#Middle School felt like a social experiment that ended up with me in a padded cell talking about how the rats make me crazy

[bug-finder-tyria]

I’m sorry guys but I just… Don’t have the energy today. Maybe I’ll come back later in the day, but I haven’t gotten all my stuff together (pencils, papers, fucks to give, that sort of caliber) for school & I’m just.

Yeah after what I’ve been through last year I’m not excited for Freshman Year.

[xxanaduwrites]

DOWNFALL (a.b.)

main hub of all important thangs

chapter 1

I believe in miracles where are you from? you sexy thing, sexy thing, you. - you sexy thing, hot chocolate

——

RIANNE SOLACE

Never in my life could I ever imagine that I'd be standing in the middle of some randos house. Sipping some random ass colorful drink — that I can't recall ever being pushed in my hand — squashed against other party goers. Listening to — might I add — the worst music I've ever heard.

Might as well just pull off the bandage now, and let you know that I — commonly known by my friends as 'Miss. anti-social — was never a so-called 'party-goer', especially right now. But, Sydney, being oh-so herself, insisted that I lighten up a bit and spend a night out with her. So here I was, completely against my will.

To sum up my experience so far, I'd say it completely blows. I never understood why people in high school enjoyed this endless drinking and squashing out on the floor. Same thing went for college and still applies in my twenties. Sydney always got a kick out of telling people that it was just because I was an 'old soul.' I knew what she meant, but sometimes I was quite certain she was trying to imply that I acted like a grandmother. I mean, hey — it wasn't my fault that her grandmother always set up Rummikub every time we visited. That game equaled my weakness. Truly a competition whenever I'd be around. So, I enjoyed hanging out with Marilyn. Was that such a crime? In Sydney's book, it seemed to be so.

But, I seriously couldn't complain about Sydney. Especially when she'd been there for me in college — wedging her way into my life as someone I could call my best friend. Someone I could trust with the parts of me I hoped no one else could see. So in that respect, I could handle another hour watching Sydney get piss drunk just for the hell of it.

I'd been watching her for the past few minutes, dancing with some dude I never saw before — making sure he wouldn't take her away. I didn't mind it really. It gave me a good excuse to detach myself from the looming crowd and join the other anti-socials against a wall. Or so I thought. Instead I was met with a couple squashed up against the wall, practically hot glued together. I could vomit. So, I took a long swig of my fruity drink and hoped for the best.

The wall felt cool against my back and I readjusted myself to lean a bit more comfortably. The bass from the loud speakers surrounding what was supposed to be a house, but seemed more like a ritsy Better Homes and Gardens rent-a-mansion — truly lodged into my ear canals. So much, that I didn't even notice someone appeared next to me, clearly trying to speak to me but evidently failing.

"What?" I tried to annunciate over the blaring music, blinking my eyes numerous times, hoping I could catch a picture perfect glimpse of the person in front of me. The nauseating spot lights danced in colors against their skin, evading into darkness every beat. I already knew I was failing.

Their mouth moved again, and I paid close attention to their lips. God, it was like a television on mute. I couldn't help but tumble over in laughter. Jesus Christ. I was already hella drunk.

Served me right.

Was the liquid in my glass this bright pink the entire time? Like neon pink? Was I going insane?

Un-hunching myself — if you will — I stood back up, adjusting my hair as if nothing happened. As if I did not just have a laughing fit in front of a stranger. God, I sure hoped this wasn't one of Sydney's big corporate coworkers. I'd just about die on the spot. To sum it all up, Sydney got a pretty good fucking job after college — and when I say good fucking job I mean it. This bitch managed to score an internship that got her sent to the city for a real-adult job, and I ended up tagging along. I guess reading countless Cosmo magazines as a child really pays off because now she is Miss. Scratch-pad-pen-and-paper-journaling-connoisseur.

And then there was me. 

"Woah, woah, are you alright?" The stranger's voice suddenly boomed in my ears. Ah, guess they did work. "Fuck, I didn't mean to freak you out."

"Quite alright," I managed through a hoarse voice. How the fuck were my vocal chords dead when I'd been drinking straight up liquid for the past hour? A mystery to me. "Sorry." I started laughing, like a horse— might I add. God, that was fucking embarassing. "I couldn't hear you."

"You're good." This time I was able to make out that the voice was attached to a man. A very handsome man with a silky accent. Jesus, what the fuck did I drink? "Sorry. I just -" He began, staring off into the crowd. With his figure leaned against the wall next to me, I could finally take him in. He wouldn't look at me as he spoke, but I could care less. Not when I had full range to absolutely gawk at his side profile. He was, in what I could define, as beautiful — feature wise. Button nose, plump curved lips, delicious blonde locks. I was certain any girl would destroy him, absolutely devour him. Why was this beautiful, clean cut, half buttoned up, chest exposed, simple gold pleated chained man, standing next to me? I didn't know. "I don't really know anybody here." He admitted my suspisions quite shyly, his eyes darting all around.

"I don't either," I admitted back, taking another long sip of my drink. Man was I truly drinking this whole scenario in. I truly hoped I wasn't dreaming it all. "I don't want to be here. If you couldn't tell."

"I figured. Classic move." He turned to me, gazing off into the distance, biting on his lip. "Stand off to the side to avoid all the chaos?"

"Precisely," I said, tilting my head to get a better look at him, but he still wouldn't look at me. "Can I suspect that you are doing just the same?"

He adjusted his position, leaning an arm against the wall as he scanned the party. The music turned up a noche at this very instant switching songs, leading him to have to lean forward and ever-so-effortlessly answer in my ear. "You're right on target."

And if I wasn't leaning against a wall right now, I sure as hell would have fallen straight to the floor — my drink going right down with me. I swore his voice demoted an octave, shifting gears to intensify the silkiness laced within his words.

"So," I began, swirling the straw in my drink, fucking up the cute little umbrella that was plopped in there. "Why come?" When I say that was bold — that was bold. Sober me could never, and I mean ever, continue a conversation for the life of me.

His chest constricted as if he was letting out some left over tension. "Didn't have much of a choice."

What that meant, I didn't know, but who was I to ask? "Right." I nodded, chalking it down to that he had to be here just like the rest of us. Well besides me. But, sure did Sydney.

Oh fuck, Sydney!

I was supposed to be watching her, and now I couldn't locate her. God, I hated being short. Even these heels were insufficiante over the shit load of  heads swarming the place like a flock of a million birds or those big ass schools of fish. How did the party intensify in such a short period of time? Or was it longer? Christ, I didn't know. Of course this Greek-fucking-god-ken-doll distracted me from the task at hand. I could only hope it was her coworker Dwayne — nope wait that ain't his name. That was the made up name for him.

Fuck, what was his name? Think Rianne. Brock.

Right, like Broccoli.

I'm sorry, but who the fuck names their son Brock.

Every time I think about him I just see Dwayne the Rock Johnson — hence Dwayne. Sydney with Dwyane the Rock Johnson would be really fucking cool though. Their kids would probably be mini Rocks.

For the love of Christ!

I must have said one of these things out loud, cause Ken suddenly looked at me with complete concern. "What's wrong?"

Detaching myself from the wall, I became acutely aware of the bass that transitioned into my head— a blaring headache imploding from tonight's activities. "I gotta go." Nothing else seemed to matter as I dove into the crowd, but then I felt really bad for leaving Ken all lonesome tonight, so I abruptly turned back around and waved my drink madly. "Have a good night, Ken or Apollo or whatever!"

