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celestial-fucking-weeb · 4 years

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Anonymity be Damned

Hi, everyone! This is my first ever fic, and it’s a part of the Citrus Server collab! I’m so excited about it, and I know it’s super self indulgent, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it. Please give me feedback and tell me what you like and what I can improve on; also, please be nice to me, I’m a baby.

MASTER LIST IS HERE Go check out everyone’s hard work!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, brief angst, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x chubby!female reader

Taglist: @reinawritesbnha

Prompt: "Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow.

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist.

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

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Of course, not thinking twice about accepting came back to bite you as soon as the realization set in that you would, in fact, have to go. Suddenly hyper-aware of your need to buy a dress, and knowing how little you enjoy shopping, you call your best girls for the job. A quick text to the groupchat had Mina and Yaomomo screaming with excitement that you were actually asking to go shopping. Jirou and Ochako sharing your apprehension, and Hagakure and Froppy bowing out due to their schedules, but wishing you luck with sweet emojis.

Yaomomo chose the dress shop, under the enthusiastic offer that she’d pay to ensure everyone would receive something from her favorite designers. You knew this was a place only Yaomomo could frequent- beautiful gowns lined every wall, display mannequins donning the most gorgeous dresses, made of the best fabrics with jewels perfectly beaded in, none of which had price tags so as to not “ruin the material” as she had told all of you. Whisking you all into dressing rooms bigger than your entire apartment, the staff practically fawned over each of you, offering assistance, refreshments, recommendations, and- oh fuck- measurements. Nerves shot through your entire body and made you nauseous, ready to make a stupid excuse to leave before your insecurities were announced to your girlfriends. You’ve always been...bigger.

The word tasted bitter on your tongue. The consultant made barely a sound as she pulled out her tape, but you heard it. That little “hm” noise, indicating judgement, knowing that most of their stock isn’t going to fit you properly, what with your plump thighs, soft tummy, squishy arms, the rolls that seemed to stay no matter how many workouts you do..

“We don’t carry plus size gowns, but I’m sure I can find something for you.”

All is confirmed when she says those stupid fucking words with that Joker-esqe smile and that hint of disgust in her tone. ‘I shouldn’t be here, I never should’ve accepted that invitation, why did I even think this was a good idea, the whole thing is for beautiful skinny girls like your friends, this is all a mistake,’ you think to yourself, insecurities and anxiety flooding your brain. Mina’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we asked for your personal opinion on her body. In fact, I believe we only asked for you to do your job, but if you can’t complete such a daunting task, I’m sure there are 20 other people who’d love to take your place.” she grinned, in a tone too perky for her threatening choice of words.

“Also, as I happen to frequent this shop, I know your entire inventory. As such, I know that you do, in fact, carry gowns for each of our sizes. If you can find one to fit my chest, I know you have a variety of gowns to fit my beautiful friend, y/n. I suggest you begin pulling them, as I’m sure you’ve gotten the measurements you need. Now.” This time it’s Yaomomo, handling the situation with dignitary-level finality, before gracefully walking to you with a comforting smile. Ochako wipes a tear you weren’t aware had fallen, attempting to comfort you with false empathy, saying how you two are “practically the same size”, but you know you’re not. It’s comforting nonetheless, having the support of your friend group. Jirou cracks self deprecating jokes to lighten the mood, complaining, “If I have to wear a frilly gown to this bullshit, so do you, y/n. You’re not getting out of this that easy,” and you absolutely know she means it.

With your spirit slightly renewed and the consultants carrying in a multitude of dresses, you all end up having a blast laughing about how the pink ballgown does not fit Jirou’s aesthetic and the skintight green satin number Ochako tried on would quite literally have Deku passed out on the floor. You giggled with Yaomomo about how certain dresses looked risqué and nearly pornographic on your respective figures. Mina whined about how each dress didn’t have enough glitter, her complaints falling on deaf ears. Over the course of two and a half hours, each of the girls had secured a dress. Mina, in a teal mermaid-style dress with enough sparkle woven into the tulle to blind. Jirou, in a simple deep purple velvet gown that gracefully fell off her shoulders. Ochako, deciding, after much peer pressure, to opt for the green satin to make Deku drool. Yaomomo, in a red gown with beautiful beading, and a deep V neckline. You, on the other hand, were struggling to find something that doesn’t have you hyperfixating on one aspect of your body or another, limiting your breathing and movement so as to not further sink into the mean thoughts swirling around inside your head. The girls have gone into full support staff-mode, bringing you dresses of every cut known to man, offering more champagne to dull the anxieties, Yaomomo even offering to make you a custom dress with her quirk. Jirou sheepishly comes into the room, head down, hoping no one brings attention to the fact that she just sifted through dresses for a good 15 minutes and didn’t hate it, before nudging your soft side. You turn to her, defeated, and ready to give up, when you realize what she’s holding. She’s picked a dress for you, even though she hates shopping anywhere that isn’t blaring music through the speakers and dimly lit. You smile sweetly at her shy offering, reaching out to take it before she pulls back.

“No, I have an idea… I know it’s easy to look at your insecurities before the dress is all the way on, and I think you should let us help you into it with your eyes closed… Then, when you turn around to the mirror, you can see all the beautiful parts, like we do!” She looks down at the floor as she mutters the words, as though she’s embarrassed to be so soft and sweet.

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, JIROU! OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU HAVE TO LET US DRESS YOU, IT’LL BE JUST LIKE CINDERELLA WITH THE BIRDS AND THE MICE, COME ONNN…” Mina bounces up and down, grabbing your hands and pleading, knowing you never say no when she gives you such excited eyes.

“Uh… fine… Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” You shyly whisper, looking away.

If it were anyone else, you’d never want them to see you getting dressed, soft tummy and extra squish uncovered, leaving you vulnerable to their judgement. But these are your best friends, you’d known them for years. They’d held your hair on your 21st birthday, and cuddled into bed with you when you were crying over unrequited love. They’ve had your back, they’d never make fun of you, and Jirou chose this dress all special for you, you couldn’t say no. With that, you turned around and closed your eyes, arms out and waiting for them to help you into whatever Jirou had deemed right for you.

“Okay, y/n, almost done, just have to zip this last part up and… DONE!” Mina and Yaomomo stepped back from their positions holding the sides and pulling the zipper, respectively. Finally admiring the you in the dress, there was a moment of absolute silence. You started shifting uncomfortably, wondering just how horrible you looked if they didn’t even have words to describe it. Ochako was the first to break the quiet and a teary-sounding “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”, followed by Mina’s signature squeals of excitement. Yaomomo clasped her hands together and began ranting about “how gorgeous you looked” and “how perfect the dress was” and “how she didn’t even know they had this one yet”. Jirou, sensing your anxious shifting, finally told you to open your eyes and turn around with a hand on your shoulder, the satisfied smirk on her face audible in her now assured voice.

“Oh… wow…” was all you could manage to say, eyes wide as you saw yourself in the full length mirror. This was, in all honesty, the first time you felt beautiful in years. The dress did nothing to hide your body- no- it somehow managed to accentuate every single curve in the most beautiful way possible. The gown was black, made from silk and taffeta, with some built in structure, and oh so soft. Simultaneously comfortable, secure, and elegant, the strapless gown mimicked a one shoulder, right side jutting up in an asymmetrical style and the left dipping just low enough to show your cleavage before cascading down your curves, hugging each roll of your body gently, showing off your figure and flowing down to the floor with a slit up your thigh, only visible when you walked and showing the ample flesh of your hip and thigh. God, it was perfect. You felt strong and classy and sexy and beautiful. Turning to Jirou, you pull her into your chest and hug her, thanking her a thousand times for finding it.

“Whoa, hey, okay… I’m glad you like it, you look absolutely beautiful. But- um- hey, can you let go? I’m suffocating in titties here.” Jirou laughed, genuinely struggling to breathe in your embrace.

“Oh shit, sorry, Jirou! I’m just so happy, I love it so much! I kinda forgot you can’t breathe when I do that…” You chuckle nervously, releasing her from your embrace.

“Yay! Okay, now that everyone has a dress, let’s go purchase them and get some food. I’m starving!” Yaomomo pitches the idea, and everyone agrees, excited to hurry out of the shop for a meal.

_____________________________________________________________

The day had finally come, and your nerves felt fried. The other girls all had dates; Momo and Jirou deciding to go together, Ochako with Deku, even Mina was going with Kaminari. But here you were, riding in the car service alone, makeup absolutely flawless, complete with falsies and red lipstick that was the perfect shade to stand out against your skin. Such a shame no one was going to be benefiting from your efforts tonight, although the thought that your longtime crush, Sero Hanta, would be in attendance was enough to urge you to adjust your carefully placed mask, ensuring your anonymity and polishing your confidence. Sero had been in your friend group since high school, and was the first person you truly warmed up to upon your acceptance into the group. You quickly became the “shy little sister” to the loud ones in the group: Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina. Jirou and Sero were more your speed; quieter, more laid back and chill, with great senses of humor that not everyone was privy to. With Jirou as your designated best friend, Sero was proclaimed the unrequited love interest. You friendzoned yourself almost immediately, assuming Sero wouldn’t go for a girl like you, not when he was tall, dark, handsome, and muscular. A budding pro hero wouldn’t want you, not with your shy insecurities and soft body…

Little did you know, Sero had been pining after you since the beginning, flirting with you subtly in hopes that you’d express your interest. Eyes wandering down your curves during movie nights, taking in your too-small shorts and how your oversized shirt would raise just enough to see your little tummy pouch, wishing his face was buried between your plump thighs, praying he would be able to leave hickeys on every delicious roll, pleading he could see those cute chubby cheeks covered with tears while your plush lips wrapped around his cock… No- he couldn’t think of you like that. After all, you never returned his flirting, and there’s no way you’d like him when you could crush on manlier guys like Kirishima and Bakugou. ‘He was just a “dollar store Spiderman”, as Bakugou liked to call him, just a guy… Nothing special…’ he thought to himself as he adjusted his own mask in the bathroom mirror at the gala. His friends had all confirmed that you were coming, and that you were coming alone (said by Kaminari while wiggling his eyebrows). Every other person in the group had a date, including Bakugou and Kirishima, who had to practically drag the former to the event in the first place. He was the only one “stagging it”, aside from you, who would no doubt attract attention and end up going home with some flashy hero higher ranked than he was. He sighed, adjusting his tux jacket and cufflinks, and exited into the main ballroom to get a drink.

You walked into the venue, checked in, and stood frozen outside the ballroom entrance. You adjusted your mask, steeled your nerves, and squared your shoulders, reminding yourself how absolutely gorgeous you looked and donning your best “bad bitch” aura. You strut into the place like you own it, suddenly very aware of how many people there are, scanning for familiar faces as you sway your luscious hips to maintain your balance in your heels.

“Holy fuck... “ Sero utters, jaw slack and eyes locked on you. You’re so perfect, breasts bouncing with every step, thighs and tummy jiggling, soft smile gracing your face. He’s staring, and Kaminari has to elbow him to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth before you get there. You’re equally as enchanted, seeing Sero in his black fitted tuxedo, crushed velvet lapels, tapered pants making his quads look positively biteable, crisp white shirt tailored over his pecs, black bowtie (slightly crooked, very fitting of his personality) and mask obscuring his face, leaving him as nothing more than a handsome stranger. A yellow pocket square catches your attention, reminding you of your favorite hero in his costume. You smirk to yourself, knowing you chose yellow gold heels specifically because they reminded you of him.

“See something you like, Sero-buddy? You’re staring so hard, you’d think she was God.” Kaminari punches Sero in the ribs, trying to break the spell. “Maybe you should talk to her, finally get over your crush on y/n by getting under someone else.” he winks, completely unaware that he’s talking about you in both respects.

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I think I’ll give it a minute, maybe grab another drink and enjoy the party for a while. I’m not trying to start hitting on some random chick just yet, though hot she may be.” Sero laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, downs the rest of the liquid, then focuses back on you. You wait at the bar for your drink of choice, aware of that beautiful stranger still staring and leaning against the counter just enough to push your ass out. You hear him nearly choke on his drink, and move around the party satisfied with yourself.

A few drinks later, you find yourself on the dance floor, watching from the edge and lightly swaying to the music. A masked man with shaggy black hair, who you can only assume to be pro hero Grand, given his mask barely covered a fourth of his face probably only worn to fit the theme, approached you for a dance, hand extended and bowing at the waist.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be a wallflower. Care to dance?” he asks, voice low and alluring, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.

“I might…” you smile shyly, taking his hand and letting him lead you.

Once out on the dance floor, he pulls you into his chest with a hand on your lower back. It’s nice to be wanted, to dance so close to a man who finds you beautiful, especially one as chiseled as Grand. ‘Wait- is he…? Are you fucking kidding?’ Your fight or flight response kicks in as soon as you feel his hand drift lower and lower onto your ass. You pull away, ready to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before you can get a word out, he puts a hand over your jaw, fingers tightly snapping your mouth closed. Unable to speak and too shocked to move, you feel helpless as he whispers in your ear.

“God, I love fat girls. Your self esteem is so low, I can do whatever I want and you’ll fall for it. So stupid, so fun.” His laugh is so dark, and you start to panic before a large, strong hand reaches between the two of you and wraps around Grand’s throat, yanking him back and off of you.

“Listen, this is a classy place, so I’ll give you a choice. Either you apologize to this absolutely gorgeous woman and get the fuck out of here, or I beat you to a bloody pulp right here and ruin both your suit and your face.” The handsome stranger who had originally caught your eye growls, voice so low and intimidating you didn’t doubt for a second he meant every word. ‘His voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s so angry, and he’s speaking so low, I can’t figure out where I’ve heard that before.’ Thankful for his saving assistance, and trying to calm yourself from hyperventilating, you watch Grand’s retreating form before turning to the man who is quite literally your Prince Charming of the evening.

Voice still low and angry, “Listen, I need you to distract me. Calm me down so I don’t turn around and kill that guy.” he seethes. “You are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. He was so wrong. He’s an asshole, absolutely vile, and he never should’ve even had the nerve to approach you, much less touch you. God fucking damn it, I should-”

You cut him off by pulling him close, placing your hands on his chest and letting them roam up to fix his still crooked bowtie.

“Thank you…” you whisper, tearing up as you put your head on his chest. His cologne is so calming, his scent enveloping you as his arms instinctively wrap around you and his hand finds the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

The two of you slow dance in silence, his head resting on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo and hairspray comforting him and taking him to a dream where he was dancing with the y/n he knew, feeling your soft body pressed against him, imagining how you’d look in the dress on the girl he was actually dancing with. ‘Oh fuck, y/n would look so fucking perfect in this. Her curves- fuck, this dress is soft- I would absolutely love to run my hands along her body in this dress, press her up against me like this, fuck her thighs- wait… SHIT-FUCK-NO’ Snapped out of his thoughts by the increasing tightness of his tux pants, he prays to god the sexy girl pressed against him doesn’t notice.

You notice something nudging against your thigh, breaking you out of your daydreams about the mystery man being Sero Hanta, opening your eyes before you realize exactly what you’re feeling. ‘Oh… OH. Holy fuck, did I make him hard just dancing? He- uh- feels… big… Maybe if I just-’ you subtly shift your hips, thigh brushing up against him and slotting between his legs just enough. A deep groan rises from his chest, and he leans down to your ear.

“Babygirl, if you keep doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to return the favor~” His voice sounds so familiar, but the lust clouding the low rumble has it taking on an entirely new timbre. You lean in, feeling emboldened by his words, swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear with a simple “Oh really?~ And what if that’s the goal?”

With that, he crooks his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. What starts as a sweet and simple kiss quickly evolves into a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His fingers gently resting on your neck, just above your collarbone, and tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You sigh into him, granting him access and letting his tongue explore your mouth, relishing in his deep rumbles and pressing impossibly closer, hoping he’d get the message and take you somewhere more private. Luckily, it seems he seems to read your body language and leads you to a side hallway by pressing his hand on the small of your back, possessively guiding you. Pushing you up against the wall, he leans back in to resume kissing you, with an arm steadying himself above your head. In a simply embarrassing display of clumsiness, your hand reaching for his cheek goes slightly off course, accidentally knocking off his mask and causing you to fumble to the floor to retrieve it. Upon looking up, you see Sero standing with a flushed face and his hand reaching up to the back of his neck, the endearing nervous tic you’d learned from him over the years. Oh God, if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it sure as fuck was now… The man you had yearned after for years not only swooping in to save you from some low-life creep, but also having you in a kabedon against the wall of the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. He laughs, nervous now without his anonymity, and reaches down to help you up.

“I- uh- sorry, I might’ve gotten carried away. I hope you’re okay, I know I’m probably not the hero you wanted. I really do think you’re beautiful, you actually remind me of someone I know and- wow- I’m rambling…” He goes on like this, panicking that he’s somehow ruined your fantasy and disappointed you by existing. He only shuts up when you stand back upright and kiss him softly.

“You’re exactly the hero I want… The hero I’ve always wanted.” You blush, staring up at him with the most loving doe eyes you can manage.

‘Wait… Her voice… Is that- ?’ Sero came to quite possibly the best and utterly terrifying realization; that the girl he’d been lusting after all night and the girl he’d been wanting for years could be the same girl. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face, lightly grazing your mask as though asking for permission. You nod, never breaking your gaze on his concentrated expression, and parted your lips. He gingerly lifts the mask from your features, damning your anonymity, and each of you hold your breath in anticipation. The way he looks at you is like something out of a movie, or one of those shōjo manga you love to obsess over: pure relief, adoration, lust, love. Oh, you want him to look at you like that forever.

