’s no way the judge who hears the next one will be as stupid as the one at his trial. Tomura’s not going to die here. Sooner or later, he’s going to get out, and when he does, nothing anyone said at the trial will matter. His friends will still be there, and so will you. Tomura just has to hold out until then.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to shiver. It gets easier when he remembers the warmth of your hands around his, the last time he saw you. Tomura thinks about that, about you, and it helps. But even your memory can’t quite keep out the cold.

two

Someone’s coughing. Tomura can’t tell which cell they’re in, but they’re making a hell of a lot of noise, and it’s ripping at Tomura’s nerves. He didn’t use to have such a problem with noise, but the death row is so silent most of the time that Tomura can hear the other inmates breathing in their tiny cells. No one gets to talk unless spoken to by the guards, and the guards never speak to anyone unless it’s to correct someone. Tomura’s been on the receiving end of corrective action more than a few times by now. It’s usually not worth it.

Tomura knows it’s not worth it, and still, the urge is there. He wants to say things. He wants to ask questions – like why he’s not allowed to make phone calls or write letters, what’s happening to all the phone calls and letters that he knows are coming for him. He doesn’t want anything to do with the other prisoners, but if he needed to talk to them, he’d want to know the option was available without risking the loss of his exercise period or getting his meals reduced from three to two per day. Tomura’s heard there are worse punishments. If he’s going to get one of those, it’s not going to be for trying to talk to someone.

Still, the coughing sounds like it’s killing whoever’s doing it – but before it kills them, it’s going to kill Tomura, because he can’t take this fucking noise. He can’t say a word without permission, but this asshole gets to hack out a lung with no consequences at all? Fuck that. Tomura clenches his jaw, trying to hold in the howl of frustration. He clamps his hands over his ears so he won’t have to hear it any longer. They need to stop. No one cares, and it’s driving Tomura insane – more insane than the silence, more insane than the cold. Shut up, he thinks at them, whoever the fuck they are. Shut up, shut up –

“Shut the fuck up!” someone else explodes from somewhere further down death row. “Just die already!”

“Inmate 113019, this is a verbal reprimand for speaking out of turn. If you continue –”

“Yeah. Go for it! Put me in the protection cells! At least then I’ll be away from this fucking noise –”

The coughing takes on a weird, wet note that it hasn’t had before, something that makes Tomura’s skin crawl. It’s drowned out almost instantly by the sound of the guards’ footsteps down the hall on their way to lower the hammer on 113019, whoever he is. Whoever he is, he puts up a fight. Tomura hears heavy thuds, curses, a burst of sound that might be sobs or laughter, and somewhere in the middle of it, the coughing comes to a complete stop. It doesn’t start up again, and once the guards drag 113019 away, the cell block is dead silent once more.

Two minutes ago, all Tomura wanted was for it to be quiet again. Right now, he can’t help wondering why the coughing stopped so suddenly. Right now, he misses the noise.

three

There’s frost on the ground, and Tomura can see his breath. His teeth are chattering, and he’s shivering too hard to walk. He shouldn’t be outside. But he gets one exercise period per day, and it’s the only time he gets to spend outside his cell. The only time he gets to see the sky and breathe air that hasn’t been recycled thousands of times until it tastes old and stale. It doesn’t matter if it’s below freezing. If Tomura has a chance to be outside, he should use it.

He forces himself to take even steps on his way around the tiny exercise yard, and at the same time, he lets his mind wander – back to you, because it’s easier to think about you out here than it is in his cell. He doesn’t want to imagine you in there with him. Out here, it’s easier. He can pretend the two of you are meeting up to go for a walk, like you did on your first date. He can pretend you’re just around the next turn.

After the first time you ran into each other, Tomura didn’t think he’d see you again. Which was stupid. You worked at the library on campus, and he needed to use the library, so of course he was going to see you. And every time you saw him, you talked to him until you had to go do something else – like renew someone’s checked-out book, reserve them a study room, schedule a session with a tutor, find a source they really should have been able to find on their own. At first Tomura took those interruptions as his cue to leave. Then he started waiting through them. Then he started coming by even if you were busy, waiting however long it took for you to have time for him.

Tomura hadn’t meant to ask you out, exactly. He just told you that he wanted to talk more sometime when you weren’t busy, and you suggested taking a walk together. Worked for him. Except for the part where it was really cold, even though the sun was out and the air was still, and the part where Tomura handles the cold the same way cats handle being sprayed with a hose. He was shivering before the two of you made it halfway around campus.

You noticed. Are you okay?

Fine, Tomura muttered, and you gave him a skeptical look – but you didn’t argue. You always knew how to call him on his bullshit, right from the beginning. Aren’t you cold?

I run kind of warm, you said, and you held out your hands. Here.

Tomura knew it didn’t mean anything, but his stomach still twisted, and his hands were shaking from more than the cold when he settled them in yours. Your hands were warm, just like you said they’d be. Warm, but not sweaty, and before Tomura could say anything, you folded his hands together, with yours on either side. You’re freezing, you said. I can keep you warm, but we should probably go inside.

Yeah. Tomura was glad you were holding his hands that way. Any other way, and he’d have latched on tight, refusing to let go. Sorry. This was a dumb idea.

Not really. A walk is a decent first date.

A first date. You wanted it to be a date, and you thought it was a good one. Tomura’s face somehow managed to heat up without making the rest of him any warmer. If I ask you to get coffee with me right now, can that be our second date?

You smiled. That made Tomura feel warmer, almost as warm as your hands felt around his. That works for me.

You always kept Tomura warm, and not for the first time, Tomura wonders what’s happening to you out there. Where you are, what you’re doing. If you found somewhere to live, because you can’t pay the rent in yours and Tomura’s apartment alone. If you’ve got your job still, because Tomura was pretty sure you were going to lose it for calling out so many days to sit with him during the trial. If you’re okay without him.