He looked at me questioningly like I had ten heads, but then his brows relaxed and he unfolded his arms. His finger grazed his lips as he tried to stifle a laugh. Was that a ring on his pointer finger? Yes, I feared it was. He looked like he was giggling like a shy school girl. He was ridiculously cute. With his little feet crossed at the ankles and all. From here I could tell he had on black leather boots and a matching suit — his undershirt drawing a more casual and sexy look. God damn. Wait a second! Was that my little drink umbrella tucked behind his ear? That bastard must have taken it when I wasn't paying attention.

"At least the umbrella will beat the rain!" I called out.

And then he smiled like actually fucking smiled, a laugh drawing right out of him that I could only decipher from the rumbling of his chest.

Focus Rianne.

And then I was whisking into the crowd for my bestest friend who I sure hoped was not being abducted at this particular moment. How would I explain it to Marilyn the next time we played Rummikub?

Hi-ya Marilyn! It is so lovely to see you. By the way, your granddaughter drove off to Vegas or something and got hitched, or maybe she didn't. The world may never know. Let's play!

Skin that I did not want on my body was suddenly there. Boy, did I need a shower. The sticky sweat from others bodies attached on my own like flees as I merged my way into the crowd. It was hot as balls. I already missed my perfect wall next to that suction cup couple and that handsome lifeguard-model. But, I had to stay on assignment. I must stay on assignment.

Like an FBI agent on a mission, I scoped out the area. Channel my inner Dr. Spencer Reid, why don't we? "Has anyone seen a blonde about yay-high! Anyone?" No one responded of course. How could they when they were saturated by the euphoric atmosphere of the party.

And there went my drink.

Right on the floor.

In a puddle, by my feet.

Just Lovely.

Paper towels. A sister needed paper towels, immediately. To the kitchen I went. Diversion of mission, but rightfully so. Where would a kitchen be in this place? I wouldn't know. The future threw up all over it.

After a few minutes of mindless trekking and ripping my heels off after practically being impaled by these ridiculous shoes, I found what appeared to be the kitchen. But instead of finding paper towels, I found Sydney. Thanking my lord and savior. I could have kneeled to the floor and praised Eric Forman like Fez and Kelso did in that one episode of that 70s Show with Midge's whole underwear-sitch.

Eric you truly are a god.

"Syd!" I called, approaching her figure and sat atop a table sipping some neon green drink. Her feet swayed to the music as she giggled and leaned her head on some dude's shoulder. Was that my guy Dwayne?

"Riri!" She hopped off the table. Any other time, my pissed off button would turn on at the nickname. But, drunk me could care less. With a pep in her step, probably from the alcohol and getting completely drunk off of Mr. Broccoli-Rabe. She enclosed me in the tightest hug. "I missed you so much!" Once she broke away, she observed me with utmost concern. "Where've you been? Where'd you go? Oh my fucking God!" Her hands braced my shoulders. "Have you been drinking?"

I shrugged in her hold. "Guilty as charged." I raised a brow. "Now, how'd you figure that out?"

"You're all glowy and shit," she said without a beat of hesitation, wiggling her eyebrows amusingly.

"I could say the same for you." I nodded my head towards the Rock. "Is he treating you well? Cause if not I will rightfully beat his broccoli ass up."

Of course I said that as she was sipping on her drink, and she choked. Bad move. "Broccoli! I can't with you." She vocalized once she was done hacking up a lung. At least her drink didn't shoot out of her nose. Small victories. "Where the fuck do you come up with this shit in that mind of yours?"

"I don't know. It's just in the noggin, ya-know?" Raising my fist to my head I knocked on it in good measure. "All up in that watermelon brain."

"Yep, yeah." She moved back to Broccoli, placing her drink on the table. She whispered something in his ear before latching her lips on him in a heated kiss. Her face flushed when she pulled away. Instead of detaching from him, she dove right back in as his fingers trapped her chin for one last longing kiss.

Disgusting.

I missed you, my umbrella drink.

Finally, she escaped his hold, lacing her arm in mine. "Looks like it's time for us to go home. I have never seen you this drunk."

"I am not thattttt drunk," I defended myself immediately, but didn't break from her hold. She simply nodded her head back and forth and began dragging me along. I turned back around abruptly, suddenly remembering Broccoli. In what world would I ever talk to him? I supposed it was this one. "Good night, Dwayne-Rock-Broccoli!"

"Ri!" Sydney bellowed, her eyes popping out of her head as she stared at me in disbelief. Guess I wasn't allowed to be brutally honest with him yet. Were they not that deep into the relationship?

Whoops.

Guess you could call me a friendly drunk.

All I heard was a 'What the actual fuck?' as we dipped out of the party scene.

"Alright, I'll go call a cab. Can you chill out here by the door for a minute while I go do that and say goodbye to my boss?" She looked at me sternly.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." I waved her off, staring at the weird glass that was attached to the door frame. This futuristic shit was really fucking weird, but I couldn't lie that it totally mesmerized me.

I noticed now, it was raining. Practically downpouring. Some droplets of rain stuck to that weird ass glass, different specs of color shining against the water. Rain right now wasn't as odd as one would suspect in California. Especially after a long crusty dry drought. But, who was I to comment anyways? This night was weird as it was already. I shivered at the thought of walking through the rain, soaked from the trenches. Syd and I, of course, did not bring a single jacket.

One could have sephiced for the both of us if need be. Just toss it over the heads. Perfect. But, no.

Nothing.

Na da.

Maybe Dwayne had an umbrella or something.

Umbrella dude.

Umbrella dude still has my fucking drink umbrella. That shit would have been perfect. If I ever see that bastard again I will be wringing him a new one for stealing my only form of safety for the night.

But, I won't.

That I knew for sure.

That was all I could remember before everything went black, and I drowned into the trenches, dreaming of a man I just met.

——

oh.... yeah, okay Ri. sure....

welcome welcome to the austin butler whore house! welcome home friends.

i really hope you guys enjoy this. i wrote this in a complete spur of the moment, and i am honestly super excited about it. i hope you stick along for the ride. I hope ya love it <3

eric forman being a whole god for your reference purposes:

see ya soon, xanadu

[babykatsu]

PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

WORDCOUNT: 7k

RATING: nsfw ⛈

GENRE: smut!

WARNINGS: slow burn, swearing, kissing, no intercourse, foreplay, car sex, little bit of degradation, a littleeee rough!

⤷ SYNOPSIS:

as though fate had its worst intentions, bakugous car had broken down on the way to your high school reunion with you in the car as well. GREAT! Not only was it getting dark and chilly, you were also in the middle of nowhere... That really didn’t ease the atmosphere, especially when Bakugou was already hesitant on lending you a drive to the reunion. But with the discomfort, there always comes a way to ease it ;)

AUTHORS NOTE:

a special thanks to @laylahoran for not only helping me proof read and pick out the title for this scenario BUT also for just being there to support me through out this whole thing! Literally the purest friend🥺🥺💕💕 ilysmmm!!!

Also, this is my first detailed smut imagine so sorry if it’s a bit sloppy :(

Life after high school proved to be a lot more different than expected. For starters, after having moved to find better work opportunities in the city, you found yourself deprived of nearly all social interaction with your previous friends. Yes, you still caught up over text and call, but it was safe to say it was not quite the same. Not only did the hectic schedule of working for a hero agency clash with your friends’, when you were on your days off all your friends seemed to be busy with their own goals of becoming high ranking heroes. You sort of started living a more solitary lifestyle, a drastic change from your previous one.