“Y/n, I-... You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. I have been wanting to kiss you for years, and to finally do it, and with you looking… Wow- you are so fucking stunning, I have never seen anything as beautiful in my life. Fuck, I just- I wish I could tell you how perfect you are, express in words how flawless I’ve always thought you were- still do… “ Sero breathed all of this as though he had to get every word out before you disappeared. He held your face in both hands, lightly squishing your cheeks and stroking his thumb over your lips, taking in your hopelessly enthralled expression. “You know what? Fuck this. No- I mean- not ‘fuck this’, I just… I want to do this right. I want you, I need you. I want to express how important you are, I need to show you that you’re everything to me. I want to worship you, kiss every inch of your body and make you feel so incredibly complete and full and whole and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Hanta… I- Yes. Yes. Please take me home, I need you. I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You lean into his touch, wanting to be ever closer to his warmth.

You yelp as he suddenly picks you up, bridal style, as though you don’t even provide a struggle.

“HANTA, you can’t be carrying me, I weigh more than you, no no no, I’m too heavy, you can’t-”

“Y/n. I’m a pro hero, are you seriously telling me I can’t carry you? I can carry 3 people at once while hanging from a strip of tape in midair. I’ll hold you up forever if you’d let me.” He squeezes you in his hold, emphasizing his point.

His cocky attitude was majorly driven by how good you felt, soft tummy and jiggling tits against his torso, the perfect squish of your thighs in his powerful arms, chubby hands and cheeks tucked into his chest and the crook of his neck. He swore he could die happy right there. In the elevator, he took a moment to take in your entire figure, but upon reaching your feet, something turned him absolutely feral. Your shoes. You were wearing his colors. Every single piece of clothing matched his hero costume. ‘Holy shit… You knew. You wanted him before this even happened. You were his.’ The possessive growl that tore from his chest startled you as he adjusted you in his hold. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, hands unapologetically on the ample crux of your thighs and ass, lips on yours in a desperate kiss that was all tongue and teeth, grinding his hard cock against you. You whimpered against his lips, shocked by his sudden change of demeanor.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my colors, aren’t you? You want me to claim you? You want to be mine? I’ll give you anything you want, babygirl. I just need you to ask for it.~” He growled against your neck, nose tracing the column of your throat.

“Hanta, please, yes- ah~. I want to be yours. I only want to be yours. I need you. Please, please, please.” Normally, you’d be way too shy to beg this much, embarrassed about how desperate you sound, but fuck he’s making you so needy. The gasp that escapes you when Sero licks a stripe up your neck turns into a moan when he starts sucking a hickey over your pulsepoint. He feels so good, the heat between your thighs steadily building with every nip of his teeth and roll of his hips. You thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and pull gently, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. He works his way up to your jaw, leaving pretty little marks in his wake, and returns to your lips like a safe haven. He strokes your tongue with his own, committing your taste to memory. He never wants to forget this moment, especially not when you lightly suck his tongue and pull him in further with those perfect fucking thighs. You’re so soft, being wrapped in your plushness with his fingers digging into the pliable flesh of your ass is too much. Sero’s sinful thoughts are interrupted by your fucked-out voice, so small and innocent, as though you’re afraid of his answer.

“Um… Can I- can I touch you? I mean- I- can I mark you, too?” You sound so unsure, not used to someone wanting to show you off. You’re so breathless, and he’d be lying if the pleading in your voice didn’t make his dick twitch in his pants.

“Awwww~ is my babygirl shy now? You want to mark me, too? Go ahead, mi amor, sí se puede. I’m all yours, just like you’re mine.” Sero cranes his head to the side, baring his neck to you, waiting for you to bless him with those full lips, waiting for you to make a show of him finally having the most perfect girl he’s ever known.

If he could’ve taken a picture of your face in that moment, he’d look at it every day. Squishy cheeks blushing, eyes wide with surprise and excitement, gaze clouded with lust. You were so pretty, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. Sero moaned as you sucked a small dark mark onto his skin and happily carried you from the elevator to his room. You tighten your arms around him when he reaches for his key card, involuntarily pushing your chest together and pressing up into him.

“Oh, mi corazón, if you keep pressing into me like that, voy a tener que lamer cada parte de ti y puede que no te deje ir…” His threats sound more like promises when he’s carrying you through the threshold and placing you down gently, though his hands never leave your body. Tracing your sides, memorizing your curves, squeezing any part he can get his hands on. His right hand inches down your torso, resting on the pouch of your tummy and making you flinch. Sero notices and worries he’s hurt you, or that you don’t want him to touch you. The hurt in his eyes is obvious when he takes in your tense muscles and eyes squeezed shut, realizing it’s your own insecurities holding you back. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, see yourself through his eyes. He was going to make you feel so fucking loved, he just had to show you what he couldn’t express in words. You stripped him of his jacket as he unknotted his tie. With nervous hands, you unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it past his broad shoulders, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest and lean abs, admiring the enticing adonis belt and pretty trail of coarse black hair disappearing into his pants. Sero, with his ego now boosted by the lustful look in your eyes as you took him in, returned your gaze to his face with an intensity that made you shiver. He kept eye contact while sweeping your hair to one side, and slowly unzipping your gown. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans down to place open mouthed kisses along your shoulders as he pushes your dress down your body, kissing down your arms as it falls, and places a sweet kiss to your hands. Pushing you onto the bed with a soft thud and climbing over top of you, he moves the hands that raise to cover yourself , grasping your wrists in one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, as he softly reassures you.

“Princesa, please don’t hide from me. I’ve waited for you for so long, and I want to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you cry out my name, and show you just how perfect you are while you cum on my tongue. You will not say a single bad thing about mi amor, you understand?” he says lowly, so loving yet commanding.

“Yes, Hanta… I- I’ll be good for you, I promise.” you whine, praying your submission would please him.

The sound of his given name in that pleading tone has him painfully hard, but he’s too focused on hearing his name from your sweet lips again to care. You pull him down into a passionate kiss and roll your hips against his clothed cock when he laves down your neck and leaves love bites across your chest. He sucks your nipple into his warm mouth and rolls the other between his forefinger and thumb, earning a high pitched keen from you. He switches to give the same attention to the other side, tongue swirling around the peaked bud and relishing the way your chest heaves just from his mouth on your tits. ‘So needy… Fuck, how did I ever wait this long to see y/n like this and hear her sounds?’ Sero thinks to himself, so ready to watch your eyes roll back in your skull the minute you feel his cock fill you. The thought of you bouncing on his dick, watching you jiggle with his thrusts, letting him grip the fat on your hips and help you fuck yourself on him, feeling your lovely thighs straddle him, has him impatiently rutting into the mattress. He needs to taste you, leave marks all over your delicious tummy and thighs, and feel you coming undone beneath him. His large hands slide down your sides, rubbing back up under your breasts, gripping the extra flesh over your ribcage, the soft love handles on your sides, caressing the perfect pouch of your belly and settling on your hips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing and licking every place you had deemed undesirable like they were the sexiest pieces of you, leaving dark hickeys on the front of your hips to remind you that all of these parts were now his to love.

“Lo siento, babygirl, pero no puedo esperar más, necesito mi lengua en ese bonita coño jodidamente ahora. Estas necesitan estar en el suelo ahora.” If his panting growl of Spanish didn’t already have your pussy gushing, his strong fingers ripping your panties and hoes off your body had you dripping onto the bed. Your shocked squeak turning into a moan when he parted your legs and nipped at the soft skin of your inner thigh, Sero is beyond delighted by feeling your beautiful thighs squishing against his face. If he could choose his end, it would undoubtedly be suffocating between this plush heaven. He snaked his arms under your parted thighs to hold your hips, squeezing and marveling at the feeling of your warm body protruding between his spread fingers, trying to fit as much of you in his grasp as he could and never getting enough. You’re just about to plead for him to touch you where you need him most when you lock eyes and hear the teasing lilt in his voice when he groans “Itadakimasu~” and flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

“So wet for me, princesa, is this all for me? You’re so thoughtful to give me a meal so sweet.”

“Hantaaa, please. I want you, please don’t tease me, please touch me. I need- ah~”

Your begging is interrupted by his tongue diving into your sex, lapping at your slick like a man starved. The moans coming from the man between your thighs were sinful; in this moment, Sero Hanta was no longer the friend you’d watched superhero movies with and silently crushed on for years- he was a man, a lover, all you’d ever wanted. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking the sensitive pearl into his mouth, he pulled one hand from your hip and slowly slipped two long fingers into your sopping heat. The callused pads from years of hero training now rubbing perfectly against your walls have you crying out for him and grasping his hair, begging him to go faster. He suddenly props himself up, bringing his palm up to grind against your clit and slowing his thrusts, wanting to hear you beg for him and watch your desperate facial expression.

“What is it you want, babygirl? C’mon, you’re going to have to use that pretty little mouth of yours. Tell me what you want, baby, use your words. I wanna hear you beg for me.” That normally dopey smile was replaced with a lewd smirk, hungry and covered in your juices.

“H-Hanta, please please please. I need you, need your mouth. Please I wanna cum, please let me cum, I want you to fuck me! Please please pleaseeeee~” Hips bucking forward, sweat lightly covering your skin, hair splayed out, body covered in his marks, begging for him… Shit, he’d give you anything you asked for. Oh, he’ll give you what you need- don’t you worry.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. I’ll make this pretty pussy cum. Hold onto me and just relax, princess.”

His lips returned to your clit, flicking his tongue and sucking lightly, and increased his pace. He curled his fingers just right, finding the spongy underside of your clit and he chuckles darkly to himself when your back arches, head falling back onto the pillows.

“There it is~, there we go, babygirl. Cum for me, just like this. I’ve got you, let go, cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long after his mouth goes back to nursing on your clit and his fingers continuously hitting your g-spot for the coil in your belly to finally snap. You climax hard, eyes screwed shut and screaming out his name as his tongue works you through your high. Once you’ve come down, you open your eyes and see Sero sucking his fingers clean of your release and unbuckling his belt with the other hand. You sit up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and unbuttoning his pants. He grows impatient with your pace, shoving his pants and tight boxers down at once. ‘Fuck, his dick is pretty’ you think to yourself, marveling at the masterpiece before you. He’s long, maybe 8.5-9 inches, thick enough to stretch your walls so deliciously but not too thick to fit in your mouth, prominent vein running along the underside and leading from the neat crop of black hair to the leaking tip, begging for your tongue. You start to rise to your knees before being pushed back into the duvet, looking up at him in confusion.

“No, no, mi amor. As much as I want to see your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, that’s gonna have to wait. I want to be inside you, I need to fuck you until all you can think about is me and how fucking beautiful I think you are.” His eyes are so sincere. He looks down at you with the most loving stare you’ve ever felt, so calm and safe in his presence. You’re lulled into submission, every doubtful argument you had died on your tongue, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He leans over you, bracing himself on an elbow with his hand on your jaw to keep your eyes fixated on him. The other hand wraps around the base of his cock and teases the head along your slit, pressing on your clit just enough to have you squirming, trying to impale yourself.

“So needy for me, so wet. You’re so perfect, babygirl, I wouldn’t want to go too fast now. I want to savor every inch, feel you stretch around me while I watch those e/c eyes roll back in pleasure.” He holds back from thrusting into you when you whine in response, breathing heavy and struggling to get him inside. “Damn, baby, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you tell me exactly what you want? Beg for my cock, mi amor.”

“PLEASE, I need you inside me, please! I need your cock. Please fuck me, Papi~” You gasp out in succession, trying out the name you had once heard Kaminari teasing him about. It was a desperate attempt to get him to move, one your fucked-out brain decided was your best shot at getting him feral. And holy shit were you right. Sero fills you in an instant, hard length thrust to the hilt in your tight hole, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back just as he promised.

“FUCK!” He’s losing restraint, driven mad by the filthy name coming from your angelic lips. The squeezing and fluttering of your walls is the only thing grounding him to Earth as he smirks down at you, baring his teeth while his other hand comes to wrap around your throat and apply light pressure to the sides. “Oh you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You have no idea how many times I imagined you calling me like that with these soft thighs wrapped around me; trust me, it’s nothing close to how sexy the real thing is. If you want to play dirty, princesa, don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

He backed up his statement with a few deep strokes that had your mouth falling open and eyes unfocusing, still unable to look away from the man about to wreck you. In a weak attempt to ground yourself, you reach up and place your hands on his back to feel the flexing of his muscles as he gave you slow, deep thrusts. Running your hands along his shoulders had your pussy clenching, and the groan pulled from his chest accompanying a harsh increase in his pace had your nails clawing at the corded muscles, causing him to put more force into fucking you into the mattress. A cycle of reactions, spurring the other on to continue and escalate.

“You feel so good, babygirl. S-So tight, you feel like you’re fucking made for me. I love you so much. I love everything about you. God, I fucking love your body- I love your curves, I love your legs wrapped around me, I love your sexy fucking thighs, I love your cute tummy- love how you feel pressed against me, I love running my fingers up your arms and kissing back down, I love gripping your hips when I hold you, I love watching you jiggle when you walk and bounce when I fuck you like this. You’re so fucking beautiful, so perfect for me.” Sero babbles out praises like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out. You’re a blushing mess, knowing these words are completely true, tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously as he thinks them. “I love that expression, angel. Still so shy at my praises, even though I can feel you trying to milk my cock at every word. Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you tell me who makes this pretty pussy feel so good, huh? Say it, angel.”

“Hantaaa~ you feel so good. Please don’t stop!! I’m so close, please. I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your cock, please Papiiii~. You make me feel so good. I love you, I love you, I’m all yours. Please, I’m yours-ah~, I wanna be yours. I need you, I love you so much. Only you could make me feel like this-fuck- it’s only you. Please make me cum, Papi~” Your moans and pleas are getting louder and louder, chasing your impending climax. Every emotion flowing out of you, combined with the wonderful overstimulation, had tears rolling down your pudgy cheeks. You hadn’t yet realized you were crying when Sero leaned down to kiss and lick away the salty streams.

“Okay, princesa, I’ll give you what you need. How can I say no when you're being so good for me? Such a beautiful mess, all for me. So perfect. My good girl~” His right hand smoothes down your torso and settles between your thighs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come on, babygirl. Papi’s got you, I’ll take good care of you. Cum for Papi. Cum on my cock.”

Your final orgasm has your back arched off the bed, eyes crossed, tongue lolling out, screaming out a string of “Hanta”, “Papi”, and “I love you”. Sero keeps his pace steady, fucking you through your climax and trying to prolong it as long as he can. The feeling of your doughy pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice, the gloriously wrecked ahegao face, and the sound of your cries as you creamed on his dick had him right on the edge of his own high. He started to pull out, not wanting to cross any boundaries, when he felt your legs pull him in even further. He looks back to your face; hazy, loving eyes drawing him in with that innocent look.

“Please cum inside me Papi, I want it! I’m yours, I want you. I want you to fill me up.” The permission to claim his longtime love and the aftershocks of your orgasm having you still pulsing around him finally push him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a feeble attempt to muffle his moans of your name as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum warming your insides and painting your walls white. You feel so full and so content. Staying inside you, Sero rolls the two of you over to lay on his back, still holding your sweaty bodies together as he kisses your forehead and strokes your hair, telling you how good you did, how happy he was, how proud he was of you.

No one has ever made you feel so good, so wanted. Normally, your post-sex thoughts are plagued with insecurities, but instead all yoou can think about is Sero and how perfect this was. How beautiful he made you feel… and how you didn’t want it to end.

“H-Hey… Um… Sero?” you timidly get his attention.

“Y/n, I’m gonna need you to start calling me Hanta if we’re gonna be together. It’s a little weird to call your boyfriend by their family name, isn’t it?… Unless you wanna call me Papi, of course~” He says, his normal goofy grin and teasing tone returned.

“Wait… You- you really want to be with me? You don’t want me to keep it a secret? I will if you tell me to… I don’t want to embarrass you, I know I’m not exactly the ‘trophy wife’ the other heroes go for… I just really like you- um- actually, I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I just got really excited that you wanted me and-” Your nervous muttering is cut off with his lips softly pressed against yours, his hand moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Mi amor, I’ve been in love with you for just as long. You are my trophy, the greatest part of me. Every single thing I said is true, and I’ve thought those things for our entire friendship. If you think for a second that I won’t be walking around shirtless, showing off all of these marks to Kirishima and Kaminari, you don’t know me at all.” He winks at you and brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “Princesa, babygirl, mi corazón… Nunca te dejaré, yo nunca te dejaré salir, yo prometo. I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you, too, y/n.”

You fall asleep on his chest to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat and steady breathing. Upon waking up, you assume you had just dreamed the entire affair, chalking it up to your vivid imagination and drinks at the ball. That is, until you realize you’re trapped in a tangle of limbs with Hanta, leg hiked over his body and arms encompassing each other. You try to shift slightly to see his sleeping face, but he stirs and rolls over on top of you with a groan. The jolt of his muscles jerking awake told you he also thought he had dreamed the entire thing, believing that the prospect of your mutual pining actually coming to fruition was too good to be true.

“Good morning, angel. I’m so glad you’re real… And that you’re all mine.” Sero softly sighs, voice rough from sleep, nuzzling his face into your chest and squeezing your soft midsection to hold you closer.

“Good morning, love. I’m so so happy, but there’s one thing…” You say, trying to hold back your giggles.