Tomura’s not okay without you. That’s why he has to be careful where he thinks about you. Not inside, when he can’t escape the fact that he’s been in prison for three years already. Only out here, in the cold, when he can think about what it’ll be like when all this is over. A guard shouts at Tomura that it’s time to come inside, and Tomura picks up the pace. One more circuit around the tiny yard. A few more seconds walking with you.

four

Tomura closes his eyes and listens to the quiet tapping against the bars of the cell beside his. It’s taken him four years in here to learn Morse code, and now that he knows it, he can talk to the other inmates on death row – the ones he feels like talking to, which is basically no one. The person next to him is all right. He calls himself Kurogiri. Tomura doesn’t know why he’s here.

Nobody knows why Tomura’s here, either. On the rare occasions anyone gets to talk to anyone else, they have better things to do than go over what bullshit twist of fate led to their death sentences. Convictions don’t matter when they’re all waiting on the same punishment. All that matters is time – how much time they’ve spent in here, and how much more time it’ll take for this to end. It says something about this place that four years after he was sentenced, Tomura’s still the newest one on the block.

Not for long, though. That’s what Kurogiri’s saying. Tomura taps out a response. H-o-w k-n-o-w?

G-u-a-r-d-s. Kurogiri has some kind of in with the guards. He’s never said what it is, and Tomura’s never asked. K-u-n-i-e-d-a o-l-d c-e-l-l.

So far in Tomura’s time here, only one inmate’s died, and it wasn’t in an execution. The inmate who was sick during Tomura’s second winter here died of whatever he had, and the guards didn’t find him in the cell until the next morning. By that point the smell of death was everywhere, and instead of letting the inmates move somewhere else until it was gone, the guards left all the vents open to flush it out. They let in the cold, too. It took Tomura two weeks to get warm.

He wonders if anyone’s going to tell the new guy what happened to the last person who lived there. Then again, nobody’s told Tomura what happened to the last occupant of his cell. He doesn’t want to know. Kurogiri is tapping out another message, and Tomura listens idly. Y-o-u o-k?

Tomura double-taps – shorthand for yes. W-h-y?

There’s a long pause. A really long pause. Tomura’s in the process of repeating himself when another prisoner responds from down the hall. C-h-i-c-k-e-n-s-h-i-t. T-e-l-l h-i-m o-r I w-i-l-l.

W-h-a-t? Tomura asks. His stomach is clenching, nausea welling up like he hasn’t felt in months. It’s hard to get scared in here. Nothing ever happens. T-e-l-l –

F-i-r-s-t a-p-p-e-a-l d-e-n-i-e-d. Kurogiri answers so fast that Tomura can barely decipher it. O-n-l-y f-i-r-s-t o-n-e. O-t-h-e-r-s –

Tomura’s not listening anymore. He manages to roll sideways off his bed before he throws up, but that’s it. The nausea that overtakes him is too powerful for him to do anything but vomit on the floor, then dry-heave once his stomach empties itself completely. The other inmates are laughing at him, calling out even though the guards are already on their way. The same inmate who always gets dragged out for talking is the loudest. “You’re getting off easy, kid! You killed seven people, but you only have to die once.”

“There are more appeals,” Kurogiri says. His voice is soft, almost comforting, completely at odds with the sound of Tomura’s cell door scraping open, drowned out almost entirely by the rush of cold water spraying from the fire hose, dousing Tomura and the mess and everything in his cell all at once. “You don’t need to worry. The process has already begun –”

“I didn’t know.” Tomura’s voice is hoarse, and his mouth tastes so awful that the sensation of air rushing over his tongue makes him retch again. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

The other inmates jeer at him, pointing out that they did tell him, but they must know that’s not what Tomura meant. Tomura should have heard that news from a lawyer, from an administrator, from a doctor – from somebody important. Not from a bunch of murderers. What if that hadn’t been his first appeal? What if it was his last one? If all his appeals fail, how is Tomura going to find out? Is anyone going to tell him, or is he just going to wake up one morning and find out it’s his last day on earth?

Tomura tries not to think of you in here, when things get bad. But he lets himself this time, just this once. Just to imagine that someone’s here who loves him, someone who cares that he’s sick and lonely and terrified. Someone who could tell him that it’ll be all right. Someone he’d believe. But when his skin is crawling with cold and disgust and terror so strongly that he can’t help but try to scratch it away, it’s hard to imagine that even you could make him feel better.

five

Tomura’s never gotten a letter from the outside. Never gotten a letter from you or any of his friends or whichever lawyer is handling his appeals – or even from Sensei, who spent the entire trial testifying against him so he could “learn his lesson”. Tomura thinks Sensei owes him an explanation, given that Sensei’s testimony put him away. The person he described as committing the murders sounds nothing like Tomura, because Tomura didn’t do it. He wants to hear what Sensei has to say about that. If Sensei thinks he’s learned his lesson yet.

It’s the lack of contact from you and the others that worries him more. He thought for sure he’d hear from you, from Spinner, from Toga, from Twice. Dabi’s not the letter-writing type, and Magne and Compress were newer additions to the group, but Tomura thought they’d maybe write at least once in five years. He’d call and ask, but he’s only got some of the phone numbers memorized, and what if you’ve changed them? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get visits or phone calls anyway.

It feels like a punishment, but Tomura can’t figure out what he did. He acts up the standard amount for a death row prisoner, enough to lose his exercise period or get his food restricted or have his cell tossed and lose anything he’s managed to keep in there. Nothing that deserves no phone calls for five years. Five fucking years. It’s not until the newest inmate starts acting up that Tomura gets a real answer.

He knows the name of the guy in Kunieda’s old cell only because the guy keeps insisting on being called by it, no matter how many times the guards correct him for speaking out of turn. When he’s not picking stupid fights with the guards, Chisaki is bitching about how this prison compares to his last prison, and everybody got tired of it within six weeks of his arrival. Tomura doesn’t have anything to compare this prison to. Before this, he’d never spent even a night in jail.

As summer turns to fall turns to winter and the temperature inside the cell block drops to just above freezing, Chisaki calms down. For a week, then another week, then an entire month. Did he get religion or something? Tomura’s seen that happen to at least one prisoner by now, but from what he can tell, it usually takes longer. To go from fucking around constantly to not fucking around at all is a big shift. It’s weird.