So when you flopped down on your couch, your body sluggish and desperate for sleep after a bustling day of work, you felt suddenly energised. Eyes wide as you could just barely believe what you were reading. An email had illuminated on your phone screen, reading the following:

“Greetings class A! It has been nearly a year since we have all graduated and I’m in complete aw as to how far you have all come :) On a more dejected note, however, we have all seemed to grow more distant due to our work. I have missed you all dearly and believe the connections we all formed are amazing experiences we should not forget about! Though we may have kept in contact here and there, it’s evident that we all have been lacking. This is why I have taken it upon myself to set up a reunion party! More information is soon to be delivered in the next email, and I’m super excited to hear from you all. Arrangements with your agencies will take place as soon as confirmations come through. You’re previous classmate, Tenya Iida”

As though your prayers had been answered, you were greeted with that email. Now, this was an offer you couldn’t pass up! Without hesitation, your fingers started typing away at your phone, the pads of your fingers darting across the glass as though they had a mind of their own. You were determined to go, excitement flooding your sense at just the thought of the whole event! As your eager fingers hit send on the email a sudden thought crossed your mind.

Shit...

You hadn’t thought about it previously, mind racing and occupied with the general idea of a reunion, how were you going to get to the location of the party?

As said previously, life was not as expected after graduating, and though heroes lived a life with above-average pay, bathing in luxuries at times, it all took years of experience. No way could you have reached such a high status having worked for less than a year in this field. With the lack of money to your name, there were no chances of you owning a car at this very moment in time. Maybe public transport was a good option? But the delays, need for time arrangements and the entire coordination of your journey was already giving you a headache. The travel aspect was less than fruitful.

But you were going to get there one way or another.

Taking in a deep breath, you gently pressed the off button on your device, sinking your body further into the couch as you allowed your body to finally relax. Your mind pondered of all the different options, from uber’s and cabs to all the different forms of public transport available. But as your unresting thoughts echoed around in your head, you finally concluded. A conclusion that churned your stomach, a fluttery feeling pricking the goosebumps along your chilled skin.

You could ask Bakugou for a lift.

Though this plan seemed faulty, a high chance he would decline the offer to attend the reunion filled with “extras”, you still had your hopes up high.

Out of all the people who could have moved to the same part of town as you, Bakugou was the one. It was pure coincidence that you both had ended up not too far from each other, a block away in fact. Though throughout all three years that you attended u.a you had barely spoken to him. You had your exchange in words here and there, the occasional insult would be thrown your way, but oddly enough out of all people in the class, you received his harsh treatment the least. You just figured, he barley knew you so acknowledging your existence was a waste of his time. Yet his subtle acts of warmth towards you didn’t go unnoticed by your subconscious, a strange feeling invading your body. You developed feelings for the boy.

Shockingly, you found yourself attracted to him, even with the lack of a solid foundation for a proper friendship. You didn’t know what exactly enticed you so much, maybe it was his toned chiselled frame or perhaps his confident exterior. Whatever it was, it had your heart thumping faster at every glance you two shared, and the thoughts that lingered with these unexplainable emotions were even more hectic. It was as though every second you spent alone, confined by the four white walls of your room, you lay wondering of all you wanted him to do to you. A peak of curiosity soon turned into a full-fledged lust for him. The moment you batted your eyelids shut, you’d picture his muscular body towering yours, his hands pinning you down as he’d shamelessly make you a mess under his touch. A thought of him could make your entire body explode. It was all far too complicated for you to process.

That’s why when you moved to a new part of the city, in hopes to start work as well rid yourself of your weird infatuation, you went pale at the sight of him only a couple streets away from where you newly lived. You tried to convince yourself this was indeed a one-time occurrence, yet you’d see him again and again... and again. He most certainly lived near you, it was undeniably true.

Every time you’d return from work, shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk with an echoing tap, you’d always pass him. At first, you shared no words, not a single exchange between you two until one day he randomly spoke up. You remember that moment like the back of your hand, as though it happened just a few minutes ago. Admittedly, the conversation was nothing spectacular, but it still caused a rapid shock to strike through you as the memory of you exchanging numbers with him lurked your brain. The whole event was so bizarre and it still seems unreal now.

Snapping from your daydream, you came to a solid answer. This was probably the best time to put his number to good use. Unlike you, he had a car and could most likely drive you to where ever this reunion will take place... That’s if he decides he is going to attend as well. That’s where your plan seems to not be so successful.

Yet, you had no other choice. He was your best shot at finally getting a break from this borderline isolation.

Nervously, you picked your phone up once more, gently scrolling through your contacts until a familiar name was visible: ‘Katsuki Bakugou’. A nervous feeling burnt at the pit of your stomach as you anxiously went to type out a message. Your shaky fingers tapped the keyboard, with every additional letter that was added to your sentence, your heartbeat sped up even faster until you felt it pound against your ears. Who knew you could feel so nervous about a generic message... It was Bakugou you were texting after all. Not only was he known for being an uncontrollable hothead, but he was also the guy you often fantasied about. You were more than flustered by this point.

Finally, after rereading your message frantically over and over again, you hit send. You felt your heart quickly sink before a chill ran through your entire body. Now you play the waiting game...

On the other end of the line sat a pouting Bakugou. Just like you, he had received the same email, his face crinkled into a frown as he read the disgusting email present on his screen. Like he’d show up to watch a bunch of extras overly excited for no reason. The entire thought of a reunion made his blood boil. At the same time, however, he wouldn’t mind seeing a few faces.

Sure he hated the class, but there was no denying he missed the ‘old days’. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff, in complete annoyance at how soft he’d become. Was he really contemplating going to that shitty reunion? Apparently so, as he decided to type up a quick response to Iida's invite.

A thought he had tried awfully hard to suppress soon made its way to the surface. It was you. Out of all the people he’d want to meet at the reunion, it had to be you. Though he didn’t necessarily have to be at the reunion to view you.

Similarly, he found himself drawn to you for some obscure reason. All throughout high school up until now. During school, he would always gawk at the way your skirt swayed side to side as you walked or even the way you leaned against the desk arching your back most perfectly. It had Bakugous eyes adhered to you. He just wanted to run his hands across your entire body, his lips bequeathing marks on every soft sweet spot on your skin. You’d be his, the deep hickeys that scattered your delicious skin marking his territory. Never had he felt so sexually frustrated, desiring a person so bad it was making him lose his mind. He had better things to worry about, like brining the number 1 hero for starters, but no matter how much he tried denying his deepest desires they just wouldn’t leave.

He tried so hard, he even moved just to get away from you. Of course, that didn’t work, when he saw you strutting down the sidewalk, your clothes hugging all your curves in a way that made his mouth water. He wanted you, and he wanted you bad!

And Bakugou gets, what Bakugou wants.

Just as that memory swirled his mind, a ping came from his phone, the gentle vibration of the device in his palm breaking him from his fantasy. His vermillion eyes went wide as he glanced down at the notification that had just gone off. The name he wanted to see most displayed.

‘Hey! It’s [name], hope I’m not being a bother :) I’m sure you also received the email about the reunion party, I hope to see you there. That’s if I can get there... Maybe you could give me a lift? Don’t worry if you don’t want to, I understand!’

Bakugou bit his bottom lip as he squinted down at the information in front of him. As much as he wanted to agree, his pride didn’t permit him an agreement to your proposal so easily. Rather than cooperating the way he wanted to, he typed out a message juxtaposing his real desire.

And there started your exchange in messages, the back and forth and your “convincing” to give you ride. Though we all know Bakugou was going to give in to it either way.

Weeks had passed since then, the texts that followed after between you two was kept to an evident minimum. The only exchange included a catch up on your plans for the reunion and that was about it. You were more anxious by the day, knowing the reunion date was coming closer to existence.

Next thing you knew, the day had arrived.

You were seated in the passenger seat of Bakugous car. Nervously, you shifted in the leather seat, hand resting on the inner door handle as your eyes followed the passing trees that came in and out of view.