“What is it, baby? Is something wrong? What did I do?” Sero starts thinking of every possible scenario as you soothe his thoughts with a cheeky smile.

“I- um… I think I need you to carry me to the shower, you weren’t lying when you said I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you erupt in a fit of laughter. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the shower, so content in finally having his girl.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEW okay… I’m actually really proud of this, and I hope you guys like it. The Latin Sero headcanon hits me so hard and I just absolutely simp for this sweet tape boy. Huge thank you to @reinawritesbnha for inspiring me to write this matchup, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten for encouraging me and giving me the courage to post, and my dear, sweet Sage for reading it to make sure I don’t embarrass myself and inspiring me to write in the first place. <3

#sero x reader #sero hanta #hanta sero #sero hanta smut #bnha #mha #mha sero

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sweetyyhippyy · 3 years

Text

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 7.

(not my gif)

Summary: Bridgett’s life gets turned upside down with the news that her sister is missing. The team travels to her home town to help find her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC! Plus size character, Bridgett Mendez

TW: Mentions of rape throughout this whole chapter (If this makes you uncomfortable, do not read or engage), underage dating (17 year old and 26 year old), mentions of a gun, talk about death, finding a dead body, language. If i missed anything let me know.

Word count: 5.9k

A.N.: This chapter has a very dark and heavy story line, if you don’t feel comfortable reading the chapter with all of the trigger warnings up above, please do not read. This is mid season 6 Spencer (pre Emily’s “death”).

~ ~ ~

“You do!” Spencer laughs, his hand resting on Bridgett’s knee, his thumb slowly going back and forth against her knee cap.

“I do not! You’re the one that snores in my ear when you’re sleeping behind me and spooning me.” Bridgett teases back, shoving his shoulder playfully.

“Just when I’m extra tired.”

“Oh so that would be all the time.” Bridgett laughs, touching his cheek with her fingers. “What do you want to do this weekend? Hoping we don’t have a case interrupting it.” Spencer moves his hand up Bridgett’s thigh, staring at her intensely.

“You.” Spencer says quietly. Bridgett smirks at him, taking his wandering hand and holding it in hers.

“Is that so? Well I think that sounds like a pretty busy weekend.”

“Yeah I think it will be.” Spencer replies, making her heart flutter a little bit, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Bridgett, I need to speak with you. My office.” Hotch says, whizzing past her toward his office.

Bridgett and Spencer look at each other with wide eyes.

“You think he noticed?” Bridgett asks, hopping off Spencer’s desk onto her feet.

“Yes he noticed! I was basically 2 seconds away from making out with you!”

“But why didn’t he call both of us in?”

“You have to separate the suspects in order to get the full story.”

Bridgett glares at him, walking away quickly up to Hotch’s office. When she walks through the doorway she sees Rossi sitting in as well.

“What’s going on? Am I in trouble for doing what I was doing with Spencer?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Hotch, now wondering what she was doing with Spencer.

“No. Shut the door and sit please.”

Bridgett shuts the door carefully, the walk over to the chair seeming like a mile away.

Hotch sighs, “When was the last time you spoke to your sister?”

Bridgett furrows her eyebrows, her mind instantly swimming, “On Sunday evening. We always call each other then. Why are you asking about her?”

“When was the last time you spoke to your parents?”

“I don’t.”

“When was the last time you had any contact?” Rossi questions, flipping through a folder in his hands.

“My mom called me about,” Bridgett pauses, thinking back in her mind, “A year and a half ago. She left a voicemail about how she was leaving my dad because he got another woman pregnant. But I’ve heard that so many times and I don’t care to speak to her anyway so I didn’t call her back. What’s going on?”

“Celeste is missing. Your parents reported her missing an hour ago. We just got the call about 20 minutes ago.”

Hotch hands her the missing person’s flyer, her sister’s senior picture with all of her information on the side. Bridgett’s heart drops into her stomach, staring at the paper in her hand. She automatically dissociates from the situation, everything in the room going dead quiet, tears welling up in her eyes.

“When?”

“Your parents last saw her Monday morning on her way to school.” Rossi says.

Bridgett comes back to reality, eyes flickering between Hotch and Rossi, her blood boiling. “Wait, wait. She’s been missing for 4 days and they just barely reported her missing? They haven’t seen her in fucking four da-“ Bridgett laughs in disbelief, rubbing the middle of her forehead in circles.

“We’re taking the case on. Your sister isn’t the only young girl missing. 3 other girls, ages 18-20 years old were reported missing within the past month.”

“Were any of them found alive?” Bridgett questions.

“Bridgett, we don’t know if they’re connected.” Hotch says trying to get her to calm down.

“I know I’ve been a cry baby every day of my life since you’ve known me, but I’m a big girl, I can handle the truth. I know you know if they’re connected.”

The two men give each other a look before turning back to look at Bridgett.

“It’s not for certain but we do have reason to believe they’re connected. And no, none of them were found alive. But that doesn’t mean your sister isn’t alive. We want you to do the briefing on the jet. I’m going to tell the team wheels up in 20.”

“Can I have a minute before we go?”

“Of course. We’re going to find her, Bridgett. I promise.” Hotch says, making a point to look into her eyes.

Bridgett gives him a small smile, trying to keep her tears at bay. As soon as both of them leave Bridgett breaks down, tears falling down her cheeks onto the paper still in her hand. She didn’t have to be as smart as Spencer to figure out who Celeste was with. She just hopes that she ran off with him and it wasn’t a violent end.

**** Bridgett sits by herself in the back of the jet while everyone else was up front talking. Spencer tried to ask what was the matter, but Bridgett just told him that she needed to be alone for a few minutes. He knew she was upset, but he couldn’t tell why, and he couldn’t hold her to make her feel better.

Hotch walks up to Bridgett, handing her the case file. She stands up and walks to the rest of the group, her hands shaking and her heart pumping fast as everyone gives her a questioning look as to why she was about to brief everyone and not JJ.

“Umm, so, we have 4 missing women in Erickson, Texas. Ages 17-20. Makayla Weber, Vanessa Davis, Elizabeth Jensen; all of whom have been found dead. Signs of rape before being choked to death and dumped at random… and my si-“ She pauses, sighing shakily, “My sister… Celeste Mendez was reported missing this morning.”

Everyone’s faces are a mix of shocked, horrified, sympathetic.

“My parents barely reported her missing a few hours ago even though she’s been missing since Monday night. And I didn’t tell you this back at the office, I’m sorry, but I know who the unsub is.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, Rossi still stone faced.

“How do you know?” Derek asks.

“Garcia, can you search the name Joshua Wolfe please? E at the end of Wolfe.”

“Okay give me a sec… no criminal record, a few speeding tickets over the past few years, but nothing serious.”

“Are there any newspaper articles written about him? From high school?”

“Yes, star football player, quarterback, got The Erickson Tigers to state championship 3 years back to back, multiple offers from different schools for full ride scholarships for football.” Penelope says, listing off all of the “great” things written about him.

“Yeah he was all of those things. But he’s also a pervert. He’s dating my sister. He’s her soccer coach and when Celeste came to visit me 4 months ago she told me that they were seeing each other. I flipped, told her how disgusting it was, that it’s illegal, she didn’t care. She was ‘in love’ with him.”

“How long have they been seeing each other romantically?” Emily questions.

“Since early July, so about 7 months or so. She was 16 at the time. She kept saying that because the age of consent is 16 that it wasn’t illegal, but she doesn’t understand because she’s blinded by what she thinks is love but is just him manipulating her into falling in love with him and thinking he loves her back. It’s all part of his game. He makes you feel special, and good, and then he…”

“What? What does he do?” JJ asks, giving Bridgett a comforting hand squeeze.

“The thing to know about Joshua is that because he was a star athlete, he of course, got all the girls. He was handsome, athletic, popular, but he didn’t take kindly to being turned down from sex… I would know.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asks, her face reading that she already knew where this was going.

Bridgett looks at everyone’s eyes, all of them knew without her even saying the words. And worse of all, Spencer knew too, and she had to admit to her boyfriend in front of all their friends that one of the worst things that could happen to anyone, happened to her.

“My senior year, everyone was at the homecoming game, and I was a part of the student council. We helped set up concession stands, announced the homecoming court, all that. And when everything was all done and we had cleaned up for the night, my parents weren’t answering the home phone, and I had told my friends that I didn’t need a ride home so I was stuck. But Joshua saw me sitting in the parking lot, and asked if I needed a ride home. Of course I took it because it was Joshua Wolfe, all the girls wanted him, he was a charmer, handsome, had it all. So he drives past my house to this look out of the town, everyone goes there on dates to have sex, and I knew what he was trying to do, but I didn’t want it. He kept trying to kiss me, and stick his hands down my pants. So I got out of the car and tried to walk away, but he pulled a gun on me… told me if I didn’t get back in the car he was going to shoot me. So I got back in. Told me to get undressed and go to the backseat or he would shoot me. So I did. And then he forced himself on me. I told him I didn’t want it, but he didn’t care. He… he raped me. Then he pretended like nothing happened, threw my clothes at me and told me to get dressed. He took me back home. I told my mom what happened… and she had the audacity to tell me, that if I really didn’t want to have sex, I would have fought him off harder. That I should have made him get off me. So I called a friend and she took me to the police station. I talked to the sheriff and he said he didn’t believe me. That if what I was saying was true, that reporting it would be damaging for Joshua’s future career opportunities. I didn’t even get sent to the hospital for a kit. He got away with raping me. It got around at school that I reported him raping me, one of the girls I went to school with, her dad was an officer, so she told everyone. And it wasn’t hard for the rumor to circulate. But then Joshua came up with a story that I was drunk, kept making moves on him, he felt bad because I was crying that nobody would ever have sex with me because I was fat, and had sympathy sex with me. Of course that was the story everyone believed. I was the girl who cried rape and nobody ever let me forget it. I hated him, I have never hated a person as much as I hated him. And it was like he got off on me hating him, seeing me get taunted, and crying about the shit people did to me and said about me. People would follow behind me in the hallways and scream ‘rape’ at me, thinking it was funny. None of the teachers ever did anything about it.”

Bridgett couldn’t even look at them after the story, she couldn’t stand to see the sympathy in their eyes. She didn’t even want to know what Spencer’s face looked like right now. The jet was oddly quiet, everyone processing the last few minutes. Bridgett finally sits down, tears dripping down her cheeks remembering all the shit she went through the last 7 months of high school. JJ gets up out of her seat and hugs her tightly.

“Oh my god, Bridgy… honey I’m so sorry.” She whispers.

“You think he preyed on your sister to get back at you? He ruined your life in high school, maybe he knew how close you and your sister are and it was just another jab at you.” Spencer asks, finally saying something.

“It could be possible, yeah. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Did your sister know about the rape?” Rossi asks.

“No. She was 10 at the time and it was never something we talked about in the house because it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know that right?” Derek says quietly, placing his hand on Bridgett’s knee.

“I know that now. But 17 year old me didn’t. I believed my mom. I know Celeste is with him. They probably ran away together or something, I’m just scared that if he is the one that killed the other missing girls, it could happen to Celeste. Has he been at school?”

“Records show he was at work on Tuesday but hasn’t been back since. I have the last known address and am sending it to you now.” Garcia interjects, Bridgett looks up at the computer screen, Penelope had tears in her eyes as well.

Hotch hands everyone the case file before everyone goes off to read up on it. Bridgett stays sitting in the chair she had been, zoned out, not noticing Spencer coming to sit next to her until she felt a tight grip around her body. Bridgett relaxes into him, letting tears flow freely into his chest. They don’t speak to each other, Spencer respecting that she needed to let it out, he holds her head gently, slowly going down her hair to comfort her.

*** The team sets up at the police station, getting all the information they needed from the sheriff, the same sheriff that she reported her assault to years ago and didn’t take her seriously. Bridgett stays back from him, not confident in herself that she wasn’t going to yell at him.

“We’re heading out, checking out Joshua’s house. Reid, stay with Bridgett.” Hotch says. Rossi and Derek leave out of the doors.

“I wanna go.” Bridgett demands, standing up from the chair she was sitting in.

“You know you can’t go. We’ll keep you updated when we know anything.” Hotch replies.

Bridgett slowly walks over to Spencer, he pins the map of the town on the board in front of her. She wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. His heart breaks because he knew how lost and upset she was, and he really couldn’t do or say anything to help her. He turns around to face her, her eyelids were red and puffy, she looked exhausted. Spencer cups her cheeks in his hands, kissing her forehead twice, he didn’t care if the rest of the local police saw.

“I’m glad you talked about what happened. Probably not the setting you wanted to talk about it, but still glad. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart.” Spencer speaks softly.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, but it’s so hard for me to talk about. That was the first time I ever got through it without crying a lot.”

“It’s okay. It’s hard talking about traumatic experiences. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

“A shrink? No. I probably should but I don’t know, it’s nerve racking.”

“Bridge, your parents are here.” JJ says, stepping into the room.

Spencer let’s go of Bridgett’s face, letting her walk out of the room into the hallway. “I wanna go in there.”

“Are you sure?” JJ asks.

“Yes I’m sure. They’re not going to talk to anyone else. They don’t like cops. I have a better shot at getting them to say anything.”

JJ sighs, finally nodding her head. “If you need to step out, we’ll be in the next room. Don’t let them get to you.”

Bridgett nods her head, walking to the interrogation room door, stopping before grabbing the door handle. She takes deep breaths, wiping her face with her hands to try and look less of a mess. She counts to 10 slowly before walking into the room.

“Mom. Dad.”

They both look up at Bridgett, her dad staying stoned face while her mom’s face softened.

“Hi mija.”

Here we go.

Bridgett sits down across from them with a sigh, opening her case file and pulling the missing persons report out of the folder, sliding it across to them.

“Why would you wait 4 days after your daughter is missing to report it? She never came home from school Monday and you didn’t think it was the slightest bit weird?”

“No. The past few months it’s been happening. Her leaving and not coming back for a few days. It’s mostly her leaving Friday morning and not coming back home until Monday night after school. But we called her on Wednesday and she didn’t answer her phone. She had a game Tuesday and she wasn’t there.” Her mom explains.

“She never missed a game.” Bridgett mutters. “And do you know who she was leaving with on weekends?”

“You’re the one that talks to her all the time, you don’t know?” Her dad snaps, hitting his palm on the table.

Bridgett stares him down, “Do you know every single detail about all of your kids? I bet you couldn’t name us in birth order. In fact, you couldn’t even tell me the color of my eyes. I’m there for Celeste since you guys clearly aren’t.”

“Bridgett.” Her mom saying her name in a warning tone. “You still need to respect your father.”

Bridgett laughs, “I need to respect him? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word respect! Look how he treats you! And the way he’s been treating you the past 24 almost 25 years!” Her voice raised in volume quickly, her voice ringing through the room. “Let me tell the ‘Parents of the Year’ something, she’s been having a sexual relationship with Joshua Wolfe, her high school soccer coach. She told me about it when she came to Virginia a few months back.”

Her dad gets up from the chair, making it fall to the floor and walking out of the room. Bridgett turns back toward the mirror, motioning for someone to go get him. She sees two of the local police follow after him as Emily walks in, sitting down next to Bridgett.

“Why does that name sound familiar? Joshua?” Her mom questions.

“Really? You don’t remember that this man raped me and you told me that it was basically my fault! You victim blamed me! And then the people you’re supposed to go to for help tell me that I’m going to damage his career if I cry rape! Nobody believed me and I had to emotionally and mentally live with the fact that I never got any help for my sexual assault! I warned everyone about this asshole and nobody believed me! And now my sister, my whole life, is missing and he needs to be suspect number one! I don’t give a fuck if he was a football star and a good kid, I know he has Celeste and you couldn’t even pay attention for 5 goddamn seconds to know something in your own child’s life!” Her eyes were cloudy with tears, her voice breaking and hoarse.

Emily stands up, trying to pull her out of the room. “Bridgett, you need to walk away.”

“Oh this shit again? He wouldn’t do something like that, Joshua is a respected person. It was so long ago.”

“And I’m still traumatized! Maybe if you paid an ounce of attention to your kids, one wouldn’t be missing and the other wouldn’t live states away to get away from you!” She yells, walking out of the room.

Spencer meets her in the hallway, enveloping her in a hug. He shushes her, stroking her hair. “Come here. It’s okay, you did good.”

“That’s the reason I left. That’s why Celeste was planning on leaving after graduation. I shouldn’t have ever left her.”

“It's going to be okay. We’re going to find her.”

“I’m taking her back to Virginia. She’s not staying here anymore.”

“Guys, we gotta go, they found Joshua.”

***

Bridgett automatically recognized the white vintage pickup truck parked in the driveway, the same one he had that night. Rossi, Hotch, and Derek were waiting across the street at the other house, a few other police cars parked in the street. Everyone hops out of the car, walking over to the other half of the team.

“He’s in there. We don’t know if Celeste is in there for sure. He’s saying she is but he won’t come out. Rossi’s trying to talk to him, coax him out.” Derek explains.

“He wants Bridgett.” Rossi says, moving the phone away from his mouth.

“No.” Spencer says from behind her.

“What do you mean no? I’m going in there.” Bridgett says, checking her vest and gun to make sure everything was in order.

“I agree with Reid, it’s too risky. Especially with how emotionally impulsive you can be.” Hotch replies.

“Bridgett might have the best shot of getting him to tell us where Celeste is. One of us will follow behind you and stay by the door outside, and we’ll be listening in.” Derek says.