One day, while he’s huddled up in his cell under his stupidly thin blanket, Tomura hears voices filtering in from the exercise yard. His cell has vents that let in the cold, and apparently also give him the chance to eavesdrop. He’s never had a chance to eavesdrop before, but that’s because no one ever talks.

Of course it’s Chisaki talking. He’s somehow gotten permission from one of the guards to speak up, and he’s getting straight to the point. “My behavior for the last month has been exemplary. In my previous prison such a record has resulted in the renewal of privileges which were previously removed – such as the opportunity for visitors. When will that be restored?”

Whichever guard he’s talking to laughs awkwardly. “Nobody told you?”

“Told me what?”

Tomura’s interested, too. He listens closer. “You were in maximum security before, but it’s – different here,” the guard says awkwardly. “Once a sentence is finalized, no contact is allowed with the outside world.”

“What?” Chisaki demands. “Why not?”

“It’s policy. Contact with the outside world causes distress for condemned prisoners and their families and has no practical benefit. I – no, stop –”

Shouting erupts in the yard, and Tomura cringes away from the vents, his eyes burning. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a punishment, which means it can’t be lifted, which means that even if you and the others have been calling and writing letters, you can’t get through. Tomura will never get those letters. Tomura can’t write back. When Tomura saw you in the courtroom after his sentencing wasn’t just the last time he ever saw you, it’s the last time he’ll ever get to talk to you. And he didn’t know it. If he’d known it he would have said –

The noise from the exercise yard is so intense that the rest of the cell block can hear it, too. They’re doing what they usually do, any time someone shows weakness, and because they’re shouting at Chisaki, who’s bought himself a one-way ticket to the protection cell for the next month, no one notices as Tomura sinks down in the corner of his cell and scratches his neck until it bleeds.

six

Somebody’s death sentence gets reduced to life, and the cell next to Tomura’s opens up. Rather than leaving it open, leaving Tomura alone, the guards move fucking Chisaki into it. It’s not bad enough that Tomura has to rot in here until one of his appeals is successful and gets him out of here – he has to listen to Chisaki’s bitching and whining, too. And eventually Chisaki breaks the cardinal rule, the one rule that keeps everybody on death row even sort of sane. He picked up Morse code faster than Tomura did, and one day he taps out a question aimed at Tomura. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o?

He signs off with the last two numbers of his prisoner number, like Tomura’s confused about who’s sending this dumb message. Tomura doesn’t bother with identifying himself by tacking the last two digits of his ID on the front of his response. f-u-c-k o-f-f.

D-i-d y-o-u d-o i-t?

f-u-c-k o-f-f. Not for the first time, Tomura wishes he could all-caps a message without banging on the bars loudly enough to attract the guards’ attention. Morse code really needs a shift key. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o? Y-o-u f-i-r-s-t.

Silence. Of course. Chisaki can dish it out, but he can’t take it for shit. Tomura settles into the quiet, not hoping to enjoy the break so much as get through it without making himself feel worse. Downtime is bad for Tomura these days. He spends too much time thinking. Too much time getting angry. Too much time figuring out how he got here.

He knows Sensei set him up. It had to have been Sensei, because Sensei was in charge of Tomura when Tomura was fifteen, and Sensei kept hinting that Tomura should try to reconcile with his family. Tomura only agreed so Sensei would leave him alone about it. He’d meet them, deal with whatever happened, see if he could talk Hana at least into staying in touch and sending him pictures of Mon, and get out of there. It was going to be a bad night no matter what. At least Sensei agreed to go with him.

But something went wrong. They never made it there, at least not in Tomura’s memory, because Tomura woke up in the hospital. He’d blacked out or passed out or something, and as soon as he was borderline lucid, Sensei gave him the news. Tomura still remembers the weird way he delivered it, like he was telling Tomura they were having something gross for dinner instead of telling him that his entire family had been murdered. Tomura didn’t react the right way, either. He was supposed to meet his family. Now he wasn’t going to. He laid back down and went under again.

They used that, at the trial, seven years later. The fucking prosecutor asked Sensei a bunch of questions about how Tomura responded to the news, and Sensei told them how unsettling it was that Tomura didn’t care at all about his family dying. Tomura’s lawyer wouldn’t let him get on the stand to explain his side. They’ve already decided you’re guilty. Don’t make it worse.

They were going to kill him. Tomura knew that by then. There was no way to make it worse than it was already going to be, and if he was already guilty, he might as well have told the truth. What little of it he remembers.

Chisaki is tapping on the bars again at a pace Tomura couldn’t keep up with if he wanted to. His fingers are too fucking cold. W-e a-r-e-n-t d-i-s-c-u-s-s-i-n-g m-e.

No, they’re not discussing anybody. Tomura’s done with this. Screw the guards – he taps with emphasis. F-U-C-K O-F-F.

“You want to know what he did? I’ll tell you.” Prisoner 113019 laughs from across the hallway – the same one who always laughs when something bad happens to someone else. For the first time since he got here, Tomura prays for the guards to get here fast. “The little rat bastard’s a mass murderer. Greased his entire family.”

Tomura doesn’t know how 19 got ahold of that information, and right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants the guards to get here and shut him up. “His body count is higher than mine, and he won’t even own up to it like a man,” 19 continues, gleeful. “You’ve heard him talking in his sleep. He says he’s innocent.”

“Shut up,” Tomura says. His voice sounds awful, and he realizes all at once that he can’t remember the last time he spoke. It doesn’t matter if he talks now. They’ve only got one protection cell, and 019 is going in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“And not only is his count the second-highest on death row,” 019 continues, ignoring Tomura, “he’s a sadist, too. Maybe his family deserved it – they’d have to for raising something like him – but there’s no way his dog had it coming.”

“Shut up!” Tomura explodes. His voice cracks, and he can feel his face contorting, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching tight. He’s not going to cry. He can’t cry here. “You stupid fuck. I didn’t do it!”