The sky was faintly clouded, a ray of golden sun piercing through parted clouds, dripping a soft sunset hue over the ivy leaves of the trees. You sat inside the car, yet you remembered the faint chilly winds that caressed your skin. Overall, the weather was decent, far from perfect but not awful either.

The tranquillity that filled the car was apparent, the most noise that was present was the hushed sound of the radio playing, the music placid. It only intensified the awkward silence that was held between you both.

Playing with the hem of your dress, you spoke up in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “well, aren’t you the conversationalist” you spoke sarcastically, a hint of playfulness in your voice. Though you spoke suddenly, Bakugou didn’t seem to divert his focus from the road. His face stayed in its usual state, not even a smirk dared to spread across his lips. Clearly, your playfulness was not reciprocated. The silence engulfed you both for a while longer before he finally responded. His reply was less than adequate, a simple hum.

You shifted your attention back onto the view outside, watching as the car drives deeper and deeper into some sort of forest. The trees grew larger, the suns light being swallowed by the towering greenery above. Cars began passing more infrequently until you had not seen one in ages on the road that had become more narrow.

It felt like you had been in this car for an unbearably long amount of time. You couldn’t tell if time was just moving slower than usual at how bored you were at this very moment in time or if your destination was farther than you expected.

Pulling your phone from your bag that rested atop your lap, you checked the time.

‘6:23 pm’

It was confirmed that time was just moving awfully slower than usual. You had only been in the car for a little under 15 minutes. There was still a fair amount of time left until the party started, so there were no worries on being late though you still had quite a few kilometres to cover. Relieved, you placed your phone back into your bag. You slowly let your eyes rest shut, hoping a quick nap would pass time more sufficiently.

And as you had just calmed your nerves enough to sleep, your body suddenly jolted forward. Your seatbelt immediately binding around your chest, pressing your body flush against the seat as you braced the impact of the sudden stop of the car.

“For fuck sake” Bakugou finally spoke up as he kissed his teeth, gripping the steering wheel remarkably tight that his knuckles were becoming white.

“what just happened?”. Out of curiosity, you questioned the man, his face now looking more annoyed than ever. His hand fiddled with the car keys, the engine roaring repeatedly as he tried turning the car on. “What does it fucking look like, dumbass?” he barked at you, still frantically trying to turn the car on. It didn’t help that he had now started slamming the steering wheel between each attempt.

“Are you out of gas?” You spoke up innocently. There was no denying you were now, in fact, feeling less hopeful that you had enough time to make it to the reunion.

For the first time, he finally made eye contact with you. His rose eyes staring at you in frustration, in complete disbelief at how oblivious you were.

“Of course not! You fucking moron, the shitty car just broke down” He barked at you before flinging the car door wide open, slamming it with a harsh bang as he made his dramatic exit.

You watched him pace up and down with distinct stomps, muttering something under his breath while typing away at his phone. Taking the hint, you exit the vehicle as well. “So, what now?” you irritate him further with your persistent queries.

“How the fuck is there no service? HOW AM I MEANT TO GET THIS SHIT FIXED?” his yells echoed through the vast scenery that surrounded you.

With him stressing, you couldn’t help but taste your mouth go dry as panic began settling in as well. It was no use having the two of you in a frenzy. Rationally, you walked over to Bakugou, your phone gripped in your hand as you formed the only logical suggestion. “Try my phone”

He didn’t even question or ridicule your suggestion like he probably desired to, instead yanking the phone out of your hand and attempting to dial-up a number. It didn’t take long until his eyes rolled back in failure and his jaw flexed with gritted teeth. No luck there either clearly.

“Guess we aren’t going to the shitty reunion. You're fucking welcome!” He yells once more, slapping the phone back into your palm. The worst somehow ended up playing out, complete defeat washing over your body.

Resting against the car, you dropped your bottom lip into a slight pout, the chilly air growing cooler.

You were in the middle of nowhere, the only form of transport for miles was now down and to top it off you were getting cold. Your body rapidly began to shiver, goosebumps pricking along your exposed skin.

“Aren’t you fucking smart” Bakugou scoffed as he stared at you, arms crossed over his broad chest. “didn’t even bring a jacket while wearing some stupid dress”

Rather than yelling like he had been doing for the last couple minutes, he was calming his nerves by teasing you. It may have been the adrenaline that made him feel so open to being more playful, or maybe he attempted to distract himself from how much of a loser he currently felt with a broken car. Whatever it was, he was now smirking at the girl in front of him, tantalising her about the cold.

“I didn’t know I’d be stuck outside, did I?” You teased back, rolling your eyes at him. The fact he was being so calm on the outside was making you feel less worried, yet more nervous at his sudden change in mood than anything.

His eyes stared you up and down, analysing your shivering state as the wind began picking up. Another sigh left his parted lips before resuming to speak. "Go sit inside the car. No use shivering like a dumbass if you can't handle a bit of wind" he chuckled slightly as he spoke, as though to assure you his comment was in fact not as rude as he intended it to come out.

Though you obeyed, taking careful steps around the car to sit back in it, you decided to throw your own snarky remark his way. "Not one to talk when you're wearing a jacket". You give him a 'look', before fully submerging yourself in the cars shielded warmth. It may have broken down not too long ago, but it was still well heated. An instant chill rolled down your spine as your body quickly adjusted to the sudden change in temperature.

"Sorry, princess. Didn't realise I had royalty as company". That devious smirk sprawled itself across his tanned face as he followed your move, getting in the car himself. Something about the way he addressed you made you quiver, the innocent word was also oh so seductive. That sudden feeling of arousal pent up inside you, fogging your thinking.

"I- don't get too cocky now". Your reply came out as a jittery stutter, senses overwhelmed by his playful tone that had you heated. Senses scattered, too flustered by his seemingly unintentional words. It's not like he knew about your fantasies of him or how your sinful thoughts begged for him to call you such names. And now as you were in the midst of it all, you couldn't help but lose yourself.

He let out another husky laugh. The way you broke apart at the simplest words only stroked his ego. No denying he purposely chose those specific words to see how you'd react, and to his surprise, it went far better than expected. "Here, have my jacket then if you wanna keep yapping about it"

Speechless, your vision was once again fixated on him. Gawking at the leather jacket that slipped of his physique, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You swallowed the nervous lump in your thought down, butterflies invading your system as you watched.

You expected him to carelessly throw the jacket your way, alternatively he leaned over. His significantly larger body mounted over yours as he placed his jacket over your exposed legs, instant warmth tickling your chilled skin.  His hands felt so smooth as they lightly brushed against your thigh, the accidental touch shooting straight to your core. It was humiliating at how quickly you discomposed around him, cheeks red and breath hitched. You just couldn't help it, a presence like his was way too intense. Especially, at this moment.

"U-um, so what are we going to do now?" you try to change topics as you felt your current heated state become far too overwhelming, whole-body hot as your thoughts began drifting to all the wrong places.

He peeped his eyes, as though deep in thought."Wait until someone hopefully passes, I guess?". The uncertainty in his tone had you feeling concerned again. The worry bombarding you, diverting your inner emotions elsewhere. You've wanted to meet your classmates so vigorously for ages, all fired up for weeks as you obsessively counting down the days, only for this to happen. Not a single car had been in view for ages, god knows until the next one would come. That's also assuming that the car would even stop for you two. This was so disappointing, a hollow feeling in your chest as you sulked.

"I guess? For god sake, we aren't even going get to the reunion in time!"

Bakugou had noticed your sudden change in mood. In all honesty, he didn't quite understand why you wanted to see those annoying dickheads anyway, but he felt strangely sympathetic towards you. "Oi, I'm fucking sorry. I'll drive you to see your friends another time".