Bridgett looks around at the rest of the team, waiting for the okay from Hotch, even though everyone already knew that Bridgett was going to do what she wanted.

“Morgan, stay with her, but fall back just enough where you won’t be seen. We don’t know what’s going to set him off. Bridgett, say the word and we’ll move in.”

“Got it.” She says, walking up to the house with her gun drawn out in front of her. Once she gets to the door she knocks on it, seeing Derek duck out behind an overgrown bush off to the side of her. The door opens, Joshua standing behind the screen door. He still looked the same as he did in high school, a 5 o’clock shadow on his face.

“I knew you would come running to be your sister’s savior. Look at you, filled out since the last time I saw you.”

Bridgett looked at him in disgust. “Where’s Celeste?”

“Why don’t you come inside and find out?” He asks, opening the screen door. She follows behind him, keeping her distance. Bridgett looks around the house, everything was neat and tidy, not a pillow, picture, or knickknack out of place.

“You need to answer my question. Where is she?”

Joshua sits in a chair, his arms laying flat on the arm rests.

“How much is it killing you inside to know what your sister and I do? That I had both you and her. And at the same age.”

Bridgett draws her gun on him, walks toward him slowly, “Where. Is. She? You have 15 seconds before I shoot you right in the middle of your goddamn forehead. Tell me where she is Joshua!”

“Well if you shoot me how are you going to find out where she is? Sit, talk to me a while. Let’s catch up.” Not so much as a blink coming from him when Bridgett drew the gun on him.

Bridgett rounds the corner of the couch, sitting across from him, gun still drawn on him. “You want to sit and chat? Let’s sit and chat, Joshua.” She spits, narrowing her eyes at him.

“She loved me. Loved all of me.”

“Mother fucker. Where is she? I’ll fucking kill you myself!”

“Got both the sisters on my scorecard.”

“Fuck you! Your piece of shit. Where the fuck is she? You don’t get it. My team has my back, just like all the boys on the team did after you assaulted me. They’ll vouch that you pulled a weapon on me, I’ll shoot you, clean shot. I’m the best shooter on this team, I don’t miss. Tell me where she is!”

The door opens behind her, the team flooding in, all of their guns drawn on him.

“Drop the bull shit, Joshua. Tell us where you have Celeste.” Derek yells, stopping next to Bridgett.

“Celeste found out about the other girls. She realized that she wasn’t the only one in my life, figured out what I had done to them. She threatened to call her big bad big sister, and I knew what I had to do.”

Bridgett drops her gun, her patience officially running out and charging him, kicking his legs from under him, his whole body hitting the floor with a thud. Bridgett climbs on top of him, wrapping her hands around his throat.

“Tell me where she is!”

“44th and McLeary. The Stephenson's old house.” He chokes out, his whole face cherry red. Bridgett holds her hands against him for a few more seconds, watching him struggle for air. Derek picks her up off of Joshua, handing her off to Spencer.

“Cuff him. I’m going.” Bridgett runs out of the house to the car, jumping in the driver seat. She sees Spencer slide in next to her in the passenger seat. The back doors open, Rossi and Hotch in the backseats waiting for her to floor it.

*** Bridgett presses on the brake pedal firmly, the whole SUV stopping suddenly. She puts it in park, not taking the keys out but jumping out. Hotch and Spencer block her path, stopping her in the middle of the driveway, both of them holding her back.

“Wait here. Do not let her in yet. We need to clear the house.” Rossi says, Hotch following behind him with their guns drawn. Bridgett watches them walk into the house. Spencer holds her against his chest, trying to get her to relax.

“I wanted to kill him. I looked in his eyes when I was choking him… and if Derek would have let me, I would have killed him.”

“Trust me, you’re not going to have to worry about him again. He’s not going to hurt you or your sister anymore.”

“We found her…” Rossi’s voice rings in their ear pieces.

“Celeste! I’m coming.” Bridgett runs into the house, her heart beating fast, a new wave of adrenaline coursing through her body. She goes to the back of the house and sees both men standing in the hallway.

“Bridge wait, she’s not… she’s gone” Rossi says, holding her arms. “You don’t want to see her like this. You don’t want that to be the last memory you have of her.”

Tears instantly started flowing down her cheeks, her whole body going numb. She gripped onto Rossi’s arms, collapsing against him. Bridgett sobs into his shoulder. He whispers ‘I’m sorry’ into her ear over and over again, trying to hold her up.

“No, I need to see her. I need to see if it’s her.” She cries.

Rossi looks at Hotch, waiting for his approval. Once he nods his head Rossi let’s her go. Bridgett walks forward, staring at her sister lying lifeless on the floor.

Celeste was left in just a tank top and underwear, her tan skin was now pale, her lips dry and a hint of blue on them. Her cheekbone had a purple bruise on it, one long bruise around her neck as well, dried blood under her nostril. There was a pool of dried blood surrounding her body. She drops to the floor next to her, moving her hair out of her face. Holding Celeste’s hand, crying over her body.

“No! Oh my god no. Celeste, baby come on, wake up. You can’t go. Call a medic, she needs help.” Bridgett calls out behind her, frantically looking to the three men behind her. Spencer drops down next to her, rubbing her back in comfort.

“Bridge, she’s gone.”

“No! Not my baby. Not my sister. I’m so sorry, Celeste. I’m so sorry. Baby I’m so sorry. Please. Please come back, Celly, please.”

Bridgett falls into Spencer's chest, clinging to his button up shirt and screaming in agony. Bridgett kept repeating Celeste’s name, screaming for her to come back. Spencer held Bridgett like you would hold a child, trying to keep her head against his chest and trying to shield her eyes from Celeste.

A few minutes passed, the rest of the team arriving at the empty house and heading to the back, Bridgett still inconsolable in Spencer’s arms.

“Bridge, Bridgett, honey your parents will be here any minute, we gotta get you up” Emily says, bending down to be eye level with Bridgett. Bridgett shakes her head, the rest of her body shaking against Spencer as she tries to catch her breath.

“I know you don’t want to be here when they come to see Celeste. We’ll just go to the backyard, get you calm, cleaned up, and then we’ll head over to the station.”

“Come on, babe, let’s get up.” Spencer says softly, looking down at her.

“Don’t leave me. Please?”

Spencer wipes the tears from her face, kissing her cheek. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here.”

Bridgett finally sits up, Emily helping Bridgett to her feet, giving her a big hug. Once she looks around the room she sees the team standing back in the hallway, their faces reading sympathetic. Bridgett clings onto Spencer’s arm as they walk toward the back of the house to the sliding doors to the backyard. Bridgett sits on a tree stump off to the side of the yard, Spencer sitting right behind her. She couldn’t form thoughts, focus on anything around her, stop crying, it was like she wasn’t in control of her body or mind.

“Bridgett?” Spencer calls her name, shaking her shoulder softly.

“Hmm?”

“Emily asked if you wanted anything to drink.”

Bridgett looks up at Emily standing above her. Trying to figure out if she had been standing there the whole time.

“Just water, please.” Her voice was frail and hoarse from all the screaming.

Emily nods her head, walking back inside the house. Spencer hugs her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Bridgett rests her arms on top of his, stroking his knuckles absentmindedly. Spencer wanted to say something, but it needed to be better than just “I’m sorry.”

A few minutes later a piercing scream travels through the house and out of the back door to where Spencer and Bridgett were sitting. Bridgett picks her head up and looks through the window into the house, seeing her dad make his way out of the hallway and dropping to his knees. Both of them could hear her mother’s gut wrenching screams come from inside. As much as Bridgett hated her parents, they shouldn’t have to bury their child. No parent should.

“Hey, let’s go to the car.” Spencer says, trying to distract her.

“No. I wanna be here when the coroner picks her up.”

“Why don’t we go to the front yard, we can wait in the car, in the air conditioning, and you can see when they get here? I don’t want you to pass out from being in the sun and crying. Not to mention you haven’t eaten since before we left Quantico.”

Bridgett agrees after a few seconds, shakily standing up and walking with Spencer to the front of the house, sitting in the passenger seat next to Spencer, the cool air blasting against her warm face. Spencer handed her a granola bar, Bridgett rejecting, there was no way she could stomach food right now.

“Bridgett, I know you’re upset, and your world just stopped, but that doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself. You need something in your system.” Spencer says, opening the wrapper for her and handing it back. Bridgett takes it, breaking it in half and taking a bite.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult, I just don’t know how to process this right now.”

“You’re not being difficult. You’re mourning. I want you to know you’re not going through this alone though. Okay? I’m right here, baby.”

“I know, thank you for being here, Spence.” Bridgett whispers, touching her hand to his face.

They sit in the car in silence, watching police walk in and out of the old worn down house. Finally the coroner’s van pulls up, a man and a woman stepping out. Bridgett steps out of the SUV, watching them take the gurney out of the back of their van. Spencer comes up next to her, holding her close to him. It felt like forever before they came back out wheeling her sister’s body in the white sheet, out of the house. Bridgett’s tears start back up once again watching Celeste be removed from the last place she was alive. Her parents followed after, they were holding each other and crying, her father and Hotch on both sides of her mom escorting her out of the house.

“Once we get back to the morgue you’ll be able to come in and identify the body. Your parents said that you’d be the one to identify her.” The man says in passing to Bridgett.

“We still have to identify her even though we know it’s her?”

“For our records, yes. We need a signature that you identified her. I am very sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She says quietly.

“Come on, I’ll drive.” Spencer says from behind her, enveloping her in a tight hug.

***

It had been hours since they found Celeste. Bridgett had to identify the body at the morgue, which mentally drained her even more. She couldn’t believe that her sister was gone, it didn’t feel real even after seeing her on the table with the blue sheet covering her.

Spencer opens the door to her hotel room, letting her walk in first. Bridgett slowly shuffles in, stopping in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. She feels Spencer’s hand on her shoulder.

“Bridgett, you should lie down. It’s been a long night.”

She shakes her head, not moving her body from its place. “Why is this happening? Why her? Why did he do this?” Tears start to flood her already sore eyes, her heart feeling empty. Her hands fly to eyes, pressing her palms against her eyes to prevent more tears from falling.

“I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make this feel better, but I am so sorry, Bridge.” Spencer towers over her, hugging her tightly. Bridgett breaks down into his arms for the 10th time that day. Her whole body convulses against him, violent sobs coming deep from her chest. Spencer rocks her back and forth, letting her get everything out.

“I-I should hav-ha-ve never left her. I should have stayed h-home until she was done with school. That way I could have protected her.”

“Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault. None of this is. Hey, look at me, baby.”

Bridgett lifts her head, Spencer taking his thumb and swiping it across her tears.

“I’m not going back to Virginia until you go back.”

“Why? No Spence, the team needs you.”

“They’ll be fine. You need me more. I told Hotch about us and that I want to be here with you to help you through the planning process and everything after. I don’t want to leave you alone and have you deal with your parents alone.”

Bridgett sniffles, trying to compose herself. “You told them about us? Why now?”

“I dunno. I figured it’s time. Especially since I’ve been by your side the entire day. Is it a problem that I told them?”

“No. Not at all. It’s actually one last thing for me to worry about whenever we do go back home. Thank you for wanting to be here with me.”

“I’m always going to be here for you, Bridge. I always have you.”

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid series #spencer reid x oc character #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid fluff

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curiosityjams · 3 years

Text

re: iz*one

first of all, i wanted to say i didn’t plan on writing something about the disbandment. the past few months have been incredibly rough on my mental state to the point where i feel as if i’ve lost all sense of self. shit has been so rough for me, their disbandment being confirmed made that even worse for me. however, i realized i need to learn how to be okay with like...being open about my own emotions in a time of uncertainty and writing them out helps me in a way even if a lot of those emotions i’d rather keep private. i’ve also been going thru a time where i’m currently reevaluating this past year and everything i’ve done/felt in the past few yrs (2.5 of those years being izone’s run), so i thought i’d write something about the disbandment and what iz*one means to me, esp during this point in my life. i’d write more about what led me to this point, but if i did, i’d end up writing a whole novel, so i’m just going to keep this as short as possible.

also if this is a jumbled mess, i’m sorry!!!!

since we’re here to talk about the inevitable, i just wanted to say that i’ve probably had a harder time accepting them being gone than i thought. i knew they were gonna disband eventually bc lol produce group, but also, knowing what happened with the voting scandal and the panasonic, it makes it even worse for me. i hate that they didn’t even bother to handle their disbandment in a way that wasn’t complete horseshit. i hate how the pandora screwed everything up. i hate how we didn’t even get a proper goodbye from the girls. i knew that this was going to happen, but i fucking hate how it all turned out. i can’t say i’m 100% happy with the ending and honestly, don’t think i’ll ever be able to fully accept that they’re no longer a group.

that said, i’m not here to vent.

while i’m obviously upset that they’re gone, the fact that they were ever a group to begin with--i’ll forever be grateful. i avoided getting into them for the longest time because of my own trauma from being involved in the 48 fandom (smth i’ll talk about at a later time bc it’s a lot), but the moment i decided to watch their “up” performance and actually give them a chance beyond looping la vie en rose, that’s when i fell in love. i fell in love with the music. i fell in love with the visuals. i fell in love with the bond between the girls. most of all, i fell in love with the fact that during a weird transitional period in my 20s, i found a group that gave me the closure i needed in a time where it felt like the world was against me while also giving me the strength i need to move on.

while we’re on that topic, let’s talk about kwon eunbi.

as you already know from my url, eunbi is obviously my bias. she’s the leader of the group, under the company my ult group, lovelyz, is also in, and THE absolute all-rounder. she’s extremely talented, super fucking funny, a babe of THE highest order, and the best single mom you could ever ask for. every time i watch a video of iz*one’s or look at any of their pics, i’m always in absolute awe of her. while i love all of the girls (j-line has a very special place in my heart bc of my time in 48 fandom) and do consider the entire group to be one full of bias wreckers, it’s eunbi that instantly caught my eye and the one i’m incredibly proud to call my ult.

“now, drea, why is it that you’re taking so much time with talking about how special this group and that girl are to you?” well, it’s mainly because that eunbi and i are the same age (both 95-liners, but i’m older by 2 months) that i’m so drawn to not only her, but the group as well. yeah, it’s normal to be drawn to members born in your birth year, but for me and esp in this case, it’s far more complex than it seems.

around the time i got into the group, i was (still am) going thru a quarter life crisis. i had just finished my a.a., was a few months away from turning 24, and had pretty much decided i was going to take an indefinite hiatus from twitter due to the amount of harm its done to my mental health over 10 years. i felt like shit knowing that so many people my age were living their lives, getting married, having kids, etc all that shit while i felt as if i was frozen in time and like i could never accomplish any of those things because according to society, my time was up. as a woman on the autism spectrum, i never felt like anything i did was enough and knowing that even after years of trauma, the feeling that if i don’t have my entire life sorted out by 24/25 scared the living shit out of me. knowing that a panini happened made those feelings even worse.

i know it’s weird to like...feel so many emotions over this esp since 23-25 is young and starting your career out at that age is normal. that said, knowing how eunbi was already in a group prior to joining iz*one that ended up disbanding months after they debuted, the road she took to get to where she is now, and the fact that she’s 25/26 and will get so many chances to start over is what gives me hope after such a shit year. i can finally get to where i want to be, i’ll graduate from university, i’ll hopefully get a job that will earn me enough money to move out of my mom’s house, i’ll find love, etc who the fuck knows what’s going to happen? i hate that after years of hating myself and being afraid of getting older because people often have this mentality that you should abandon all sense of yourself once you hit your mid 20s, it’s taken me THIS long to actually start accepting myself for who i am and living my life for myself, but i’m excited to see where the fuck life takes me after years of self-hatred, trauma, and trying too hard to please ppl that don’t give a shit. seeing eunbi just have a fucking blast on stage, take care of her members, and overall be the amazing person she is gave me the strength i desperately needed to actually get to the path i want to be on as someone that’s a few years away from turning 30.

as i said earlier, i’m not ready to just outright accept iz*one being gone. i’ll probably spend the entire month of may just watching their content since there’s still a shitton of stuff i have yet to watch and i’m lowkey embarrassed that as a fan, i’m admitting this, but also: there’s no time limit. i can always watch that video at another time, i’ll like that pic later, etc. i wish iz*one was one of those things that had no time limit because i’ll always cherish them, but in the 2.5 years of their existance, i achieved some big things and survived a pandemic. i left twitter, got closure in chapters i needed closure in, finished my a.a., etc among many other things during that time and it’s partly because of iz*one that i’ve pushed myself to do all of those things. it’s hard esp since it’s easier to just write smth like this on tumblr than actually do it, but the girls and their music were part of the reason why 2020 wasn’t a complete dumpster fire for me.

most of all, i wanted to write this because i wanted to shout-out the amazing folks at @izonetwork. i joined super late in the game, but the convos i’ve had, the laughs we’ve had on discord/among us, etc i’ll never forget it. meeting all of you was one of THE highlights of an otherwise shitty year and i’ll always credit you as one of the reasons why i wasn’t completely emotionally distant during such a dark time. all of you keep me grounded and i’m forever grateful. super honored to call you guys my friends. <3

so yeah, thank you iz*one. thank you, eunbi, sakura, hyewon, yena, chaeyeon, chaewon, minju, nako, hitomi, yuri, yujin, and wonyoung. i don’t speak korean or japanese, but know i’m eternally grateful for all the joy, strength and bops you gave me in the past 2.5 years. i’m even more grateful for the friends i’ve met thru my own fandom of the group. i’m excited to see what every single one of you does next regardless of what it may be.