Death row erupts in laughter, just in time for the guards to arrive. Sure enough, they head to 019’s cell first, but two guards break off to drag Tomura out of his for a talking-to, also known as getting beaten up in places that won’t show. Tomura’s been in here long enough, knows how it works here well enough, to be almost thankful for a reason to feel pain. If anyone sees him, they’ll think his eyes are watering because he just took a baton to the ribs. Not because he misses his dog.

Tomura didn’t mention his family’s deaths to you for a while. He didn’t want to see you react, because he knows how people react to stuff like that – like Tomura’s just a tragic backstory with an ugly face, like everything he is can be described by the worst things that ever happened to him. He didn’t bring up his family, but he mentioned Mon, and you asked. Tomura told himself to answer like a normal person. He ended up crying instead, and you didn’t laugh or look at him differently. You just reached for his hand and –

A blow to the hip knocks Tomura off-balance, just in time for another hit in the stomach to double him over, and Tomura crashes sideways to the floor. He sprawls out, pinned with a guard’s knee on his back, as 019 marches past, flanked by four guards, and still leering down at him. Something snaps in Tomura’s head. He reaches through the guards’ legs, seizes 019’s ankle, and yanks his leg out from underneath him.

The knee grinds harder into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs, but Tomura can barely feel it. He’s trying to pull his hand back, and he’s too slow. Slow enough for a guard to see what he’s doing. Slow enough for the guard to raise one boot and stomp down on Tomura’s hand with all his strength, and for the first time since he set foot on death row, Tomura screams.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #prison fic #needle compass north #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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inthehouseoffinwe · 2 days ago

Text

AU where even after death our favourite Finwëions are being stubborn as ever so a new solution is found. Finarfin just wanted to help his grandson in law.

Fëanor and Fingolfin are being stubborn as ever

It’s been three ages, their wounds are healed, they’ve made up and understood most of their deeds

But they cannot for the life of them get along, and everyone, from Mandos to their children and people, know that if they’re released in their current state, things will go right back to how they were

Even if their people are kept in line by their kids, it’s a very explosive situation

And in all honesty, Námo feels like they’ve put poor Finarfin through enough without this addition

He can’t keep them here forever. The halls aren’t meant to be a permanent residence unless it’s by choice, and they’ve started causing chaos in here too

…but speaking of the sons of Finwë

Finarfin himself isn’t doing particularly well right now. He feels great guilt for his inaction over the last two Ages, especially as Tyelpë and Ereinion turned up with their own tales

Then of course little Celebrian

(Doesn’t matter how much everyone tells him they’d genuinely be lost without him and his actions. The Noldor especially would’ve been outcast and alone. They needed a stable ruler, not another revolutionary. And the work he’s done is more impactful than either of his brothers ever managed)

Not to mention he’s still furious at his brothers despite what he’s convinced himself of

…and misses them greatly.

Truth be told, the Valar owe him a lot.

So they offer him a choice.

Ereinion’s skilled with managing all kinds of people and people don’t have a problem with the kid, so for a time he’ll be the High King

Finarfin is overjoyed at the chance to help his granddaughter’s family. Elrond is dear to many across all factions, and his children too.

…He’s less overjoyed at the news his brothers will be joining him if he agrees.

Nevertheless desire to be of use for once wins out and he accepts.

He gets a week or so to say his goodbyes and prepare for the journey. Asking around, particularly asking the third age elves who’ve recently arrived and Celebrian most of all, gets him the clothes and supplies he needs to somewhat blend in.

They’re still his colours (though he has none) and his symbol is carefully hidden under the cloak.

And he heads to the Hall’s Opening.

“For what it’s worth, Arafinwë, I’m sorry for the additional baggage. We’ve asked much of you, but hopefully this at least will benefit us all.”

Námo is kind when he stands and opens the gates.

“I know you’ve missed them too.”

The soft whisper dissipates into the wind with the Vala and now two figures are walking out. Tall. Broad shouldered. Eyes shining with light.

Clad in their usual blue and red, weapons strapped to their backs and hips.

Fëanaro and Nolofinwë have returned at last.

Before he can say anything there’s a whirl of light and the three elves are swept away.

Aragorn did not sign up for this

A bright flash of light all but blinds him, leaving three figures in its wake.

Three very tall. Very Elven. Figures.

And if that’s not enough, they look strangely familiar. Like he should know them from somewhere.

“That damn Vala! He couldn’t have warned us!”

And now they’re speaking Quenya.

“He did. It’s not his fault you don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” the one clad in blue says viciously.

The third elf, the only one with blond hair, groaned and glared at the two others. Aragorn winced at the look, thankful he wasn’t under it, though neither of the others so much as flinched.

“You’ve been back how long?” He scoffed. “And here I thought I missed you.”

To his credit the one in blue showed some regret and bowed his head. Beside him, the red one huffed, but it was much less heated, and his hands clenched into the leaves around him.

“Forgive me, Arafinwë,” the blue one said.

Aragorn’s hand found his blade. It couldn’t be…

“Depends what you want forgiveness for, Nolo,” was the cold reply, tinged with hurt.

No way.

But it was there. The uncanny resemblance to the portraits he’d seen in his books as a young boy learning his history. This was no doubt Fingolfin, and beside him Finarfin. Which only left-

“My feud with Fëanaro has long tainted our relationship, little brother,” the blue elf- *Fingolfin* replied bitterly, glaring at the third elf. “I’d like to start again.”

“Well I’d like you two to shove your issues aside for once and try and get along!” Finarfin hissed back, and his older brother’s eyes widened. “How long will you keep fighting?! How long will you divide your people, your children! How long will you make them suffer for your egos?!”

Aragorn expected Fëanor to scowl, angrily proclaim his youngest half brother had no right to speak that way, but the elf only glared into the floor. Fingolfin stared into the trees and Finarfin turned away, eyes clouding with pain.

Only to stare right at Aragorn.

“Fëanaro, Nolo. Swords up.”