"What if there isn't another time?" you mope at him, facing your body towards him. He doesn't reply right away, mirroring your actions instead to examine your current behaviour. There was no way he could make this situation better unless the car magically fixed itself. Which to be fair, would never happen. As his eyes scanned you, he noticed the way you were still shivering, the once heated car losing its warmth. It was his best shot at diverting the conversation.

"You're still shivering, dumbass". His red orbs were fixed on you as he reached out his arms towards you. They felt considerably warmer than you as they rested on your shoulders. You followed his gaze that watched his own hands as they rubbed you up and down carefully. The slight friction between his hands and your skin bringing you some heat. It only sunk in then that his large hands were tracing your arms, his warmth transferring to you. Flusters took over your sense again. As much as you wanted to speak up right now, you knew you'd only choke up on your words, far worse than your stutters. As your stomach swirled, you felt ardour rush to your face. A rose haze coated your skin, eyeing the way Bakugou rubbed his hands against you.

"Looks like you've warmed up, that's for sure" he grinned at you, noticing the way your chest began rising and falling, heartbeat thumping rapidly. The way your face flushed scarlet as your eyes danced around your atmosphere, all at his touch. He noticed it all. And boy was it rubbing his ego.

"I-uh, yeah. I mean- no?". Your words came out jumbled, unable to form proper sentences when his ruby eyes finally gazed up at you. The mysterious glint in them made you feel overwhelmed, unaware of what move he would make next.

"So you need to be warmed up a bit more, huh?". His hands swiftly grazed your arms, just about hovering over your soft skin. Careful touches traced it, your words departing from your brain. The entirety of your focus was on the way Bakugou's fingertips tickled you delicately, the electric feeling flowing throw you. "Speak up for me. Do you still need to be warmed?". He snapped you back into reality without warning, only to put you in a trance again. The way he spoke with such dominance, demanding for you to speak, only stirred your imagination further. You had pictured moments like these so many times, him ordering you to do as he says. And as these thoughts rushed to the surface, you started to feel heat build between your thighs.

"Yeah, sorry!". Frantically, you attempt to respond, a nervous giggle followed your sentence as it came out of your mouth. "If that's what you want, princess". He emphasised the nickname, his lips curling into a sneer as his hands began to wander. The soothing touch travelled upwards, his hands gliding over your skin, one resting on your warmed rosy cheek. His sudden action had your breath hitching. You'd portray such touches numerous times yet nothing could have appointed you for this moment as your nerves fell apart.

As you tried to ration the situation out in your mind, his eyes finally locked with yours. The intimate stare had you holding your breath. Gently, he massaged his thumb against your cheek as he slowly moved his hand to the back of your neck, chills dripping down your spine. His eyes flickered between your eyes and mouth, hinting at a kiss. Was he going to kiss you? You must have been dreaming or something. But it was all happening, right now. There was no time to contemplate the event at hand. His face was edging closer to yours only inches apart, his proximity to you titillating. As you waited for his lips to finally come in contact with yours, you began losing patience. It's like he purposely was a millimetre away from your lip just to taunt you. You took in one more breath, easing your nerves before crashing your lips against his.

Your initial cold shivers were a way for Bakugou to change the subject from his broken car, and it all had worked out in his favour. Admittedly, this was not the outcome he was intending for, but he was not complaining either. He was finally able to seel a kiss with a girl that had invaded his thoughts for years. A dream come true if you will.

His tender lips felt so soft against yours, the sweet caramel taste engulfing your senses as they oozed from his lips. The once overwhelming anxiousness that had you falling apart beneath his touch was now easing as you melted into the passionate exchange between the two of you. Bakugou's lips moved in sync with yours, sucking and tugging at your bottom lip hungrily, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His pearly whites sunk into your bottom lip, giving them a smooth tug before sliding his warm tongue in. As he did so, his hand explored your body, slowly descending down the side of your torso, gripping you tightly. His other hand, that had itself placed at the back of your neck, suddenly wrapped around your throat. A rough squeeze was given, encouraging a gasp to erupt from your voicebox. His unforeseen move made you feel sensitive, clenching your thighs together to relieve the desperate ache between your legs. The warm wet muscle that had slipped inside your mouth earlier adventured in your mouth, swirling around your tongue and trailing every inch. It all felt so unreal.

Suddenly, Bakugou pulled away with a string of saliva connecting you both. His hands were still firm on wherever they were on your body. Through parted lips, he panted as his gaze darted. "Fuck, looks like you got me warm as well now". His signature smirk was back, his hand that held you by the neck pulling your face closer to his. Vermillion eyes analysed you, watching the way your face was flushed, lips were wet and lipstick was smudged. Realising he probably had some red on his lips as well from your makeup, he brought one hand to his face, wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand. The image before you only made you wetter, thighs already tightly clutched. And as though he could read your mind, he brought that same hand down to your thigh with a slap. The impact of his hands against you instantly shot to your soaking core, though the actions didn't hurt you much. You felt a tingling sensation to dance across your skin. Rubbing the impacted area, Bakugou continued to look at you, his eyes occasionally diverting to were he was soothing your thigh. His hands began needing your thigh higher and higher until his fingers dipped into the gap where your two thighs made contact. Teasingly, he drove one thigh from another to part them. "And you're definitely warmed up now, baby". His words insinuating how flustered you were.

He brought his lips back to yours as he worked his fingertips up your leg. His touch was so close and you felt so sensitive, you couldn't help but let out a shaky moan into the kiss. You wanted him so bad, craving to feel every inch of him against you. Your hands eager, you brought them up to his shirt. Clenching your hands around the piece of fabric, you tugged him closer to you, the distance between you two unbearable as you sat in separate seats. Your actions brought him to a sudden pause, causing him to pull away. "Are you that desperate for me?". His seductive tone made your face heat up and even more aroused. By now, you sure as hell knew your cunt was drenched. "You want me so fucking bad, don't you?". His hand was back in motion, fingertips almost touching you through your underwear. All you could do was moan in response as you craved his touch. "I can't fucking hear you". He taunted you once again, before his fingertips finally stroked your wet panties, massaging your folds through the cotton. You felt your breath tremble as he applied gentle pressure.

"Y-yes, I've wanted you so bad for a long time". Voice unsteady, you could just barely articulate. You felt the way his fingers caressed you through your underwear, index finger circling your clit so that the fabric would trigger your sensitive bud. Another moan emerged out your lips as you took in a profound breath. "I can tell. Your fucking soaking and it's all for me, babygirl". His cool breath trickled down your ear as he murmured against it.

You couldn't bear it anymore, the distance practically eating away at your patience as sexual frustration overflowed your senses. His fingers continued to shower you in affection but it was no longer enough. You needed more. "Please, Bakugou. I-I want you so bad right now". Hitched breaths and shallow moans rolled off of your tongue as you spoke, Bakugou's eyes sinful as he observed you.

"You'll have to be more specific than that". The same mockeries filled your ears, craving to see you flush as you spoke of all your desires, embarrassed by their explicit nature. As he awaited your response, he slowed his movements down, only teasing you further as it stript you off the pleasure you so desperately yearned for. "Shit, I want to feel you. I want to be closer- please".

The words dripped from your mouth as though it was second nature, the thirst for him more than unambiguous by your needy state. With that, his hands left your core, the cool air surrounding you as his warmth departed. You watched him carefully with longing eyes. The way his cherry centres locked on you as his grip came to your waist. His firm hands grabbed hold of you as he granted your wishes, placing you on his lap.