now if you’ll excuse me, i have to go catch up on all the enozis i’ve missed.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

#izone #kpop #be quiet drea

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mxdotpng · 3 years

Note

use this space to give more p5 and dl gang headcanons pretty pls

I HAVE SO MANY im so glad its not just me thats interested i could talk abt them for hours

today all i've been thinking about is akira and haru introducing them to minecraft. i think luca and ranzal would be good at fighting monsters but if they even HEAR a zombie when theyre mining they run for the hills. those 2 live in dirt huts and have full diamond gear. cleo and elly have built a full scale halidom. euden has been lost since he started the game. akira told him to use his coordinates and he mixed x and y up twice, got even More lost, and then somehow ended up in a cave system.

i think haru and euden would be friends bc theyre both from important families and have a legacy to live up to + were sheltered so long they dont know what Normal people do. euden knows what fun is yeah but he doesnt. know how to do it. meanwhile haru can make a lot out of any situation but she doesnt know what normal kids her age do.

on the other hand yusuke and cleo would Not like each other, which is funny bc they have similar mannerisms and speech patterns. yusuke's. Personality. would rub off on her the wrong way (all i can think abt is her going "im hundreds of years older than you!" and yusuke saying, as yusuke does, "ah, that makes quite a bit of sense considering your demeanor.")

i want more ann and elly i want more ann and elly so bad i loved their character story so much i just want them to be best of friends and go on girls nights. please. elly and alex go on a double date with ann and shiho. please. do you know how funny it is to put a paladyn, an ex assassin, a model, and an ex volleyball player in the same room? so much potential

i ALSO want luca and ryuji to be put into the same room bc they would drive mona CRAZY. their conversations would be so funny. "yeah so he was like, kinda off-putting. didnt say much. was... a little bit of an airhead?" "yeah. that sounds like marth fire emblem." "i dont think thats his surname, dude" "youre wrong ❤"

AND RANZAL! ranzal my beloved. i dont actually know his age but to me he looks like he's in his mid 20s so hed see this group of delinquent teenagers and silently wonders when he was put up on babysitting duty. lowen and the younger kids are one thing but a bunch of 18 year olds? but then he ends up in sojiro's cafe talking with futaba about the differences in foods from their worlds and he's fine again. this is funnier if theyre in the halidom bc futaba would be all over the place.

also more akira and euden content bc i love they. euden's learning more abt their world (he Specifically finds the differences in pop culture and life science Very interesting) and while he's learning about their marine life akira and mona decide to take him to the aquarium and euden immediately goes !!! there are FISH !!! on LAND !!!!!! he really likes petting the manta rays

#me: is it funnier if theyre dragged into tokyo or is it funnier the otherway around #me: yes ❤#i usually only think abt euden ending up in shibuya bc ❤ and thats that thats the reason #but i think both groups fully meeting each other is so funny. theres so much potential #these are the exact same but two entirely different groups meeting together #elly sighing frustratedly for the 7th time in one conversation bc of ryuji alone: this :) is fine :)#mona: i thought we came to an agreement last time! youre supposed to listen to me and i said STOP THAT #luca putting ribbons all over him: that was when we were in danger and also youre a cat. what will you do to stop me.#mona: i will remember this.#:") luca and ann fixing up each others hair #luca and cleo ending up in shibuya is so funny they have to deal with human ears #euden: okay.... headcount... is everyone here? anyone hurt?#luca and cleo: MY EARS ARE GONE????????#dl #.text #i think euden really likes to learn new things #which is why a lot of stuff i talk abt stems from him learning stuff abt their world #he would LOVE the aquarium #also back to ann and luca. luca has the LONGEST hair she's ever seen and has the time of her LIFE braiding it.#i think this stuff is like second nature to luca bc of sarisse so he's like having a rant on smth and he's only half paying attention to -#- ann's hair but it ends up so pretty she immediately calls shiho for a surprise date.#sojiro is sitting in the cafe with 14 other people there. only 6 of which being actual adults (and just Barely in like 3 of those cases)#and he's wondering when it had come to this. phantom thieves. metaverse. talking cats. other worlds. dragons.#he takes a sip of his coffee while mona tries to claw luca's face off. akira is recording it in the background. ranzal is near sobbing -#- from laughing. this is normal.#I FORGOT ABT MAKOTO but she would be constantly asking questions abt alberia and taking notes but its abt -#- THE WEIRDEST SHIT. like. what greetings are and arent respectful? what breakfast foods do you eat? do you have giraffes.#(they dont have giraffes. they struggle to wrap their heads around the concept of giraffes)#IM SO SORRY NOTTE IM OUT OF TAGS #ill post abt notte later i promise i promise. im a fake fan i forgot abt notte 😔😔😔

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ohmylove--mydarling · 3 years

Text

It’s true what they say about your early-to-mid 20s. This particular span of ten blissful, wanton years is the only time in your entire life where you will ever feel truly invincible. And yes, you absolutely better enjoy it while it lasts. Lithe-bodied, hopeful, capable of both pounding an entire handle of rail vodka all while making it to your 8 am sociology class the next day, they’re a little like your teen years, with one prized difference. Your early-to-mid 20s are blessed with the seemingly novel, universe-bending element of freedom.

And freedom doesn’t simply mean the ability to make stupid decisions without the fear of getting grounded. It also means the freedom to live in an idyllic sort of vacuum, where you’re surrounded by friends – if we’re being honest, the family you get to choose – and cradled in this serene philosophy, this security blanket of an idea that hangs in the air but is never outwardly or directly expressed, that this, all of this, will last forever. That these people will always be there, they will always be around, floating with you in this bubble, as free and easily accessible as a coatrack or your neighbor’s WiFi. Always holding your beer, always holding your hair back (while you puke, or maybe while you cry), always holding your hand. Always at the very least in the peripheral, if not the forefront, of your vision.

During these years you know everything, and yet somehow you know nothing at all.

***

Like most of the sorority sisters I grew close with – and as is probably true with anyone else who pledged a very tiny chapter at an equally tiny school – I don’t remember much about how I met Taylor beyond the first night she “rushed.” Rush is an interesting social phenomenon, for multiple reasons. Picture a gaggle of young college-aged women who typically spend every waking hour of their day primping and glossing and adjusting for the sole purpose of the male gaze. Except this time, their attention is entirely drawn to a smaller group of girls (not that much smaller of a group, if we’re lucky this semester) that they want to impress instead. A frenzy of compliments and genuine interest, a dormant volcano of estrogen and hot girl energy and reciprocation, madly overflowing in a span of two hours over something as innocuous as an ice cream social or tie-dying a pile of crewneck t-shirts (I think we did the “hippie” recruitment theme every other semester). It is one of the very best parts of what is an often problematic-at-best Greek culture, and this rush was no different.

I’m not sure what my first impression of Taylor was, other than that we obviously had the same first name, and oh yeah, she was beautiful– effortlessly pretty but not the least intimidating. I could approach her and talk to her and not feel like a complete toad. She was a little soft-spoken, incredibly polite. I think she wore navy blue. And an aura of genuine kindness seemed to radiate from her with the soft glow of candlelight.

After rush ended and Taylor chose to join our ranks, where she belonged, it felt like she had been in my life from the very beginning. And, though this idea was never spoken, it felt like she would never leave.

***

In a sorority, there is sometimes a tendency, however unintentional, to categorize your sisters, and to turn to certain ones for different needs at different times. There’s the sister you study with, the sister you go on your morning run with, the sister(s) you are always down to party with. There’s the sister who makes amazing grilled cheese, the sister whose dorm is the only place you’ll binge-watch Supernatural. When you’re riding the waves of a breakup, you got mad options: There’s the sister who brushes your hair as you ugly-cry and choke on your own snot, the sister who pledges to hook you up with her brother’s hot friend the moment you’re ready for a rebound, the “dump him sis” sister who yanks your phone out of your hand in the middle of what is probably a very unwise text and threatens to stab him with her eyebrow razor if he so much as looks at you again, the sister who makes you forget the whole thing ever happened, that it ever even mattered.

There’s the maid of honor sister, the future fun wine-aunt sister, the sister you have on speed-dial even though speed-dial isn’t a thing anymore. There are the sisters who teach you how to do winged liner, how to hide a hickey with coral lipstick and concealer, how to chant, how to chug, how to memorize the Greek alphabet and the …numbers (at least for the ones who are most definitely going to ask). There are the sisters whose weddings you bawl at, whose babies you hold and immediately love as an extension of the incredible mother who brought them into this world.

And there are the sisters who teach you grace and humility, strength and resilience, kindness and self-love. The sisters who changed your life for the better the moment they put on your letters, the sisters who hand you the mirror and force you to see yourself just as they see you.

The thing about Taylor was that she was all of these. The whole package. Everything good, all in one.

***

Though our friendship was at its strongest during my college and immediate post-college years, Taylor remained a calming, grounding presence in my life. She married an incredible man who loved her for all the reasons we did and plenty more, and I went to her wedding and cried. She got a job as a nurse at the local hospice, a profession she seemed put on this earth to do. I could picture Taylor in her element there, literally surrounded by an entire ocean of grief, serving as an island of hope, a beacon of light and love for those who so desperately needed all those things, the things she provided us without question even when our lives were comfortable. Soon after – and this thought still makes something in my throat ache – she brought life into this world, a beautiful daughter with both her mother’s eyes and her genuine love and gratitude for life, a joyful curiosity coloring everything she did.

Taylor’s life, we knew, was finally the one she had always deserved.

***

I won’t, and can’t anyway, get into the details of Taylor’s passing. I can say that nothing about it was expected and literally every detail about it is horrific. Personally, it feels like a robbery, like something was taken from me; but on a grander scale, on a scale that actually matters, it is simply heartbreak. Riding the waves of grief not only for my own loss, but for a husband, a child, a family, a community whose lives were upended and whose hearts were crushed by something that simply should not have happened in a universe where they say justice and kindness exist.

Frankly, this grief is unlike any other I have experienced. It has a way of blanketing everything around me, like mosquito netting. It is as thick and choking as a cloud of black smoke, permeating my clothes, filling my lungs, making it impossible to see, so all I can do is desperately cling to whatever gives me the slightest amount of peace, no matter how fleeting. As someone who has always struggled with my faith (and moments like these certainly do not help), I try to remember Taylor’s. It brought her comfort and strength, the belief that God loves everyone so naturally she was going to love everyone, too. And all I can hope is that this belief of hers, this faith, manifested in her final moments. That there was a light, a voice, a presence, something there that reminded her that she was loved. That we knew she loved us, that her family will never be alone, that we will desperately miss her. That her legacy is as wide and expansive as all the oceans.

Her funeral is in a few days. Her funeral, a concept still as foreign as my own.

***

At this point it’s probably clear, but the things I want people to remember the most about Taylor are, quite simply, her kindness and her intrinsic ability to love. She was kind without questioning. She loved without strings or conditions, tirelessly and endlessly. At a time when an icy, impenetrable layer of cynicism seemed to blanket so many of our hearts – including my own – Taylor managed to crack it a little, to let just enough of her light and her warmth in to make a change.

I teased her often – probably too often – for her unbreakable habit of bringing home literally any stray cat she ever found (and then naming it something either really cute or painfully dumb, like “Moe” or “Cheese”). But even as someone who unapologetically hates cats, and more honestly as someone who spent most of her 20s thinking that if I hardened my exterior and never let love in I was somehow protecting everything it surrounded, I viewed this habit through a secret lens of adoration. I adored Taylor’s heart. I hoped to absorb some of it, its ability to love everything, to find beauty in the darkest and loneliest spaces and to also force people to see it and feel it for themselves.

I felt Taylor was going to be around forever. It was a selfish thought. I hadn’t physically seen her in over a year (there was a pandemic and she was a nurse and I was subsumed by my own now meaningless world). I am filled with an omnipresent regret that I have no control over. I miss her so much my heart feels swollen and achy with a pining, a real grief.

There is no happy ending to this, no concise, comfortable, heartwarming way to wrap this all up in a pretty package, though Taylor was the type to want everything to have a good ending. So instead I cling to the memories, the photographs. Our banquets, homecoming, Lana del Rey, cherry blossoms. The way she rapped that entire A$AP Ferg verse one night. The way she looked in her wedding gown. The way she talked about charity and good deeds. The way she talked about God. Her love, no matter what transgression I made or no matter if I failed to give it back. I hope to love harder now, and if I can, it’s because Taylor taught me how.

I love you, Taylor. DZLAM.

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thefledglingdm · 4 years

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so here’s another essay that maybe 0.5 people asked for? because i rewatched set it up and now someone great and in so many ways i think i arguably like someone great better???? so here is the long-winded rambly mess of me being emotional over this movie. info is below the cut, no pressure to read just bc i’m having rom com feelings this saturday night!!!!

for those of you who have never seen someone great (why are you reading this? i’m flattered but why), here’s a quick summary: when music reporter jenny gets an amazing new job opportunity, bad news comes with it: she has to move cross-country. to top it all off, her boyfriend of nine years breaks up with her because he doesn’t want to move with her. enter her best friends erin and blair, who decide to send off their best friend in style with a mind-bending 24 hours of partying and emotional catharsis.

a disclaimer: this movie also has a special place in my heart because it came out right as i was getting set to graduate from grad school. so many of my friends had moved on and moved away already, but i was about to do that, too, shucking off the safety blanket of school and entering into the “real world.” and this movie, i think, uniquely captures that feeling in a way no other film i’ve personally seen does? more on that later.

GOD where even do i start.

jenny so captures the feeling of being dumped. the anger, the ugly, loud crying, the messiness of it, the drinking, the up-and-down bevy of ping-ponging emotions. she belts lizzo’s “truth hurts” in her underwear, in her kitchen, drunk. her best friend then walks in and joins her. like yes THAT is what girls and breakups feel like.

(obvs not for everyone but i felt seen)

(the night of one of my college breakups ended with me on my best friend’s floor, wine-drunk and full of domino’s pizza, critiquing her presentation for an upcoming history conference.)

her best friends are there for her and love her and support her, taking the day off work to stay with her. but they also give her tough love when she needs it. and she does need it.

also that bond between women bc jenny is just bitching about her breakup to a random woman on the subway and she’s like, “yo fr???? he sucks”

this movie is also so hilarious???? these girls have been best friends since college and it SHOWS. they do all these goofy silly things together, they have in-jokes and references, they make fun of each other. they tease each other about their boyfriends/girlfriends. they smoke and drink and get high together. they SWEAR. they have foul mouths and my bffs and i did too.

god the LINES. like

“yo. i went to say hello to a chihuahua outside our building, and it was a fucking rat.”

“it’s... like a green juice smoothie. that’s kind of genius.” “she made me try it. it’s fucking disgusting. i am drowning out here.”

“we’ll tell them her mom died!” “oh my god????” “ugh, fine. her aunt.” “i don’t think you understand what is fucked up about this suggestion.”

“ooooh, you gave me my favorite mug, you do love me!!!” and the mug is a mini-toilet.

“blair, watching you take down all those carbs has been the highlight of my whole, entire life.”

“what happens next???? i turn thirty and then i probably die.”