To their credit the elves immediately stood and followed Finarfin’s gaze to Aragorn. The Ranger carefully stepped into the light as the three sons of Finwë stared him down.

“It is not polite to lurk, stranger.” Fingolfin said in the common tongue and Aragorn vaguely wondered if he’d been taught it in the halls. He put his hands up, free of weapons, and lowered his hood.

“Forgive me, my lord Fingolfin. But I had to identify if you were friend of foe. You appeared in a strange manner wearing faces of old, and the enemy is skilled in his deceit.”

“You dare accuse us of being Sauron’s creations?” Fëanor’s eyes lit with a fell fire and Aragorn would have shuddered was he not accustomed to seeing much worse from his own father. Elrond could be… rather terrifying when he decided he’d had enough of his son’s’ shenanigans.

“He was being cautious,” Finarfin retorted. “Something you could learn from considering how your life ended.”

“I didn’t know what Balrogs were!”

“The great Fëanaro admitting to not knowing something, have the end of days come at last?”

“Some would say his presence here is an indicator of that,” Fingolfin muttered as Fëanor scowled at the blond. The scowl turned to him and he met it squarely. “I said what I said.”

The situation was fast unravelling and Aragorn had Nazgul on his tail. For all his training in Elrond’s house, nothing had prepared him for dealing with three Princes - Kings??? - of the Noldor at each others throats. Sending a prayer that this wouldn’t get him skewered, he whistled sharply and the three elves spun his way. He raised his hands in apology.

“Orcs and other fell beasts roam these lands, my lords. I’d advise a quieter argument?” He grimaced at the two stunned faces, wondering when it would turn to explosive anger that ended the line of Elros once and for all.

But Finarfin tilted his head, a small smile playing about his lips.

“It takes great courage to step between the arguments of the House of Finwë. What’s your name, stranger.”

The Ranger bowed his head.

“The trees have ears, my lord, I’d take you to an Elven safehaven before telling you that. But for now, you can call me Strider.”

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cherryssodapop · 2 days ago

Note

you do know that Billy is racist right...

*sighhhhhhhh* Alright, here we go…

Typically I don’t like getting into this argument because you’re not supposed to argue with a POC about what’s racist and what isn’t (I don’t actually know if you are poc or not this is a general statement I’m making), I know I don’t because it just doesn’t feel right, but here’s the thing.

When it comes to this character the one line he said that everyone’s going crazy for I’m going to have to disagree here because it’s just 1. too vague of a statement, of course you could argue that Billy talking about Lucas’ skin colour is implied in his statement and I agree, but not for the reasons you think.

And 2. there’s a reason Dacre changed this scene with the duffers regarding Billy’s potential racism because you’re creating a character who’s an antagonist who originally had no reason to be bad (until Dacre suggested the scene with his father) and then you wanna add racism into the mix? if the duffers really wanted to bring up the issue of racism during the 80s especially in small secluded areas like Hawkins, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been an actual subplot, but no they just wanted to use it as an additional reason to make Billy’s character initially unlikeable and it was so poorly written into the script and also Dacre was just straight up uncomfortable acting out that whole sequence so we can safely say the concept of Billy being a racist is scrapped from canon all together. I’m explaining this from the perspective of a film student because you can’t write an antagonist without a plausible reason and motive to be bad, so Dacre humanizing him and giving him that back story and lore is exactly what you do when it comes to character work, especially for antagonists like Billy (unless you wanna make the villain a basic villain with a basic story arc who’s sole purpose is to get in the hero’s way and die trying but in this case Billy never did that. He never really got into anyone’s way besides at the end of season 2 but it’s because he had no idea what’s going on and in HIS mind he thinks he’s saving Max from a fucked up situation. And im not even going to start with season 3 because we all know; bro was possessed, he wasn’t himself, Vecna was acting out entirely through him Billy had no say in any of it. In fact he even showed remorse and shame during the little time Vecna let him be in control of himself before abruptly taking over.) Also, yes you can be from an educated and woke society (California is a blue state and the equal opportunities act in the states already passed and Billy leaves for hawkins in fall 1984 so it’s already well established in society at that time that being racist is not acceptable) and still be a bigot, but I really just don’t believe this is the case for Billy.

What I think the issue here is his father, now hear me out, hear me out.

In the book “Runaway Max” it is brought up that Neil is a huge supporter of Reagen who at the time was a republican and attempted to abolish the equal opportunities act bill but ultimately failed of course. Max even says it herself that Neil is racist and a white supremacist. What does that tell you? His father is the whole problem. Because we all know that Billy gets beaten and blamed for everything that happens whether it’s Max’s fault or his Neil will take any excuse to physically hurt Billy. And being how Neil is so adamant on Billy watching over Max and being in charge of her, what would happen if Neil caught Max with Lucas who is black and we know Neil’s views on that demographic of people? What do you think would happen?

Of course, we could also bring up that if Billy was racist it would be a learned behaviour from his father. Though, to be honest, considering how much Billy tries to rebel against his father, I think it’s safe to say that would include Neil’s morals and beliefs, so I highly doubt it.

Going back to my first point, I think Billy did say that about Lucas not because he hates Lucas but because his father would and would take out that well known hatred out on Billy. It was more of a warning for both of their safety because of how insane Neil is. That’s why I think Billy said that and acted that way in terms of their friendship because he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of his father’s wrath.

We can also see this in season 3, when Billy is working full time, starting to take control of his life (likely saving up money so he could leave and move back to California) he doesn’t even care about what Max is doing let alone dating Lucas, he’s too busy trying to get his life together.

So no, I don’t think Billy is a racist and I’ve listed all of my reasons why from a canonical standpoint using evidence from the story, plus my own analysis on his character as an actor myself.

Now from a shifter’s standpoint; I really don’t wanna hear y’all judge my choice of S/O considering some of y’all shift for active psychopaths and murderers meanwhile I’m shifting for a dude who’s been deeply traumatized and wants to live his life in peace and find true love.