You sat on top of him, his toned legs holding you up and his hands pursued your body. The way your thighs rested atop his, your sensitive core throbbing against his hardening cock and the way his palms massaged your curves felt all so surreal. Subconsciously grinding against him, you felt his cock brush up against your folds, and with every stroke of your hips, the friction was shooting an electric buzz through you. "Didn't know you were such a needy slut for me". He purred at you with that deriding look in his eyes, smirking smugly. All you did was hum in return to his taunts.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you lingered your fingertips along his neckline, gradually pulling his face in for another kiss. Devouring each other's lips once again, Bakugous hands slipped beneath your dress, lifting it to loosely drape around your waist. Your legs fully displayed, the frigid air hurried to leave goosebumps along your skin. Resuming his excursion, his fingers wandered back to where they seized you previously. As he leaned into the makeout, he rested your back against the steering wheel before tearing away from your mouth. Keen set of eyes watching you."Tell me exactly where you want my hands to go, baby. Your lucky I'm willing to take directions". For a moment you realised the exception he was making.

Bakugou was known for listening to no one but himself. So the fact he considered something like this, even if it was during an odd time, spoke volumes. It only stabilised, if not boosted, the feeling that you harboured for Bakugou. Yet there was no time to ponder over his actions. You hesitated to respond at first, slightly embarrassed to provide him with an answer.

"I want you to touch me". You deeply flushed at your reply but Bakugou only squinted at you. "Babygirl, your such a needy bitch but won't even get into specifics. Come on, you can be open with me". His words only strengthened the blush that overlaid your skin to deepen, if that was even possible. Even in your profoundly flustered disposition, you needed him and retaining your mouth shut was not an option.

"Bakugou, you know what I mean. Here". You childishly whine before grabbing hold of his hand, guiding it to your heat. His firm hand was resting on your bound cunt, not making a single move but rather looking at you intently. "Good enough" was his only response.

Swiftly, his slender fingers submerged under the fabric of your underwear, coming in contact with your wetness. The suddenness of his actions provoked a gasp to emit from your mouth, his fingers already exploring you. The feeling of his warmth travelling tenderly up and down your folds, with the occasional attentiveness to your clit made you squirm as you sucked deep breaths in. Your chest came up and down as air raced to pervade you, your moans getting gradually louder as you rubbed and arched against his touch. His attentive touch began centring more on your delicate bud, picking up his pace as he soaked in the sight of you falling apart atop him. Your heavy breaths and moans that filled the air and the way you desperately moved against every circular motion of his finger. Fuck was the sight something he had dreamt of for so long, and it was far better than he imagined. "You fucking like that huh?" he uttered through gritted teeth as his face crept closer to yours, observing the way you tightly squeezed your eyes shut, mouth dropped open.

"Shit, yes. Just like that" your breathy response came out as just above a whisper, too caught up in the pleasure of his touch. And just when you thought it couldn't feel any better, you felt his two fingers slip inside you. Your warm pink walls instantly sucking his fingers in, frantically tightening against them. A lusty moan shot out of your mouth, the overwhelming feeling of him fully submerged within you, pumping in and out. His fingers curled to hit just the right spot before you could fully adjust. The sensation was all too much and you felt the desire consume you. Panting and moaning, you could barely make sense of your surroundings as he didn't hesitate to advance his movements by pumping harder and faster, your wetness trickling down his bronzed palm.

His pace only intensified, his fingers gliding in and out of you, rubbing against your contracting walls that made your stomach burn. Burn in a way that made you almost lose control as it tied knots in your abdomen. Every spot that made your body arch against its will, legs jutting and twitching, he hit it all. And just as you edged nearer to your orgasm, moans building up at the back of your throat, ready for release as your nails dug into Bakugou's forearms. He came to a sudden pause, retreating his fingers, now soaked in your juices. You felt the dissatisfaction of his lack of attention, yearning to be touched again. Thick pants filled the car as Bakugou smirked at you and at the way you couldn't help but grind against him to supply for his loss of attention towards you.

"Princess, you didn't really think you'd get it that easy" he spoke tauntingly, rubbing your thighs as he trailed kisses on your collar bone. He'd wanted to mark up your delicate skin so many times, his presence forever embedded on you. Sinking his teeth on your flesh, he sucked and licked it, earning a soft moan from you against his ear. The tickling sensation of your breath against him accompanied by your lewd noises only hardened his growing erection. The restricting tightness of his trousers becoming infuriating for the boy.

He left mark after mark, immersing in the way you rubbed and groaned into him. "Bakugou... I need you. All of you.". Your words were like music to his ears, a combination of sounds he'd wanted to hear for so long. You begging for him to please you, make you his. It didn't even take him a second thought to know what he wanted to do to you, almost agreeing instantly. "Show me how bad you need me then". The challenging statement made you feel more heated, already in complete aw at the way his lips marked your skin.

You gently pushed him off you, pressing his back into the black leather seat, planting a delicate kiss on his lips before ducking between his legs. The position was cramped, the compact space of being under the steering wheel, legs crossed as you shifted your body further back until you could feel the disengaged pedal of the vehicle.

Bakugou sat with eager eyes on you, waiting for what you'd do next. To be honest, he felt uncomfortable at his lack of control at this very moment, already plotting how he'd regain it once more once he caught onto what your plan was. "Is this your way of proving yourself" he snickered at you, your hands on his belt, the clinking of the metal drowning out his voice. Through the material of his trousers, you could see the outline of his bulge, tight around the fabric restraints.

And just as you went to undo the restraints, unravelling the package that was contained, your head had hit the soft padding of the steering wheel. The sudden beep of the car horn went off, alarming the two of you. "What the fuck," Bakugou spoke up first in confusion. The car had obviously broken down only a few minutes ago yet it had finally decided to cooperate and disturb your guys' self-indulgence.

"Perfect timing" You giggled as you let your hands fall from his belt, slightly disappointed by the interruption. You wanted to continue this fantasy, see where it would take you both but you had other priorities on your mind as well. Like getting to the reunion for starters."Don't look so distressed, baby" Bakugou spoke softly as he lifted your chin, admiring you and the marks he left all over. "We will finish what we started, after all, I've been wanting this for so fucking long" He admitted and you couldn't help but redden at his remark.

You delicately slipped from under the wheel, dragging your dress down to cover your flashed skin. "I'll be looking forward to that then" You fire your own flirt his way, tipping over to leave a gentle peck against his lips before cleaning your lipstick from his face. He responded with a scoff and a rolling of his eyes, diverting his attention to the road to start driving again.

"I would say cover up the hickeys, but I want all those damn extra's to know who you belong to now" He smirked giving you the side-eye. Only then did you notice your wrecked state, desperately trying to fix your appearance in the small overhead mirror.

Bakugou steadily drove to your destination as his large hand rested on your thigh, you both wondering where you'd finish this excursion...

🏷TAGLIST

join my official taglist by filling out my form!

@eraserhead-legal-child

@denkiiiuwu

@scrumptioushouto

@wasteofspace288

@ilovepizzaandimhot

@raspberrysunshinebby

@yvesskz

@jisnuq

@stupidbitchtm

@plutoxxxworld

[noodlerel]

miya osamu as your best friend  (≧◡≦) ♡

    ➢   you met osamu through a baking class during the summer break of sixth grade. osamu was amazing at cooking but he wasn't really that confident in his skills in baking.

    ➢   you first thought he was almost just like every other guy in the class; forced by their mothers to join. but to your surprise, he was more skilled than anyone there. he took his work seriously and would get the most positive comments from the instructor.    

    ➢   the first time you guys interacted was when you were asked by the instructor to find a partner and bake a cake. the scenario given was of a one-year old having a Lego themed birthday party.

    ➢   after the directions and conditions were given, many people in the class immediately approached osamu and asked if they could be his partner. you were about to ask someone who lived by your block to be your partner, but before you could even stand, osamu had already made his way through the crowd of students and now stands before you.