*sobbing* “and like.... i really want to go to the farmer’s market with you. that sounds really nice.” “great fresh produce.”

the representation is so good??? jenny is Latina; erin is a Black lesbian; erin’s girlfriend is a South Asian designer.

no i’m gonna go into my thesis now which is that this is the only movie i’ve seen that actually serves as a “coming of age” movie that is not aimed at teens. it’s not about finding yourself in high school or college or coming to terms with your sexuality (which are all important!!! but as someone in my mid-20s, who has graduated and is comfortable in my gender and sexuality, those movies aren’t for me. and i hadn’t realized how much i needed a movie like this for me until i saw it for the first time).

this is a movie about looking around at your life and realizing that you’ve outgrown it. this is a movie about what it’s like to keep growing up, because you don’t graduate college/grad school and suddenly you’re an Adult and it’s all Figured Out. it’s not!!!!! and that’s okay!!!!!! you may think you have a Life Plan but then it goes off the rails and things change and it’s hard and it’s scary and it’s okay because we all feel it. we all grow up.

like.... people fall out of love. relationships change. people get jobs and move away. it’s scary. and the way that it’s described.... jenny’s realization that her breakup with nate was a long time coming, because they actually hadn’t been happy in a long time. when blair breaks up with her boyfriend in the single most amicable, polite breakup scene i’ve ever watched. they’re not angry or hurt, they’re relieved. and it’s so refreshing to watch an example of a breakup that is a relief, because two people are being freed from their own expectations, of their lives, of each other, of themselves.

and this also talks about the fear of really, truly falling in love for the first time. the vulnerability, the recognition that now everything in life is changing.

when jenny holds her best friends and confesses, “i don’t know life without this.” when erin screams that she is afraid of everything about growing up, because that means that she needs to change. truly everything about jenny’s goodbye letter to nate.

god i just. “i don’t know life without this” hits me in the fucking face because that’s exactly how i felt about living with my best friend and moving out to move in with my partner, about my eboard group of besties splitting and moving all over the country, about my group of friends that supported me through the worst moments of my life and encouraged me to embrace myself, my healing, and my sexuality? and there was something Terrifying about the notion of moving away, about all of us separating and growing apart. and to see a movie that showed that that fear was natural, and it was okay, and there were some friendships that last forever? and even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean they were without love and meaning? it was something that i needed at the end of my education career.

also jenny and erin joke about apparently facetiming each other on the toilet and that made me scream bc my best friend and i literally do text each other each time we shit, and also it’s usually at the same time. you know you’re besties not just when your periods sync, but when your shit cycles do, too.

yeah i feel like we’ve all gotten to know each other really well in this post.

also the soundtrack FUCKING SLAPS. the intro to lorde’s “supercut?” jenny singing along to selena’s “dreaming of you” in her bodega? jenny’s realization that things are truly over between her and nate, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be, and it’s okay, to jessie reyez’s “great one?” jenny cry-singing to “truth hurts” by lizzo? the super-fun scene of the three getting ready for their hedonistic night out to lil kim’s “the jump off?” cinematic brilliance.

also the cameos??? jaboukie young-white and rupaul are in it. they’re hysterical, especially jaboukie young-white oh my GOD

tl;dr this is the coming-of-age movie to women in their mid-20s when we feel like Death Is Coming at age 30 when really life is just beginning. life is about change. sometimes we outgrow our lives, and that’s okay.

anyway please watch this movie look how ADORABLE and CUTE and BEAUTIFUL THEY ALL ARE

#someone great #jj speaks #sorry i just love this movie a lot thank u for your time

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #357

“your magic white rabbit has left its writing on the wall / we follow like alice, and just keep diving down the hole”

Are you better at telling stories or writing them? Writing, by a long shot. What’s one song you hate, but know every word to? i'm a barbie girl in a fckn barbie woooooorld What’s your favorite magazine? I don’t read magazines. If you could be an animal for one day, which animal would you choose? Probably a house cat. Be indoors and safe, able to just nap... lol. But I'd want another cat as a friend, too! Do you prefer outdoor or indoor concerts/events? Indoors, by a mile. I get hot outside way too easily. Do you know if you were a planned child? I don't know. What’s your favorite gem? Dragon's breath opal. As an adult, do you want to live in an apartment or a house? I'd like to live in a house, especially with the pets I want. I doubt many apartment complexes would allow multiple reptiles and inverts. Do you like the stem or leafy part of the broccoli? It doesn't matter much to me, but I prefer the stem. The texture is more likeable to me. Do bats frighten you? No, I adore bats! Does Paris appeal to you? Yeah, it's a pretty place. Are you a KPOP fan? No, I've never really checked it out. How long was your longest relationship? Over three and a half years. First time you kissed the last person you kissed? We were outside roasting marshmallows one night. Do you have to really know someone to kiss them? Absolutely. I don't dish 'em out for nothing. Were you anyone’s first kiss? No. If you had to be named after one of the 50 states of America, what state would you WANT to be named after? I actually think "Nevada" would be kinda pretty as a name? Do you think morals are universal or relative to the beliefs, traditions, or practices of individuals or groups? I've wondered this for a long while, really. I lean towards it being a mix, maybe? But more towards universal, I think... with some exceptions. This answer is all over the place, I honestly don't know. Is torture ever a good option? If no, why not? If yes, when? No? I think the "why not" is obvious... You just don't. What do you think is one one of the most undervalued professions right now? Teachers, garbagemen, retail and food workers... There's a lot. Have you ever seen anyone have a heart attack? Thank Christ no. Have you personalized your answering machine/voicemail? No. Have you ever had Fiji brand water? I actually don't believe I have, though it's always looked appealing to me, haha. What’s your favorite horror movie? The Crazies and the first Silent Hill, as well as both Blair Witch Projects. What was the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? I'd rather not even think about things the bitch said to me. Are you biracial? No. When was the last time you got mad and broke something? I've never broken something when mad. What color dress did you wear to prom? My first was maroon, second one was black. Who is the cutest baby you know? My friend has a daughter named Scarlett who is absolutely gorgeous. Have you ever thrown a rock at a window? No, because I respect people's fucking property. Has anyone ever thrown a rock at your window? No. Does your hair react well to dye, or does it damage it? It likes to not take dye at all. >.> I have only had one instance where a friend dyed it red and it stuck for months and months, but we kept it in for a couple hours, I think. My normal hairdresser says it's because my hair is really healthy and I guess rejects it. What kind of pet do you wish you had? I ramble plenty about how I want tarantulas and more reptiles, haha. I also DESPERATELY want to rescue or foster an opossum. When was the last time you were diagnosed with something? Are you concerned about anything regarding your physical or mental health at the moment? I haven't been diagnosed with anything in quite some time, I believe, but as I'm going through the process of being approved for TMS therapy for my depression, my bipolar diagnosis is being questioned, which is... strange to me. It's been acknowledged by many a doctor that I have bipolar 2, but if insurance recognizes my primary diagnosis as bipolar, they won't cover TMS because it can massively excite the mania portion of bipolarity, and therefore I can't do it because we can't manually afford it. I'm willing to take the risk by far, as I've never had issues with mania, but I can't without insurance. I'm just waiting to hear back from them... What is one blanket judgment you tend to make about people (like, you judge all people who live at home, all people who drink, etc)? Does this judgment come from a particular personal experience? I really don't know. How do you react to other people yelling or slamming doors? Is this something you ever do too? I get very scared if it's a man. I don't like anyone doing it, and my anxiety will spike regardless, I'm just terrified of angry men. Have you ever lost your cool at work or somewhere else important? What happened as a result? No. Who has the power to break you? Jason still might. I don't know. Is anyone in your family blind? My sister is legally blind in one eye. Do you believe in evolution? Yeah. I do find the concept odd, that ALL LIFE originated from one thing, but I sure ain't got a better explanation, so. What job do you think people should be paid the most for? Surgeons, maybe? I dunno, that's a big question. Were you ever held back a year in school? Did you ever skip a grade? No. Have you ever been given a hickey? Have you given one? Yeah to both. What is your least favourite thing about your full name? I have the most basic white bitch middle name in the world, lol. Do you like the age you are? Eh, I don't mind it much, but I think it'd be better to be in my early 20s versus mid 20s. I'm just always so tired now. I can't believe I used to refuse to go to sleep before 10:30. What’s your favourite kind of poptart? The chocolate sundae one. If you had to eat one type (Chinese, etc.) of food which would it be? American bc I'm not very adventurous with food at all. When did your family immigrate to wherever you live now? *shrug* Are your fingers long, or short? Long. Mom's always said I have "piano fingers." Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who’s your buddy? Yeah, I love it, but don't play it nearly as much as I want because I don't exactly go anywhere, lol. My bud's Charmeleon, and I'm probably like five EXP from level 28. Do you ever sit indoors and wear sunglasses or a hat? I don't own either, so. Do you know how to read animals’ behavior? I honestly think I'm very good at it. Do you like playing video games? If so, what do you usually play? Yes, but not as much as I used to. All I really play nowadays is World of Warcraft. The only working console I have is a PS2, and I haven't bought a new game in probably a couple years, but there are definitely ones I want to play, mainly on PS4. Just can't afford it right now. Have you ever viewed the moon through a telescope? No. Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? No. There's no way I could, given my tremors. Do you prefer reading books, comic books, manga/graphic novels, magazines, or the newspaper? Books. When is the last time you ate donuts? It's been months, man. I've seriously been craving a glazed one, though. Krispy Kreme sounds amaaaaaziiiiiing. Has anyone ever called you sexy? Somehow. Do you like raisins? NO NO NO NO NO. Have you ever overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to? More than once. Do you like ants? They're genuinely extremely fascinating animals, but they're seriously annoying nevertheless. Did you like the movie Antz? I loved it as a kid. What was your favorite ice cream flavor when you were little? Chocolate. Is it still your favorite? Eh, depends on the day. By the way, what is your name? Brittany. What time zone do you live in? EST. Do you like cats? I love cats. What’s the most creepy experience you’ve ever had? One night when my mom and sister were at the beach for a dance competition, I was having trouble sleeping, and it only got worse when my dog Teddy started freaking the fuck out, barking loudly and staring intently at the foot of the bed. I was so scared that I tried to force his head to lie down, but he fought against me. I was terrified, but got up out of the bed and went into the living room to call my mom at like 3 in the damn morning, and she had to have our neighbor come over to sleep in the house with me (I was in a different room that night). You can't convince me that there wasn't paranormal shit going on. I think the house was haunted honestly, for multiple reasons. What’s the most boring game to exist? Why do you dislike it so much? Hm, I dunno. What’s the coolest place that you've ever been to? What’d you do there? Disney World was very memorable as a kid. We just went around collecting signatures, going on rides, all that fun stuff. I'll never forget fireworks at the castle. If you’re interested in having a long-term relationship with someone, do you think that waiting a certain amount of time before you first have sex is a good idea? Or does it not matter? I think it's a good idea, personally, mostly for the sake of reducing the spread of STDs. Just because you think you'll be long-term, doesn't mean you will be. Besides that, isn't there a science that sex and feelings of love are connected? Like, sex is impossible without at least some underlying emotions? I might be entirely wrong, in which case forgive me for spreading misinformation, but if that's so and things don't go as planned, you've gotten emotionally invested in someone too early and wind up getting hurt. You do you, I just don't think it's smart. Have you ever discovered something big by looking through someone’s phone, Facebook, email, etc.? No. Have you kept anything from your past relationships? (Things they left at your house, gifts, notes, etc) Do you think that’s a big deal for future relationships or not? Yeah, like plushies and little stuff like that. When it's tiny things like I just mentioned, I really don't think it matters. I think some things might be questionable to keep, but at the same time, I don't think it's really wrong to keep memories of a happy time, if the thing still brings you joy and has been emotionally disconnected from the ex? Idk. Do you have any financial regrets? Either way, what’s an example of a GOOD financial decision you’ve made? Going to and dropping out of college three fucking times. I don't know about a good financial decision seeing as I'm not even in charge of my own finances, nor really have any to begin with. Are you a believer in “signs” from the Universe about things in your life? If you are, can you think of a particular example? No. Name some things that one or both of your parents are really good at or really interested in. Mom LOVES medical stuff, like watching surgeries and stuff like that. She is also absolutely incredible with children. Dad likes sports a lot, hockey and football especially. Think of a good friend of the opposite sex (currently or in the past). Have you ever had any sort of “more than a friend” or sexual thoughts about them? If not, can you explain why? Well, we dated briefly, so... It was awkward to, but I let myself imagine sexual situations a few times to help myself understand if I really did like-like him, or if he was truly just a brother to me. Turns out, he's a bro. If someone told you that you would never achieve something and you ended up doing it, would you have any interest in finding that person and showing them? I'ma be honest, yes. I wouldn't actively seek them out, but rather just hope they somehow find out or I run into them or something. What is the most jealousy-induced thing you’ve ever done? Apparently, be the girl Juan liked instead of this girl that literally threatened to deck me. Guess what? We're friends now lmaoooo.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''white rabbit'' by egypt central

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theabsolutelytru · 3 years

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Hot Take: Millennial should be 1981-2001.

Also, nobody in the category “Millennial” seems to think they’re a Millennial, even if they’re firmly in the middle of it, because of all the negative propaganda against this age group.

First, let me start by saying that the spread IS large, and I get that it’s confusing and hard to say that someone born in 1981 is similar to someone born in 1997, or whatever, but honestly, that’s just age difference. Someone born in 1949 isn’t similar to someone born in 1961, either. The similarities should be just enough that it doesn’t change much between the ages.

Like, a lot of people calling themselves older Gen-Z or Zennials, I have a ton in common with, and I was actually born in 1989. I don’t, strangely, have much in common with someone born in the early 80s. I honestly think the 80s is different enough from the 90s and 00s (when I was a child and teen) that if anything, the Millennial generation is drawn incorrectly on the older end. Like, maybe instead of my earlier category, it should be something more like 1986-2001? Like, people who are a bit too young to actually remember the 80s. But I digress.

My point is, I think people calling themselves “older Gen-Z” are actually younger Millennials. The problem is that the cut-off age has been in flux for about a decade (the debate between 1994, 1996, and 1998), but also, I think one of the major problems is how Boomers made it their goal in life to use Millennials as the scapegoat for everything wrong with society. It doesn’t help that they used Millennial as code for “young person” until a few years ago when Gen-Z got coined (sometimes they still do. So many older people are still calling teenagers Millennials. I’m so sorry, teens.). So, anything teens did wrong, they went “Millennials are so stupid/bad/weird”. So, I think people who are squarely in Millennial, hitting their mid-20s/early-30s were all “Uhhh... we’re not the ones eating Tide Pods” which sort of threw the kids under the bus, and the kids were like “uhhh, we’re not actually Millennials lol.”

So, we got off on the wrong foot, in the first place. Then, people who were born in the mid-late 90s decided they didn’t necessarily want to be grouped into the Millennial thing, either. Thus, the cut-off ages getting older, and the term Zennial being coined.

The gag is, a lot of the things Gen-Z defines as Gen-Z things are Millennial things... especially Black Millennial things. A lot of stuff that’s “Gen-Z language” is just AAVE or Black slang that’s been around for decades. A lot of the whole “Gen-Z are activists” thing is just Gen-Z continuing the work of Millennial activists, but then pretending that Millennials never did anything. Like, Black Lives Matter totally started in 2013 and was created by Black Millennials... today, Gen-Z white girls put a BLM sticker on their TikTok and think they did something.

Also, I think there’s confusion about, like... conservative Millennials being representative of a problem in Millennial culture rather than, like... just that they’re white. Mostly. Like, a lot of white Gen-Z are conservative, too, just like white Gen-X, and white Boomers. The problem, as much as we like to pretend it is, isn’t really the generation. There’s a problem within whiteness as a whole, and we’re just... not talking about it because it’s easier to say, like “Okay, Boomer” and pretend it’s not... a whiteness problem. (Also, Black Boomers similarly aren’t really the problem when people complain about Boomers... but, that’s another topic for another day.)

Anyway, back to, I think that this whole Gen-Z vs Millennial thing started because of the same reason nobody has ever wanted to refer to themselves as a Millennial. Boomer media demonized Millennials as lazy and entitles babies, and then a few Gen-Z kids did some activism and media started going “Gen-Z are great!!” (and I honestly think that a lot of that was Millennial and Gen-X writers praising the kids for using their voices, which somehow got lost...) so everyone who is a younger Millennial was just like “Nope, I’m Gen-Z” and everyone who is actually Gen-Z is like “lol yeah, Millennials are whiny babies who won’t get a job to actually get a house instead of a shoebox apartment lol” and when negative press about Gen-Z came out the term didn’t really exist, so everyone was still just saying “Millennials” and then Millennials were like “uh, no, we’re not actually in high school anymore, that’s not us.” So, it was also sort of like throwing Gen-Z under the bus, so I think it created a line of animosity among them and yeah... here we are, where Gen-Z seems to think we all are “plant moms” and “girl bosses” who are obsessed with Harry Potter, and Millennials... for the most part seem to be really proud of Gen-Z, so it’s weird that they actually dislike us so much...

...while simultaneously liking our celebs, activists, and internet personalities, so I don’t actually think they dislike us, I think they’ve just bought the propaganda.

And I think the propaganda made young Millennials not want to be... and decide they’re Gen-Z...

which makes our generation ridiculously short. Like, if you listen to everyone who says they’re not Millennials, so older Millennials and younger Millennials, it leaves like 8 years of Millennials. Which isn’t a generation.

So, either we get rid of the distinction and split it down the middle and give the older half to Gen-X and the younger half to Gen-Z, or we admit that it should be the standard 18-20 years that every other generation is, which would be 1981-1999/2001, or we shift it properly, which would actually be probably 1986/7-2001.

Because it’s strange to me that I have to be in a category with people I don’t relate to (I don’t remember The Never Ending Story and didn’t know what a Teddy Ruxpin was until they started talking about it in Umbrella Academy) and that people I have a lot more in common with are a different generation from me because they were born 6 years later (I like ATLA, YouTube & TikTok, I grew up watching Disney Channel on basic cable, most of my college classes had online components and I remember the dreaded 11:59pm, most of my formative teen/young adult years were spent on social media.)

#millennials #gen z #generations #this is a hot take #nobody kill #also this was a shitpost blog i never used #so i posted this here so nobody would kill me #i just think some of y'all are millennials lol #also maybe the generations are drawn wrong #because i relate far more to older gen-z and zennials than to older millennials #1981 people are verrrry different from people who were still kids in the 00s #people who graduated high school in the 90s are not the same as us #idk if that makes sense #it's a completely different experience #like if you watched that's so raven and hannah montana #that's an entire generation to me #idk

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bi-outta-cordonia · 4 years

Text

In Another World, Part II

The continuation of the Colt x MC piece I was hoping to finally put out for @rodappreciationweek. The week itself is over, so this is just me slamming chapters up hoping to finally do a thing I’ve been thinking about for a minute!

Part I --> here!

Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance. Colt Kaneko x f!MC(Deidre Wheeler). PG-13, with warnings going out to Brandon’s rancid vibes. ~4k words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventeen, eighteen—her keyboard clacks in steady strokes, each letter spelling out a larger plan that should take no more than three years and some change to complete if she works hard enough. Every orientation event is over. Every “meet and greet” has long since burned the flames of excitement out her bones. Extracurriculars, plus honors programs, plus a few personal hobbies will fill her free time in between classes. But the main question again…

Seventeen credits or eighteen credits?

Deidre’s hands hover over the keyboard and she chews her lip.

“I know it’s not my business…” Deidre tosses a look back at Ingrid, her pouty lips pursed and her brow drawn. Ingrid glances pointedly at the open document on the computer screen. “We’re definitely still doing the competition thing, right? Pushing each other or whatever?” Deidre nods slowly. “Which is cool! But like…I don’t want you to burn out before we really get into it!”