To conclude; this is entirely my opinion and my belief on the topic. If you believe the opposite you’re fully entitled to, no one’s gonna attack you or try to convince you otherwise. But the thing is with people like myself who like Billy’s character and indulge in his lore and fanfiction we’re constantly getting criticized and harassed and even as far as labeled as bad people just because we view him from a different perspective. I believe it’s time we all grow up and respect each other’s opinions because not everyone agrees with everyone and that’s the way of the world. freedom of thought freedom of speech.

(goddamn this was a long rant but i had to say my peace)

#billy hargrove #billy stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #leave us billy stans alone #shifting to stranger things #reality shifting #billy hargove x reader

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sammyluvr · 5 hours ago

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✶ . ၄၃ . soft 'n sleepy — sam winchester

cw : gn!afab!reader, fluffy smut, consensual somnophilia, dry humping, finger sucking, praise, so super sweet sam, swearing, praise, aftercare, pet names (angel, honey, baby), unedited, 1.3K words. requested ! MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY

summary : it doesn't take you long to fall asleep after a long hunt. sam, however, can't seem to fall asleep or keep his hands dick to himself.

you're so pretty and soft every time you fall asleep in his arms. sam just loves it when you're sleepy, eyes bleary and fluttering closed, lips parting and little puffs of breath leaving your nose as he tucks you against his chest.

this hunt was draining, especially for you, and you fall asleep quickly now that it's over. sometimes, all he needs to follow right after you is your presence. having you close is so reassuring, comforting. but tonight, it’s not nightmares or guilt that he’s worried about disrupting his sleep. instead, it’s your closeness that keeps him awake.

your thighs against his, the little shift of your hips that pushes your ass right into his crotch. your soft, even breathing, and your limp fingers splayed across his wrist. he’s been aching for you, but hasn’t said a thing, knowing how tired you are.

and he’d feel guilty about the growing bulge in his pants as he thinks about your pretty chest under the loose fabric of your comfy shirt, the grey panties you fell asleep in, your bare thighs. but you’ve told him, most definitely more than once, that you like the idea of him getting off in bed with you while you’re asleep. you’d used the words “you can use me like that. it’s okay, i promise.” he replays the sound of your pretty voice saying it, sincere and flirty all at once, and he just gets harder. “i want it,” you’d said. you want him to use you like that.

so he really just can’t resist gently tugging you closer, pulling your ass flush against him, and wrapping his other arm around you to softly cup your chest over your shirt. he gives a roll of his hips into you and bites back a quiet groan. and with that, he’s a goner.

you had the sense to get a separate room from dean when arriving at the motel, so as sam gets needier and needier, slowly rocking his hips into you, he doesn’t bother silencing his quickening breath and soft moans. he only keeps his sounds quiet for your sake, though he’s sure you’ll wake eventually.

his hand slides down from your hips, under your shirt, past the sensitive skin of your lower belly, and right over your thinly clothed pussy. he can’t help it, he just loves to hold you there, his hand hot and heavy as he cups your pretty cunt. he groans softly at the feeling, pressing into you with both his hand and hips now.

you stir, just a bit, letting out a little huff of breath through your mouth that just makes him grind against your ass with more desperation. and when a sweet, gravelly moan leaves your lips, he can’t help but indulge himself. the hand that was so softly palming your chest moves upwards, fingertips brushing over your collarbone until he has a gentle grip on your chin. with your lips parted just enough, he’s able to push his finger past your teeth and into the warm wet of your mouth.

he feels your tongue instinctively push against the intrusion and you draw in a deep breath through your nose as you start to rouse. his other hand starts to rub soft circles against the fabric of your panties and despite how painfully hard and turned on he is, even the rocking of his hips against you is gentle, caring, and slow.

a quiet, throaty groan falls from his lips and right into your ear as he feels your lips wrap around his finger, followed by your sweet, sleepy suckling, signaling that you’ve woken and immediately accepted his filthy actions. with your mind still so foggy with sleep, you don’t seem to have much control over your body. your hips squirm tiredly, pushing back into him, and the way that you suck on his finger is unabashed and interrupts the stillness of the room with wet, sloppy sounds. in mere seconds, there’s saliva dripping down his fingers and past the corners of your mouth.

despite your wordless enthusiasm, and the way that his clothed dick pushing into the plush of your ass makes him practically whimper into your ear, sam pauses his desperate movements against you for just a moment.

“this okay, baby?” he whispers sweetly, gruffly because he’s holding back. one of your clumsy hands finds his wrist, wrapping around it in reassurance.

“mhmm,” you hum around his finger, too sleepy to do much else, but wanting him to know that this is more than okay.

“good,” he huffs out, his hips rolling against yours with more urgency now, voice thick with barely contained desperation. “you’re so good. so good for me, aren’t you, angel? so perfect and pretty, letting me– mmph, use ya while you’re still sleeping. always so– god, so fuckin’ good for me.”

his hand rubbing against your pussy, his fingertips pressing over your clit, are making you just as desperate as him, and the feeling of him pushing a second finger into your mouth only intensifies the pleasure. you suck on his fingers contentedly, and the both of you leak through your underwear enough for the other to feel it.

along with the quiet drip from the janky sink in the bathroom and rush of a shitty window air conditioning unit, the room fills with soft grunts and whines and moans, the rustle of overused blankets, sam’s praises, and your sweet suckling. sam cums first, soaking his boxers and the back of your panties. the sound of his broken moan in your ear and the insistence of his fingers over your covered clit sends you reeling in pleasure just moments after.

he lets you keep lapping at his fingers as you come down from it, knowing the feeling quiets your mind. he’s positive that you’d fall right back asleep with his fingers in your mouth if he didn’t insist on cleaning you up first. so even though it makes you whine tiredly, he slowly slips his fingers out and gently pulls you around to face him.

his reverent lips find your forehead first, then your own spit-slick mouth. he kisses you all chaste and lovely, as if to apologize for waking you, despite it being so good for you too. the kiss is enough to satisfy you after having his fingers pulled away from your eager mouth, so you snuggle up close to him, not resisting the pull of sleep as it tugs down your heavy eyelids.