    ➢   "u-uh, hey, uh.. i know we've never acknowledged each other before, m-much less talk but would you mind being my partner? the way y-you design is really amazing and you get the most recognition out of everyone when it comes to d-design. i uh,, figured if we could-"

    ➢   you noticed that the boy wasn't really good at socializing because he would often hesitate and stumble upon his words. so you interrupted him to save him the effort and embarrassment.

    ➢   "yeah sure!"

    ➢   you swore you could see the relief in his eyes as you cut him off.

    ➢   "i'm (l/n) (f/n). but my friends call me (n/n). you're miya osamu right?" you continued.

    ➢   "h-how did you know my name?"

    ➢   "oh! i consider you the best in class and look up to you. it's only common sense to remember names of your rivals, right?"

    ➢   before he could reply to your joke, the instructor spoke. "enough with the chit-chat children! i need to hear the sound of the oven timers, not your bickering."

    ➢   osamu was really cooperative and would ask advice from you from time to time. he really admired your designs and would always listen with much interest whenever you geeked out about the importance of understanding what the client wants or about the elements of decorating.

    ➢   you and osamu were the first group to finish your cake. with the remaining thirty minutes left, you got to know each other more. and what are the odds when you both figured out that you were going to attend the same middle school? with that, you both promised each other that you would stay in touch even if you guys would be assigned to different classes and sealed it with a pinky swear.

    ➢   the day ended with a smile as the instructor gave nothing but positive comments on the cake you both made. "wow what amazing balance this cake has!" the instructor exclaimed. "i have to tell you, the flavor is out of this world. a beautiful, elegant, classy, stunning and simply fabulous work of art all wrapped up in a birthday cake of a lifetime. if there was a real client, they would be more than satisfied with your work. and not only did you make it look stunning, it tasted superb! you gave me everything i asked for and more!"

    ➢   you and osamu exchanged smiles and an awkward handshake before completely parting ways.

    ➢   the day finally came where you entered the gates of inarizaki high. you immediately went to check if you were in the same class as osamu. you used your finger and scanned the paper posted on the board from top to bottom. before you could finish reading, someone from behind of you spoke up.

    ➢   "hey (y/n), i checked your name and you're in class 1-A," the person behind you sighs and continues. "while i'm in class 1-B."

    ➢   you turned your back to see osamu with disappointed look.

    ➢   "samu!" you screamed and enveloped him with a hug. "i thought you forgot about me! i kept on sending you letters but you won't write back."

    ➢   "i-i'm sorry.." he said, eyes glued to the floor. he then lifted his gaze to the wall in front of him. "i was busy with volleyball practice." he continued, without stuttering. if only you could've seen the look in his eyes when he mentioned volleyball. he didn't hesitate. he didn't second guess. he was confident.

    ➢   you immediately pulled away from the hug to see a blushing osamu that couldn't look you straight in the eye. "WHAT!? you play volleyball?"

    ➢   but then again, even though osamu was clearly confident in his skills in volleyball, he couldn't really be confident around you─the only friend he has─he couldn't help and feel cautious. he didn't want to lose his only friend. "y-yes.."

    ➢   "woah! that's so cool!" you didn't know much about the volleyball─much less know the technical terms of the players.

    ➢   "s-so.. do you wanna walk to cl-"

    ➢   "'SAMUUUUUU!!" a guy screamed from the right side of the hallway. both of you looked at the direction of the scream and saw a boy that LOOKED THE EXACT SAME WAY as osamu but with a brighter hair color.

    ➢   "oh uhm,, (y/n) this is my twin, atsumu."

    ➢   TWIN!? A TWIN!? osamu never mentioned a twin. and yet there they both were. personalities; not similar to any extent. but then, you noticed. his twin, atsumu was holding a volleyball on his right hand. ah, so there it was. a link to all the differences. they shared the same hobby. no, wait. hobby? no. it was slightly different from a hobby. slightly? no. it was VERY different from a hobby. when osamu told you he was busy with volleyball practice to reply to your letters, he didn't stutter. he didn't hesitate. his tone was confident, different from the way he usually spoke to you.

    ➢   "ohayou (y/n)-chan! 'samu has told me all about you." he beamed. "i didn't know this deadpan brother of mine had the word 'friend' in his vocabulary."

    ➢   "uhm (y/n) wait a minute.." osamu said as he drags his brother to the corner. you nod in response.

    ➢   when osamu talked to his brother, his tone and facial expression changed. it was more stern. more astringent. more tonic. "look. (y/n) is the ONLY friend i've ever made, okay? and YOU don't mess this up for me." osamu said sincerely. this was the first time atsumu has seen his brother this genuine for something─for someone rather─other than volleyball, cooking and their grandma.

    ➢   little did they both know, you were listening. you felt extremely happy. happy that osamu considered you as one of his friends.

    ➢   osamu didn't wait for his brother's reply and walked away. "i'll walk you to class (y/n)."

    ➢   and ever since that day, osamu would always visit your class to pick you up so you could eat lunch together. you would both eat lunch at inarizaki's rooftop. and every thursday, osamu would bring a meal he cooked especially for you. and every friday, you would bring something you baked especially for him. there are certain days where atsumu would join both of you on the rooftop and the twins serve as the taste tester for the experiments you would do with baking.

    ➢   you and osamu would hang out at your house during weekends, only because he didn't want atsumu to disrupt your bonding time. every other weekend would be osamu teaching you how to cook or you teaching him how to decorate.

    ➢   and the other weekends would be osamu practicing volleyball. he begged you not to watch their matches─let alone practices─but you would force him to bring you at least once a month. you got along with the members real well, which gave osamu more reason not to bring you.

    ➢   everytime you would forget to bring pads to school, osamu has got you covered. everytime you would have a hard time in understanding a lesson in school, osamu has got you covered. everytime you would feel down, osamu has got you covered. everytime you feel like the world is against you, osamu has got you covered. everytime you were in rock bottom, osamu has got you covered. and you were the same to him too. you were always there for him too. and he appreciated this. he would do anything─ANYTHING─not to lose the sibling dynamic and friendship you had.

    ➢   through the years, you've gotten to know osamu really well. you saw his first match for inarizaki. his first win. his first loss. his first bench. his first failing grade. his first girlfriend. his first heartbreak. his first call to the principal's office. and like you, he saw many of your firsts too. and you knew, the friendship you have won't go missing anytime soon.

THIS IS MY FIRST HEADCANON :D  GIVE THIS SOME LOVE PLEASE AAAHHHHHH

[hurryupimstarving]

I remember in 9th grade my english teacher made us write an essay about a turning point in our lives. I think I bullshitted my way through it. I was fourteen, emo, depressed, and thought I was ‘too cool for school’. But looking back on it, I’ve had a lot of turning points in my life and if they had never happened I’d be dead.

The first one was when my grandpa died. I was eight, he was getting taken off life support, I didn’t understand. There were words being strung together in an order that I couldn’t comprehend. “Let him go slowly.” “End his suffering.” “It’s better this way.” What are these words to an eight year old who only ever understood her grandpa as the man she had met a year ago who flew kites with her and bought her tooney chicken from KFC. I didn’t understand why he died. Later I learned it was because he was a heavy smoker and he only stopped when he met me. A good sentiment but a late one. My family never talked about it afterwards. I still sometimes find myself thinking he’s in the Philippines or somewhere out of my reach, but alive. That was my first meeting with Death. He smiled sweetly at me as he took my grandpa but after that the world seemed darker. A scary place where good men were taken from little girls who didn’t have a lot of good in their life. 