Deidre frowns. “You’re taking seventeen credits.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m doing my lab first!” Ingrid waltzes up and clicks to the next screen, displaying the course load Deidre painstakingly puts together months before the first day of classes. “Do your lab first, duh. You already have a bunch of high school credits for the 100 levels.”

“But I’d still have to drop a class,” Deidre says.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “God, I respect you so much but you can really be irritating.”

Deidre balks. “Alright—”

“Here, take a bullshit class and you can keep your seventeen.” Ingrid clicks a few buttons and lands on a page describing a philosophy class. She squints at the screen. “Blah blah blah, classical and modern conceptions of love, blah blah. You just need to get an A and you’ll be solid, yeah?”

Deidre shakes her head and turns her attention back to the screen.

“A look at the ways in which classical and modern conceptions of love and romance have changed over the natural course of time. What the course aims to do is interrogate how love has been defined and shaped by society and cultures. Bring an open mind and an equally open heart to a two day a week lecture!”

Seems simple enough.

Day one doesn’t fully prepare her for the sheer amount of bodies filling every concrete path between her and the rest of Langston. The way she works out her schedule, serious classes take place Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. “Bullshit electives” (Ingrid’s words) occupy her Tuesdays and Thursdays for the time being. One class that focuses on life skills and the other is apparently a philosophy class about love.

A comfortable pair of jeans and even more comfortable sneakers gets her through the throngs of people jockeying for space on the sidewalks. Some souls are brave (or foolish?) enough to bike through the madness but she remembers her favorite self-defense trick from her father—throw them bows.

Deidre shoves her way to Terrence Hall and wanders around the building twice before she finds the lecture room. “Room” because it’s small like a classroom and filled from front to back with desks. The age of the building shows in some of the dusty corners and faded paint on the walls. A good number of her peers sit scattered throughout the room, some leaning on desks and carrying on with casual conversations. A few of them eye her as she walks in. Their gazes immediately catch her old shoes and even older jeans. It’s almost funny how the braids and brown skin are the last things they see—at Mar Vista, it was the first but she at least had four years to show them all the money their parents had still couldn’t afford them a brain like hers.

She takes a seat in the front and rummages through her bag when she sets it down. Notebook, lead pencil, laptop open and ready—a long ten minutes pass and the professor walks in holding a cup of coffee.

He’s a small man and most certainly older.

“Thirty of you this year! Much less than I usually get for the fall semester,” he exclaims. His eyes scan over the class and the collective mood drops in an instant. Most of the students are sophomores. A lot of them are just trying to bang out electives first and this was one of the easiest classes the university offers. “Well, anyway—introductions, yes? As many of you should know by now, I am Professor Pines.” Some of the students giggle. “Yes, yes, terrible name, isn’t it? Regardless, I’d rather not spend too much time reflecting on my family’s awful choices in naming conventions.”

He hands a stack of papers to a girl in the front who passes the papers back. A steady stream of motion fills the room as students pass around what she assumes is the syllabus. When she receives her copy, she purses her lips:

20% for quizzes—

15% participation—

15% mid semester report—

25% group project—

25% final exam—

She almost groans along with the rest of the class when they all see it—group project. Professor Pines seems a bit too gleeful despite knowing he’s just cast them all to their doom.

“The basics of the course first,” he starts. “As this is a philosophy class, most of the materials we’ll be working with are going to come from a variety of readings we’ll be doing, examining facets of love and romance across multiple sources to answer that big question that hangs over us all—what exactly is love? What does it entail and how do we define it?” The professor clasps his hands behind his back and looks out over each student. “There are about a thousand ways to describe love but I want to have you all truly engage the topic. How we see it, experience it, and demonstrate it varies wildly and I’m eager to see what the lot of you come up with. Now, if you could all—”

The door opens and the professor stops for a brief moment. He continues with his next topic but it’s hard not to notice him digging through the papers on the table near him as he searches for a spare syllabus for his newest student.

Deidre sits up and thinks the weird boy from the frat party might recognize her as he scans the room for a seat. His eyes find her for all of a second before he struts down the path and takes a seat at the back of the room. She sucks her teeth and turns her attention back to the professor.

He goes on for a long while covering the basics and answering questions as he goes. Most of the students are just using the class to fill up electives—her included. Engagement seems like it’ll be interesting compared to her other classes but at the very least, she’s going to put some effort in. She took top spot back home and she’s going to have to work hard for even the smallest chance at achieving that out here.

“Before I let you all go, I just want to ask…” Professor Pines steeples his fingers, eyes intently watching the class. “What is love?”

His gaze rakes across the length of the room, each student slinking down in their seat and holding a careful breath as they gauge whether he’s the sort that will call on people or let them speak on their own. The silence lasts for a few more minutes until Deidre raises her hand.

The professor beams and the classroom lets out a collective sigh.

“Love can defined in a number of ways but the most basic would point to it being a psychological effect between individuals with well-defined social bonds,” she answers. “It can be a series of emotions, complex affections, and highly specific in terms of behavioral patterns defined by the parameters of a person’s relationship with the object of said love.”

Professor Pines nods approvingly and looks up. “Yes? In the back?”

“It’s a collective of impulses disguised as particular receptors in the brain that dictate meanings behind specific actions.” Deidre turns around in her seat and catches the boy from the party bringing his coffee to his lips for a sip. “Doesn’t always have to be deeper than that—sometimes the brain just does weird shit and we run around trying to add meaning where there doesn’t need to be.”

The class buzzes and Professor Pines seems even more giddy.

“Ah, a realist!” he says and the boy shrugs. “I always get one! Perspective is going to be key here, both in your understandings of the material and of what you take away from this class.”

Deidre raises her hand. “But the whims themselves would become receptors based on the emotional bond between the individuals in question, wouldn’t they? People can act out of a sense of impulse but love requires those impulses be tailored to prior experience with an individual.”

The boy snorts. “Not necessarily. People can say or do something under the guise of love but that doesn’t necessarily make it so. It’s the brain assigning meaning to whims.”

She bristles. “The presence of whims would require a prior interaction that shapes it.”

“Does it? I mean, I don’t believe in that ‘love at first sight’ crap but the existence of such narratives makes a pretty strong case for love being just the brain trying to find ways to assign meanings—”

“Which still can be explained through a prior interaction because ‘love at first sight’ still requires some form of meaningful—”

“And there’s the idealist,” the professor says, nodding thoughtfully. Professor Pines continues, “I don’t really want to keep any of you any longer, so please make sure to read over the syllabus.” He pauses for a moment, glancing between the front and the back of the room. “I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting semester.”

Deidre glances around and sinks a little in her seat at the other students tossing looks between her and the boy from the party. When she looks back at him, he lifts a brow and takes a languid sip of his coffee.

“Don’t ask me about that,” Deidre snaps. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

“That bad?” Riya snorts.

“He’s a douchebag! He actually tried to pull some bullshit devil’s advocate crap day one of the entire semester and he wouldn’t even tell me his fucking name at the party!” Deidre dodges a couple rushing out the dorm and ignores Riya’s cackling.

“I mean, he sounds pretty hot…”

“Riya!” Deidre yanks her phone away from her ear and glares daggers at it. Her teeth grind as Riya’s raucous laugh rings through the tinny speakers and she lets out a roar that has heads turning her way. “You’re being a bad friend!”

“You have a crush on him! Look—Deidre—”

“I’m hanging up on you. Hand to God, I will absolutely end this call right now—“

“Oh my god, stop being dramatic.”

“And of course he shows up ten minutes late to class with Starbucks in hand—didn’t even give a fuck about everyone staring at him or the fact that he chose to further disrupt everything by walking his—” She fumbles her keys at first but eventually jams the metal into the door, “—stupid—dumb!”

Ingrid sits up but Deidre only gives a small wave as she quite literally throws herself on her own bed. She puts Riya on speaker and tosses the phone on her nightstand.

“Dee?”

“Hey Riya!” Ingrid says. Her eyes dart between Deidre and the phone. “Everything okay?”

“Deidre’s got a crush.”

“Shut up.” Deidre rolls over and faces the wall. “There’s a douchebag in my class.”

Ingrid pauses for a long moment. “Like frat boy rich douchebag or just regular smegular rich douchebag?”

“She’s got budding sexual tension with a boy that’s probably as smart as she is.”

“Riya—” Deidre pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, mood.” Ingrid readjusts her glasses. “If he’s as hot as the dude you saw at the frat party, I’ll be the first to say you should go for it.”

Deidre braces.

“Speaking of which—”

“Riya.”

“You wouldn’t believe it but it just so happens—”

“I’MHANGINGUPTHEPHONEGOODBYE.”

A profound silence hangs in the room like the most uncomfortable and bloated thing in the world. Ingrid keeps penning away on her notebook and occasionally peeks at the textbook lying open next to her. Deidre lets the silence fester as she gets up and digs through her bag, pulling out notebooks and textbooks to get started on her own work.

An hour passes before Ingrid speaks up. “Ohhhhh…it was the hot guy from the frat party, wasn’t it?”

Deidre pointedly ignores her.

Three hours and seventeen minutes. She times herself only because it’s necessary. Darius used to joke and say she was going “beast mode” when she got so into her work that time just stops existing as a concept.

Even if time stops existing, hunger doesn’t so it comes as no surprise that her tummy growls when she finally shuts her last textbook. Day one and she’s already diving deep—perfect. She stretches as she gets up and grabs her keychain.

The dining hall is something else entirely. A bevy of appetizing foods fill the buffet and even more is served by the dedicated cooking staff, of which are all chefs of significant renown if she remembers correctly from the online facilities tour.

Stepping through the doors almost feels like stepping into another dimension. Extensive wood finish fills in every panel of the floor, mahogany furniture with fine leather seats make up a sitting area, and ornate paintings hang on all the walls. Her stomach gurgles again when the smell of baked chicken wafts in her nose. Deidre makes a beeline towards wherever that smell leads her.

Rotisserie chicken, beans and rice, steamed vegetables perfectly seasoned, freshly prepared mango and passionfruit juice—

It isn’t even the most delectable thing from the kitchens: lobster bisque, the freshest produce, the most tender cuts of steak, oysters, and even more. Savory and sweet collide in a mesh of flavorful smells that sets her appetite from moderate to desperate. She swipes her card for her meal and carefully dodges students shuffling about the dining area.

“Oh, right…” she mumbles.

Seems like every person decided now was a fantastic time to get dinner. The dining hall is packed from top to bottom with students. Some sit in groups with textbooks and laptops out on the tables. Others sit off on their lonesome reading from books while absently shoveling spoonfuls in their mouths. There’s a group of extremely attractive girls that waltz past flanked by some fit boys all wearing identical shorts and boat shoes.

Deidre takes a few tentative steps forward and scans the room carefully.

There’s a butt in every seat. Some eyes dart towards her as she walks past but they don’t seem to mind her presence. Or maybe they just don’t care.

She finds an empty seat and moves to set her tray down when a girl clears her throat. The smile that spreads across the girl’s face is sickly sweet—she’s clearly not happy seeing a face trying to squeeze into such a big space and her eyes noting the simple style of Deidre’s fashion makes the smile spread a little wider.

“I’m waiting on some friends. Sorry,” the girl says, clearly not apologetic.

Deidre stares at her for a moment before shaking her head and turning back towards the packed dining hall. She starts her hunt anew when a hand touches her on the square of her back.

“Hey, Deidre, right?” She turns around and finds Brandon’s face. His gaze roams uncomfortably, where he looks she isn’t sure but she’s just as equally sure she doesn’t want him to do that. “Where’s Ingrid?”

“Uh, studying,” she says. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugs. “Day one, so nothing really exciting yet. How about you? First day of college going well?”

“Yeah, just—” She nods towards the full room, “—looking for a place to sit. I didn’t think so many people would be here.”

Brandon’s hand slides a little further up her back and there’s a pressure there that feels like he’s trying to guide her. Her feet lock in place even though her body sways and when she locks eyes with him, he’s staring at her like he’s trying to gauge his next move.

“You should come sit with me and my friends,” he suggests. He points out a table full of students with laptops sitting out. “We’re all STEM—engineering mostly. Ingrid said you were mechanical engineering, right?”

The whole reason she goes to that frat party is to try out new things as a young adult. Life here doesn’t have to be all about hitting the books, it’s about exploring and Ingrid attempts to give her that on the first night. Going back inside was for Ingrid’s sake then and for the remainder of the party, Brandon couldn’t seem to keep his eyes to himself. He wants to get to know her and she should try getting to know him but there’s just something so strange about this.

Her eyes dart around the room and a piercing gaze connects with hers.

The weird boy—the douchebag in the leather jacket.

He’s holding a book but he’s got it hovering over the table like he’s about to set it down. His gaze flits to Brandon behind her and he makes a subtle nod at the empty chair in front of him. He’s got his feet in it.

“Uh, actually…” Deidre steps away from Brandon and tries not to sigh in relief as his hand falls away from her back. She musters the best sheepish smile she can handle. “I just saw a friend! I’ll see you later!”

She wants to kick herself—she doesn’t want to see him again if she can’t help it. But it doesn’t matter now, getting away is all that’s important.

The weird boy moves his feet quickly and sits up in his chair. His gaze lingers on Brandon while she sits down and lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“Is he gone?” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer her for a while. Eventually, he leans back again and opens up his book.

“You’re good.”

Silence fills the void between them as he occasionally flips through his book. Her confused stare morphs into an annoyed glare and she digs into her food once it becomes clear he’s done his one good deed of the day. Savory food fills her belly bite after bite and she swears to try the fried plantains next time. It won’t be anything like how her mom used to make, she’s sure, but the thought fills her with a sense of nostalgia.

She wonders what her dad’s doing right now.

He’ll be getting ready for work soon. The three hour time difference is still something she hasn’t gotten used to just yet but he doesn’t seem to mind getting “good morning” texts at six o’clock.

She sighs—he’ll have to find something to occupy his time now that she’s gone. He’s truly alone this time around.

Deidre looks up and the weird boy is staring straight at her. She hates his look almost as much as Brandon’s.

“What?” she says around a mouthful of food.

“You keep making weird noises and I’m debating on whether or not I want to ask what’s up with you,” he responds.

“You just—” She swallows her food. “I’m fine. Thank you for letting me sit down.”

He keeps looking at her and she tries her best to pointedly ignore him. Every so often her eyes dart to the book in his hand—Mount Washington by James Ashton.

“What’s really up with you?” Deidre looks up at him. He shuts the book and sets it next to his already empty tray. He crosses his arms and leans on the table, subtly glancing over her shoulder. “You were way too chipper for an eight o’ clock in the morning elective so I’m assuming you’re either new to campus or...”

His lips quirk when she narrows her eyes.

“Or?” she asks, already aware of the answer. “I’m a ‘nerd?’ God forbid someone takes their education seriously around here…”

He shrugs. “You still haven’t said what’s wrong with you.”

She chews on a bit of chicken slowly before swallowing, eyes finally connecting with his again. His are black as the night and striking. There’s nothing wrong with admitting he’s handsome in a boyish way. He tilts his head and her face grows a little warm.

“I was thinking about my dad,” she finally says. “It’s been the two of us for a while and I’m wondering what he’s going to do now that I’m not home.”

A small silence hangs between them.

“Where you from?” he asks.

“LA.”

The boy snorts. “Bullshit.” She fixes him with a questioning look and he shakes his head. “I’m from LA. I knew Mar Vista sounded familiar—you went to that prep school. State of the art or some shit.”

“It wasn’t all that, I promise you. Where’d you go?”

“Just a little further north—H.H. Huntington. Public school though, so nowhere near as fancy as what you got.” His face softens a bit though not nearly by much. “I left my mom back home but she’s had a year to figure out the benefits of having a house to herself by now. Your old man will get there soon.”

There’s a part of her that can’t help but think it’s a little sweet that his hard gaze softens further at the mention of his mother. Babies all grown up and flying out the nest is how their parents will see them. She wonders if her dad will even recognize her when she comes back—wonders if the boy’s mother has already accepted the young man that now walks through the doors when he comes home.

“You seemed pissed about earlier today.” His voice brings her back and she stabs at a piece of broccoli.

“In class, you mean,” she clarifies.

“Studious types—you can’t stand being wrong.”

“I wasn’t wrong—”

“And neither was I,” he interrupts. His eyes dart over her shoulder once more and she turns a bit just to follow his gaze. Brandon sits over with his friends and turns the minute her body starts shifting. The boy drums his fingers on his arm. “You done yet?”

“You were valedictorian, weren’t you?”

Her brows draw. “Why?”

“Chipper for an eight o’clock and you’re scared about the semester already…” He glances back over his shoulder. “And I told you Langston doesn’t take average kids.”

The boy is so weird. Not weird like Brandon is, which is the kind of weird that makes a person want to double bolt their doors. He’s weird in the sense that there’s a constant game of hot and cold that seems to fuel his every word. He’s perceptive—he remembers her mentioning Mar Vista despite only speaking to her for a total of two minutes. The last time she speaks with him (prior to dinner), he prods at her like an asshole kid poking at a hornet’s nest. His ability to pick things apart is apparent and—

Her brain literally stops.

Langston is filled with money. Langston is money. Average students means average in status only and it’s an extremely competitive school to get into.

Deidre’s eyes rake over the boy—his face, the leather jacket, the backpack slung over his back, and the white motorcycle helmet he holds in the other hand…

“You were…” It’s like the wheels are turning and his gaze immediately meets hers.