“honey,” he murmurs into the skin of your forehead, “let me clean you up first, please. then you can sleep as long as you want, promise.” you just give him a sleepy hum, but he rolls with it, untangling himself from you. he strips himself of his dirtied boxers, quickly pulling on a new pair before he pulls the blankets away from your legs.

he slips your own soaked underwear off, watching your face, barely lit from whatever light seeps in through the blinds of the window by the door. your eyes are barely open, just because you want to watch him, and a soft smile tugs at your lips from his ever present sweetness and care. his heart jumps at the sight, so he covers your bare legs back to avoid giving you goosebumps from the cold, and slips away for a moment. not before leaving a kiss to the skin of your calf.

just moments later, he crawls back into the bed with a warm, dampened washcloth to deal with all the stickiness and a spare shirt because he admittedly got the back of your sleep shirt wet too. he cleans the mess on your skin first, then urges you to sit up just a bit with gentle hands and a tone of voice he know you won’t be able to resist.

“arms up,” he mumbles as he pulls the shirt off for you, then replaces it with one of his own soft, worn t-shirts. then he tucks you back into his chest and under the blankets, fighting off the sleep that was previously evading him until he feels you fall asleep first. then he sleeps like a damn rock and is woken in the morning by your lips on his neck.

#sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #supernatural smut #sam winchester x gn!reader #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester suggestive #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester drabble #supernatural headcanon #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester headcanon #supernatural suggestive #spn sam winchester #sam winchester fluff

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black-cat-luck · 2 days ago

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Can you do headcanons about Bruce and Jason’s father and son activities??? 🫶🏾

Father and son Jason and Bruce is my weak point of course.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

𖥔 There’s few activities you can do as Batman and Robin. As Bruce Wayne and his son, they can do anything, as long as you don’t mind the media that follows you.

𖥔 Bruce doesn’t like Jason being in the media eye much when he’s first adopted. The boy is already training to be Robin, already exclaimed he doesn’t mind, but once news breaks out of Bruce Wayne’s newest adoption, they’re getting papped, followed, and as ready as Jason thought he was, those lights in his little eyes really are too bright. Bruce doesn’t have his cape to wrap him up in and hide him like he’s so used to doing, so he takes off his own sunglasses, they’re loose and hardly hold on Jason’s face, but it’s better than nothing, and they can continue with their little trip to the mall.

𖥔 Jason loves animals. Bruce notices in the way he brings extra snacks to give to stray cats while they’re patrolling, or the way he stops to pet every dog that approaches him. Bruce watches fondly every time, especially when Jason looks at him with bright sparkling eyes and a dog getting comfortable in his arms.

𖥔 Bruce takes him to the zoo after learning of his love for animals. Jason is bouncing with every step as they walk to each exhibit, even giving Bruce random little animal facts for each one they see. When they’re readying to leave Jason’s eyes get caught by the gift shop, and Bruce is happy to lead him inside. He overlooks each stuffed toy and pen topper, though he doesn’t touch any. When he tells Bruce he’s ready to go, and starts heading to the door Bruce frowns. “Don’t you want something?” He asks, Jason looks between him and the stand he was next to, plush giraffes staring back at him. Bruce watches him for a long moment before nodding toward them. “Pick whatever you want.” He says, Jason nervously smiles, and grabs the snow leopard he’d been thinking about since they walked in. He doesn’t have to say that he didn’t think he could get anything because he’s used to only being able to look, not buy. And Bruce didn’t need to ask, letting the boy grab what he wants, and even when he assures Jason he can pick more than one, Jason holds the plushie closer to his chest and insists she’s all he wants. Bruce ruffles his hair as they walk outside again.

𖥔 Jason gets into art the older he gets. He’d always been a smart boy, he always loved different forms of art, but the older he is, the more meaning it has to him, the more he loves it. Bruce takes him to museums, watching from a few steps behind as Jason admires each work, reading each description, studying every line.

𖥔 When Jason starts asking to go to the library more Bruce has him make a list of all the books he wants to read, and has the library in the manor updated. He tells Jason the library is his welcome home gift, and that he can read every book he’d like; and if there’s any they don’t have, Bruce will get them. Jason spends a lot of his time in there, and Bruce sits with him. They don’t talk much or do anything except read or doing their own respective business, but they sit together, accepting tea and snacks Alfred brings them, and when Jason falls asleep Bruce makes sure to put a bookmark in between his pages to assure he doesn’t lose his spot, and covers him with a blanket.

𖥔 Jason likes baking, so Bruce always makes sure there’s plenty of ingredients in the pantry’s, and sits at the island, keeping his promise to Alfred that he won’t touch any appliances unsupervised, but keeping Jason company, making this a bonding moment, they’re doing it together, even if Bruce is just sitting there and licking one of the spoons while they wait for it to bake.

𖥔 They end up watching tv shows together. It’s unspoken, it’s accidental, but when they’re both benched from patrol after a nasty accident, Bruce brings himself to Jason’s room to ask a question, and does that awkward stand half in the doorway watching the tv show playing on the TV (it’s Friends) and when they’ve gone through almost two episodes Jason waves him in, and Bruce sits in his beanbag chair and watches it with him, which becomes an accidental activity where they watch shows together.

𖥔 Jason and Bruce still watch friends, years later, when they’re not speaking and Jason hasn’t found it in himself to forgive or move on yet. They’re miles apart, haven’t spoken in weeks, but when they’re stressed, or tired, or need anything to create noise to silence what’s in their heads, their tvs flicker the familiar scenes, and even when it makes his heart heavy, Jason holds his ratty stuffed leopard close, and watches through tired eyes, remembering the feeling of lying in Bruce’s lap when he was fighting how tired he truly was, now having to pull the blanket over himself, cause nobody else is here to do it for him. It’s small moments like these that remind Jason he was more than just a solider, and miles away Bruce is petting Damian’s cat, making up for the way he misses carding his fingers through Jason’s hair, watching the same scene, the same moment, they’re still father and son, and both know deep down they always will be. And maybe Jason will come home trudging through the snow around the same time Chandler does.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This felt so sweet and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, thank you for the request. ᡣ𐭩

#batfam #Batman #batman and robin #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #good dad bruce wayne #dc headcanon #jason todd headcanon #dc comics #dc robin #dc universe #blackcatluck request

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astr-venus · 17 hours ago

Text

｡⁠☆ Who Is This Diva✦

｡⁠☆Content: Shouta Aizawa BF headcanons

｡⁠☆Cw: swearing, pregnancy mention, threesome mention (still sfw tho !), no use of y/n

✦ Not the sweetest boyfriend or husband, at least not in most people's opinion. He's quiet, blunt, a bit of a tease as well, and all of these things kinda make him look like an asshole. These qualities don't change when you're together either, you just get really good at reading Shouta.

✦ Incredibly observant and somehow remembers everything you ever tell him. You could slightly hint at wanting to go to some fancy ass restaurant, and 6 months later when your anniversary rolls around all of a sudden he's taking you there, hell you don't even remember mentioning it.

✦ The man is blunt, but still a little shy, especially with overly lovely PDA. He can do handholding, hugs, pecks on the lips, but anything more than that and he'll push your face away like he's annoyed. He knows damn well he's flustered and embarrassed, but he absolutely refuses to let you see that. Heaven forbid you see your big strong man weak for you.

"What the hell is wrong with you, we're at the school... No you can wait till we get home you aren't dying, stop being dramatic.... My face is NOT red and I'm not into it either, get away from me. You're such a pervert."

✦ A little insecure. He doesn't feel good enough for you. If you left him or fell out of love with him he wouldn't beg for you back, but I can't say he would just accept it either. He'd probably just... Grieve. He would want you back so bad, but would hate to make you stay when he fully believes there's way way better than him out there.

✦ shit texter. Terrible texter. Horrendous texter even. He's so dry and he deplores talking on the phone, half the time he just leaves you on read. He just don't even try to reply.

✦ a cuddle bug, but only behind closed doors. As soon as the lock on your front door clicks his arms are wrapped around you and his head is on your shoulders. He trails around the house behind you like a lost puppy (and if you don't let him in the shower with you ? Oh Lord you'll never hear the end of it)

"I don't care about whatever the hell an everything shower is. There's no reason why you won't let me in, I've literally been inside you, I don't care."

✦ possessive. Wants to know where you are and what you're doing at all times. Slightly controlling, but will back off if he's over stepped.

✦ scruffy but hygienic. Showers at least once every two days, but most of the time twice a day because of teaching and patrol. He buys antibacterial everything in a generic scent, but if you have preferences for anything he doesn't mind changing it as long as he still gets clean

✦ a worrywart. If you stub your toe and don't tell him he's pissed. An injury is an injury no matter how minor. He just wants to make sure he's taking care of you. If you do the same and try to help him with any cuts or bruises from patrol he'll pretend to get fed up, but in reality you make him feel so incredibly warm inside he feels like he might burn to death

✦ secure in his masculinity. If you're a fashion guru (or if you're Eri) he couldn't care less if you picked his outfit. You can put him in strawberry perfume and a skirt and all he would ask is that you make the outfit school appropriate

✦ speaking of Eri, that's his daughter, straight up. He loves that little girl like he birthed her himself, and the minute you two start bonding is the minute he figures out what heaven looks like.

✦ Shouta never really wanted kids, not to say he doesn't love teaching the brats at his school, but that really was enough time spent with children for the day. Until Eri came, and then when you came. I think he'd love to give Eri a little sibling, though I don't think he wants more than 3 kids. 4 at most.

✦ don't try to watch movies with him, don't bring him to the theater either, he's just gonna fall asleep as soon as the title screen comes up. He will beg and moan to watch some shitty movie with you and fall asleep before the main character even has their first line

"Hmm, what? No I wasn't sleeping... My eyes were closed because I was training my spacial awareness, I promise I'm still watching the movie... When have I ever lied to you ?"

✦ doesn't have a big presence and has a staring problem, people who don't know you're together think he's a stalker. Between his overall rough looking appearance and his hard focus on you he looks like a serial killer, there's a good chance you won't have to worry about a lot of other women bc of this tho (not that he would ever cheat, he'd fall upon his own sword first), so good for you !

✦ jumpscares you forever. He claims he isn't doing it on purpose, but for how often it happens it's gotta be malicious !! It's gotta be !! You turn around in the kitchen, when the hell did Shouta get there ? You're at the store, when did Shouta follow you out the door ? You wake up, good lord Shouta why are you staring at me like that ? There is no escape from how often he scares you either.

✦ starts referring to you as his wife before you're married, but he only calls you wife behind you're back before you're engaged. Since I don't see Shouta as the type to really yearn for marriage, I think if you don't have a want for it either he's calling you his wife a year into the relationship

"Yeah, my wife is at home with my daughter. They hate publicity as much as I do so I left them at home.... We've been together for a year, but known each other much longer. I'm incredibly lucky to have her."

✦ a very soft man. To outsiders he's cold and prickly but he's actually the sweetest blueberry in the basket, he's like a huge cat. All of his touches are gentle, he would never forgive himself if he hurt you, he'd spend his whole life atoning for something like that.

✦ I would like to end this post by saying if you ever convince him to do a threesome it would be with Hizashi. That is all.

Also, what character would YOU like to see next ? Thinking Mina or... Maybe I'll work on my Hawks characterization... Decisions decisions....

I kinda wanna make another post like this but it's erasermic + y/n. My fav polycule besides for tdbkdk if I'm honest. Should I do a Mic intro and then the poly post or just skip straight to the poly post ?

Slow posting as well 💔💔 made this blog and immediately got hit with the Too Busy To Post Beam, but I stare at it longingly before I go to bed every night

｡⁠☆Requests open

#mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x you #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shouta x you #shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #˗ˏˋ ★ Eraserhead ★ ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ ★ MHA ★ ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ ★ venus writes ★ ˎˊ˗

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