“Go on,” he quietly urges.

“You were the valedictorian of your school,” she manages.

He cracks a smile that she can only describe as vicious—she’s not sure why. “Yeah, this semester is about to be hilarious.”

She bristles. “You’re a dick.”

He smirks like he’s proud of it. “I’m walking you home, aren’t I?”

Deidre scoffs and turns away. Day one and she’s regretting some of her decisions already.

“I don’t even know your name,” she says.

“I don’t know yours either.”

“I tried to ask you at the frat party and you just blew me off,” she counters.

The boy shrugs. “My roommate wrapped up her date and I didn’t want to waste any more time. I guess I could tell you now but it’s way funnier thinking your name is...” A wicked smirk spreads across his face.

She looks at him. “Is what?”

“Stacy,” he says and laughs at the indignation on her face.

“It’s Deidre.”

“Or Becky,” he keeps prodding. “But ‘Deidre’ is nice. I bet people say it right.”

She sighs. “The first time, sure. But then they see the face that goes with the name and it’s impossible to get them to do it again.”

He goes quiet for a second. “Colt. And, no, it’s not short for anything. My last name’s the one that gets butchered though, but I’m not telling you that.”

Colt. His name is “Colt.”

“I prefer thinking of you as ‘the weirdo’,” she teases.

“Most girls save that kind of talk until after the first date.”

Deidre sucks her teeth.

“You think you can get away with things because you’re a smartass,” she bites.

“No, I get away with it because I’m cute. But if you want to go head to head over this, I won’t stop you.” Colt stops—they’ve reached the halfway point across campus. She looks up at him and feels one side of her brain wrestling with the other in the form of an oncoming headache. They stand there awkwardly (mostly on her part) until he nods down the path leading to her dorm. “Be careful, alright?”

So strange—one minute he’s a smartass and the next he’s being a white knight. Deidre wraps her arms around herself and nods.

“See you on Thursday…” She says, turning down the path. A quick glance over her shoulder and he stays rooted there until she gets a safe enough distance across the quad.

#playchoices #choices #colt kaneko #colt x mc #rod choices #choices rod #ride or die #ride or die: a bad boy romance

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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What are your thoughts on the possible ages of the Ace Ops? I saw someone on twitter say Kdin confirmed they were close to the ages of RWBY but I find that to be impossible. They're supposed to be the most elite of Atlas. That'd take years of training putting them mid to late 20s at best. And Kdin is a VA for the series, but not an actual writer of any of the scripts and story, so does what she say have any actual weight on canon? Or do we wait for the writers to actually say something?

Oh I absolutely assumed they were at least in their late twenties, probably early thirties. Nowhere near Team RWBY’s age. Everyone except Ruby started out at seventeen, they spent a year at Beacon, and then their time between recovering from the battle and making it to Atlas is... iffy. The most time seems to have passed off screen while everyone was home/Team RNJR was traveling, but after that things are packed into a pretty short bursts (a day or two with Qrow sick, a few days (weeks?) hearing Ozpin’s story, only a day going through the snow/the Apathy/getting to Argus, etc.) What I’m saying is the main group is probably twenty now, being the most generous, but potentially only nineteen. I think an argument can be made that these last four volumes have only covered a year, or even less than a year.

Regardless of he exact timeline, we’ve definitely covered a lot less time in-world than we have throughout RWBY’s production. Entering Beacon at seventeen it’s supposed to be a four year program, so you don’t even graduate until you’re twenty-one. If we think of these schools like college it’s entirely possible (especially given Atlas’ much more strict setup) that huntsmen go through something akin to graduate school too, additional training before you take on anything more significant than what would be considered normal huntsmen duties. At least within the hierarchy of working in the city, rather than striking out on your own to protect small villages, trains, and the like. Getting into the Ace Ops is, presumably, no easy feat. We can look at Team RWBYJNR when they get licenses. Sure, they’re involved in all the Salem stuff because they’re already involved, but when they become huntsmen no one goes, “Okay, you get to be a member of the elite now.” They’re assigned crossing guard duty. Perimeter duty. The grunt work of the huntsmen world. Under normal circumstances, how many years do you have to do stuff like that before you move up? How much more training do you have to undergo to prove yourself fit for, say, taking out that ice geist? How many years until your General notices you and starts thinking you’re good enough not just for a team, but the elite team he trusts with a secret war? There’s no way the Ace Ops are newly graduated huntsmen, which is what they’d have to be in order to be anywhere near Team RWBY’s age. (And why it remains ridiculous that Team RWBY beat them so easily.)

Their designs look older. They’re far more mature. One of them, Clover, makes friends with Qrow.

When has Qrow ever been like, “Hey, Ren. Want to chat and play cards while we kill some time?” He treats the RWBYJNR group like kids because to him they are. They’re roughly twenty years younger than him. He treats Clover as an equal because they’re much closer in age. Qrow has to be in at least his mid to late thirties now - maybe even early forties - so my brain went, “Clover is probably a bit younger then him, so maybe in his earlier thirties. If his team members are at all younger, which Marrow potentially is, they might be late twenties. Or just a few years younger if they’re like thirty and Clover thirty-three.” Or something like that.

Regardless of exact ages (because tracking RWBY’s timeline is a doomed exercise) there’s nothing about their deigns/characterizations that made me go, “Oh yeah, they’re the same age as our core group who had to drop out of school after a single year and is led by a girl two years younger than that.”

#rwby #mymetas #Anonymous

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rouletterook · 5 years

Text

Pancake Girl - Colson Baker

Summary - Each person is born with the age their soulmate is when they meet. The reader is at a diner when the number on their wrist lights up when a group of rowdy guys walk in.

29. Before the age of 16, it was nothing but a number. 27, 28, 29, 30. After your 16 birthday, that was the number that drove your life. Everyone had a number that corresponded with the age that their soulmate is when they meet. It was easy to tell if the person was your meant to be because when the numbers are put together they’ll glow a pretty color, at least that’s what your mother had been going on about since you got your number.

“Hey, what can I get going for you dear?” Shannon asked coming over to your booth. Her hair was in its usual low bun with a few strands shaping her never aging face.

“Hey, can I have pancakes please and some orange juice?” you requested not even having to think twice about it. You didn't have anything menu on the table only the dim lights reflecting off of the fading turquoise table

She gave a soft, sad smile with a nod and rubbed your back as she went back to the kitchen. You had come here enough at this hour to where she knew what was happening without you saying much. It isn't common for someone to order a bigger breakfast like that at 4 in the morning. Your night shift was rather rough with rude people at the bar, demanding drinks when they should have stopped many ago, and being downright nasty to you and the other female bartenders. It was routine on nights like these to get a meal that reminded you of happier times to take your mind off of the horrors at work.

The local diner was the place to be at this hour. The lights were dimmer than most of the other restaurants in the area, Sal, the cook early in the morning and the owner, usually had soft jazz or classical music but sometimes he would switch it up and play soft indie music. The diner usually smelled like coffee but not in an overbearing way, like the smell you’d endure on a sunny Sunday morning. You always occupied the 4th booth from the door. The seat was worn enough to where it wasn't hard but you couldn’t feel the bench framing either. The booth placement allowed you control over the baby blue curtains and a nice view of the photograph filled wall and the interactive mural that a local student painted for Salvador and his wife Danae.

“Y/N! Your here awfully early today,” Sal smiled following Sahnnon with your plate of pancakes. They set down your food and Sal took a seat on the bench across from you.

“Yeah,” you sighed. Sal always noticed when you would drop in and he always made an effort to say hello. He always said that it was the least he could do to make his guests feel loved and welcome.

“What’s going on?” He asked setting you up with some napkins as you prepared your pancakes with the goods, butter and syrup.

“Work.” It only took the one word for him to understand the night you've had. Sal and his wife constantly offered you a position at the diner paying the same as you were already making but he promised a better working environment. You always said maybe but never furthered it but you knew he understood your position. You liked having the diner as only a diner and not a workplace. It would ruin the vibes.That’s one of the best things about him, you never had to say much for him to understand what you meant. He knew your life just as much as you knew his. His family moved to your small town when he was 5 from the Dominican Republic. In his early years, he worked construction with his father but he decided to abandon that and move into the culinary field. Thank God he did because you don't know where you would go if it wasn't for his diner. He has been married for over 30 years to Danae and together they’ve adopted 4 children and now have 5 grandchildren. They have always said that you are one of their kids and they truly treat you like family. He had the number 23 on his wrist while Danae had the number 31.

“I had a feeling I was making patch me up pancakes so I added a few berries in there,” he winked and laugh as you shoveled the fluffy food into your mouth.

“I really do appreciate it,” you grinned taking a sip of your juice. The citrus was a nice contrast from the sweet breakfast food you loaded with syrup. “How is everyone?”

“Really good,” he smiled playing with his gold wedding ring. “Dario and his wife are expecting another baby and Savannah is submitting college applications,” he announced to you.

“Oh, that’s great! Tell Dar and Halle congrats and Sav good luck,” you beamed. You remember when Dario was just announcing that he and his wife were expecting their first baby, Eduardo, and when Savannah was just entering middle school. “Kendall and Uriah are doing fine?”

“Yep and I will pass along the message. Those boys never have much going on in their lives,” he laughed. As you both spoke, the door chimed signaling someone coming in. You turned to see a group of guys who were rather rowdy for such a small, quiet diner.

“Oh boy,” you whispered to Sal causing you both to chuckle.

“I better go back to the kitchen,” he sighed watching the boys laugh and mess around with each other. “Let us know if you need anything, sweets.”

And with that, he was off to the group of boys. You heard Sal introduce himself and welcome them to his humble establishment. Before you have another bit of your food, you felt the booth behind you vibrate from people moving into. Of course out of an entirely empty diner, the booth behind you was their choice of placement. You figured it could have been worse, they could’ve asked to join you in your booth. You pulled out your phone from under your leg and your hoodie sleeves over your hand. A few minutes passed, you finished your pancakes and were left sipping on your juice and scrolling through your phone.

“Psst,” one of them whispered followed by a few quiet giggles. You didn't turn around in hopes they were messing among themselves.

“Excuse me ma’am,” you heard from the booth again this time rather loudly in a corny mid-western accent. You forced yourself to turn around to be met with 4 sets of eyes. You noticed the air around smelled less like coffee and a bit more like marijuana and alcohol, nothing you weren't accustomed to. You raised your eyebrows at the men who suddenly seemed to sober up as one of them suddenly refused to look your way.

“What can I do for you guys?” you smiled, taking note of the awkward energy from the booth.

“We were wondering if you knew anything off the menu that was good,” one of them said, setting his menu on the table. His hair was dark and he had facial hair. He had a dark hoodie on but you could still tell he had a lanky build similar to the blonde that was refusing to look your way.

“It really depends on what your in the mood for. The pancakes are really good especially for a bad night. Sal makes the best omelets and I recommend getting the hash browns and asking Shannon to make a note to make them crispy. You won't get hash browns like these anywhere else so,” you suggested.

“Awesome, thanks a lot,” the other bearded one said kindly. His hair was longer than the others in his group and his features screamed kindness. You have a small nod and smile before turning back to your booth. You finished up your orange juice and stacked up your plates. You slid out of the booth, past Shannon who was taking out her pad of paper for orders, and walked your plates up the the bar where Sal was waiting for the order to come in.

“What do you think they are gonna order?” he asked setting your plates aside and gestured to Shannon at the booth.

“Hopefully you're hash browns or pancakes because they are to die for,” you complimented.

“I perfected them my kids,” he winked and smiled with a nod to say thank you. You knew he was talking about you since it was one of the only things you ordered when you came in.

“One five pancake order and four cheesy omelettes,” Shannon whispered passing him the ticket. Sal took the ticket leaving you and her at the breakfast bar.

“How much?” you asked reaching for your wallet to pay for your breakfast.

“How many times do I have to tell you on the house?” Sal called from the kitchen listening in.

“Sorry,” you winked at Shannon knowing you'll ask the same thing on your next visit. It was a running joke with yourself. You slid Shannon over a $20. “Keep the change.”

“You're too sweet baby,” she smiled grabbing your wrist and giving it a squeeze. The placement of her hand pushed up the sleeve of your hoodie enough to reveal the 29 printed on your wrist.

“What time do you get off?” you asked slipping into a bar stool.

“When these gents leave,” she sighed. “What’s your number again baby?” She always checked your wrist, more than you ever did. She had the number 56 printed on her wrist which has yet to glow for her.

“29,” you said mindlessly flipping your arm to show her as you read the advertising card..

“Oh my gosh,” she squealed jumping back with a grin. You looked to your wrist and it had a tightly lit up number 29. Your other hand immediately covered the glow and your eyes went wide. Shannon was trying her best to stay composed and not draw attention to the two of you but you knew it was a failed mission from the beginning. “It's one of those boys,” she leaned in and whispered to you.

“Which one?” you said lowly. Your mind was racing faster than a NASCAR racer in first place. Had he noticed his number? Was his even glowing? What kind of person is he?

“My money is on the blondie in the corner,” she smirked as Sal slid their orders on the ledge to be served. “He was a bit stiff toward you,” she added. She wasn't wrong. She grabbed their plates two in each arm leaving only the pancakes left.

“I’ll grab them,” you said hopping over the bar to help her. You figured if you found an excuse to go over there you could sneak a peek at their numbers. You followed closely behind Shannon with the plate.

“Alright youngins,” she smiled as she slid omelette plates off her thin arms. A plate in front of each of the boys. She slid out of the way for you to set down the pancake plate.

“And the best part of your order,” you smiled, turning on your bartender tone. You set the plate of cakes in the center of the table and watched their eyes follow your arms. You noticed all of them had both arms visible except the blonde in the corner. You did get a chance to notice his baby blue eyes and nose piercing since you hadn't really took note of his face like you did the others. His arms were also heavily covered in tattoos and you couldn't imagine what his clothes were hiding.

You and Shannon made your way back to Sal who was leaning on the breakfast bar again. Shannon bounced over to him and whispered the news excitedly to him. You saw his eyes grow wide in shock and a grin spread under his thick mustache.

“How exciting,” he smiled at you. You felt a pink hue rise to your cheeks as you nodded lightly. “Which one?”

“We think it's blondie,” Shannon gestured back to the table as she slid onto a stool next to you. “Is he cute?”

“Yeah, his eyes are beautiful,” you smiled. The more you thought about what you saw the less nervous you were. It was weird. You knew nothing about him other than a few physical attributes and his friends were loud sometimes.

Shannon moved to the back with Sal to help him clean up before the big breakfast rush in a few hours. You stayed at the breakfast bar and scrolled through your phone and sipped on another orange juice Sal had slid your way. You would’ve left when you finished but now that your number was glowing you didn't want to, not yet. You were going to stay as long as they were here in hopes one of you had a set of something.

“Oh, they are done,” Shannon said peeking her head out to see empty plates and them laughing and joking around just as they had come in. She hurried over to gather their plates and set the bill on the table so she could go home. You noticed when she went over they noise died down to an uncomfortable silence. Shannon hurried to the back to drop off the dishes to be washed without a word.

“What’s up?” a male voice said slipping into the stool Shannon was once in. You looked over to be met with baby blue eyes.

“Hey,” you tried to casually smile as if you didn't know both your wrists were illuminating a pale white glow.

“Colson,” he introduced himself, extending his hand for you to shake.

“Y/N,” you responded shaking his hand. You finally saw the glow on his wrist, a lit up 27. “Nice glow you got.”

“Oh, this?” he played along looking at it as if it were nothing. “I like it.”

“Oh, yeah? Mine is cooler if you ask me,” you teased with a small nudge. He let out a nervous laugh he was probably holding in since he left the booth.

“Oh my God,” he shouted and started laughing more. “We are acting like middle schoolers,” he said looking over at you hoping you were not scared of his outburst.

“Hey, it's not everyday you meet your soulmate,” you smirked sipping your juice.

“I guess,” he hummed with a goofy grin on his lips.

“Ask her out,” the corny voice from earlier instructed from the booth.

“Rook,” Colson scolded without looking back.

“Hi Rook,” you waved back to the smaller one of the group who laughed and waved back.

“Hi pancake girl,” he laughed leaning on the lanky one to his side.

“Oh no! Am I really pancake girl?” you laughed turning to Colson who was holding in a laugh himself.

“Yeah, but they are really good and you seem sweet so it fits,” he admitted turning to you. Just as he was about to say something he was interrupted by kind features.

“Better than OJ girl,” he said causing the small guy to burst out laughing again.

“Well yeah,” you laughed along with them.

“So, pancake girl, are you free to go to a concert this Saturday?” Colson asked rather boldly as if something finally clicked in him.

“Oh, for sure. Who is playing?” you asked. You weren't aware there was one this weekend let alone who was performing.

“Whatever you're nickname is for me,” he responded.

“Blondie?” You weren't catching his drift.

“Oh nice, pancake girl and blondie,” he chuckled rolling his eyes back followed by snickers from the booth.

“Hu- OH,” you yelled as you realized what he was saying.

“Yup,” he nodded. “Machine Gun Kelly.”

“Ooo, a rockstar,” you cooed grabbing his arm to confirm his was in fact glowing. It felt as though time had paused and it was only the two of you in the world.

“I'm glad you're 27 and here and everything ,” he smiled watching you trace his number.

“Yeah? How come? 26, 27, 28,” you counted as if it were any old number.

“You’ll see,” he hummed as he admired the glow.

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