The next was when I was eleven. It wasn't a big moment but it stirred something in me. My teacher made us read “The Breadwinner” and that was the first time I ever comprehended the great expansiveness of this world. My biggest concerns at the time were keeping my friends and keeping away bullies. Parvana’s biggest concern was staying alive, where her father was, and feeding her family. I thought to myself, “How can life be so cruel to a child?” Later I learned that life is cruel to a great number of children and has been so for a very long time. I chose to dive into literature after that, expanding my views, learning about horrors, trying to understand Death.

He greeted me personally when I was thirteen. Young, depressed, and anxious I told my parents about my two suicide attempts. They took me to a doctor who told me they would forget that meeting. They would erase this from the records and forget my confession. This way I could still ‘get a job’. I broke after that. I crashed like a mirror dropped from a dainty hand and shattered into a million pieces. I sat alone in my bedroom with a pair of sewing scissors. Everything else sharp was taken away from me. I didn’t move for hours. I was frozen. Time stood still and all I did was look at Death. Death looked back at me. We didn’t speak, just paused there like dancers before a song begins. This is the first time he spoke. 

“Do you want to keep living like this?” He asked.

“No.”

“Then you have two options. Either you die or you live differently. Simple as that. What do you want?” He made it clear it was my choice. He never pressured me or forced me into something I didn’t want, just sat with me and waited. It took awhile but I chose to live. And live I would, much differently I promised him. 

I changed a lot after that. After the conversation with Death I was determined to live better. I still had anxiety, I still had depression, I still struggled. But at least I was trying. I signed up for a  week-long program in a different province. It was a youth conference and there we were learning about international affairs. It was my first time away from my parents, my first time away from my friends, my first time alone. I was so awkward it was painful. I’m embarrassed for myself. I made no friends, I didn't talked, and cried myself to sleep four out of the seven days. I was offered another choice after it ended. I could stay that awkward and shy or I could change. And change I did.

At fourteen someone believed in me. Even before I believed in myself. This was in the shadow of the conference and while I wanted to me more confident, it was easier said than done. Now I was kind of a smart kid, I never participated in class but I got decent grades. But then my social teacher made me a lawyer in a mock trial. I was shitting bricks. Not only did I have to talk in front of the class, I had to talk for a while and argue and win. I could’ve backed out but let’s be real I was too shy to talk to my teacher about it. So I did it. I ended up loving it. You don’t know the rush of confidence you get when you beat the popular kids in a mock trial with all their friends voting. I realized I was good. I wanted to keep being good. I chose to pursue law after that. I’m thankful for that teacher. At eighteen I had an early quarter life crisis. See while most people were planning their lives, I was busy trying to keep off Death. Each day I struggled with him and sometimes he won. I couldn’t see into the future because that day wasn’t even guaranteed. But I hit the age thirteen year old me never thought she would. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

“I guess you have some choices to make, huh?” Death smiled at me.

I chose to be a political science major and pursued that dream of becoming a lawyer. I started planning my life. Most people said it was too early but for someone who didn’t think she’d get to live this long I was excited. I wanted to travel the world. I wanted to learn all that I could. I wanted to experience all that I could. But first up was the world. A bit of a daunting task but after facing off with Death nothing could be as challenging as that. 

I was nineteen when I studied abroad in Kampala, Uganda. I guess you could say I went all out. I travelled alone to a country I barely even heard about and there I was with eight other strangers in a three bedroom house in the middle of Africa. It was one of the best choices of my life. I don’t think I can recall a time I was happier. I was making strides in my law career and trying to understand why the world was so cruel to children. I interned with a group that made reusable sanitary pads and studied at Kampala University. I didn’t want to build a school, I wanted to know why a school was even needed. My salvation was tied with theirs and that is how I view everyone around me. I made some of the best friends I’ll ever have. Partied the hardest I ever had. Met the weird people I’ll ever meet. And fell in love with humanity. We are such a strange, crazy and simple species. But it also broke my heart. I realized how much privilege I lived with when a girl told me she wished she was a boy so she could go to school without worrying about her period. Another with better grades than I could ever wish to get told me university was a dream not meant for her. I felt like a coward when I could run from the pandemic. I decided to devote the rest of my life to evening the scales of this world.

I’m twenty now. Medicated for my anxiety and depression. I have alopecia and my hair is falling out. I want to study in the UK. I want to work in the international field. I want a family. And even though I still dance with Death I love my life, I wouldn’t trade it for an ounce more happiness. These turning points shaped me and these tears watered my roots and had me reaching for the sun. But I know this isn’t the end. I know this isn’t the best it can be. I know I’ll still struggle but I’ll take it because I love living.

I don’t know who I’m writing this for. If it’s for me or to help someone else or to get this narrative out of my head. I don’t know if this will help, I don’t even know if it’s comforting for me. But I feel that it needs to be said.

I was told the path to the good life was the constant acknowledgement of one’s choices. Understanding what we’re doing and the reasons behind them. I agree. Everything I’ve done in my life has been a choice. The path of my life is laid out before me but it is my choice to move forward. Staying where I am is comfortable and safe but Death will always be there. He’s the only thing I have to contend with and fear. But he’ll still be with me in the same spot and he’ll be with me further up. And what’s in front of me is new and exciting, so why not move forward?

[kennedysfm]

。·    .    ˙        ⌈    hailee    steinfeld    +    cis    female    +    she    /    her    +    the    polymath    ⌋        yo    ,    have    you    meet    that    KOOK    ,    ��𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲    𝐯𝐚𝐧    𝐝𝐞𝐫    𝐲𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐫 ,        yet    ?    —    no    ?    well    ,    to    give    you    a    little    heads    up    before    you    do    ,    they’re    a    TWENTY    ONE    year    old ,    INTERN    AT    A    TECH    FIRM    AND    ASPIRING    COMEDIENNE ,    and    have    been    coming    to    coston    each    summer    for    TEN    YEARS    .    since    i’ve    known    them    ,    they’ve    reminded    me    of    𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠    𝐚𝐧    𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦    𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧    ,    𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠    𝐨𝐟𝐟    𝐭𝐡𝐞    𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫    𝐨𝐟    𝐡𝐞𝐫    𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝    𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬    ,    𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲    𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬    𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥    𝐨𝐟    ‘    𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫    ‘    𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬    ,    𝐚    𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜    𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲    ,    𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲    𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝    𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬    ,    𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬    𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠    .    usually    they’re    quite    𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡    &    𝑗𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟    but    just    make    sure    you    keep    an    eye    out    for    them    around    town    because    i    heard    can    be    quite  𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙    &    𝑛𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐    as    well    so    here’s    hoping    they    aren’t    the    ones    to    undo    this    whole    peace    pact    they    have    going    on    this    summer    .    but    just    between    you    &    me    ,    i    kinda    hope    it    all    falls    apart    .    the    rivalry    keeps    this    whole    boring    town    interesting    .

* tw death 

okay    so    this    is    kennedy    !   forgive me she is a new muse imma just ramble JEKHERJWHKERW

grew    up    in    san    francisco    ,    california    ,    to    a    dad    who    owned    a    major    high    -    end    sports    equipment    brand    equivalent    to    like    .    nike    p    much    .    mom    was    a    cognitive    therapist    who    took    in    some    major    clients    so    life    was    p    good    for    baby    ken    !    she’s    an    only    child    and    it    shows    kjekwekwje    .    her    parents    were    incredibly    loving    ,    particularly    her    mother    ,    who    balanced    out    her    dad’s    stern    expectations    with    a    delicate    touch    .    ken    was    p    happy    as    a    kid    ,    living    in    a    swanky    ass    penthouse    and    enjoying    her    parent’s    hard    work    !

her    maternal    grandparents    retired    out    to    coston    which    is    where    kennedy    spent    her    summers    .    the    season    was    major    time    for    brand    deals    to    pick    up    so    her    dad    was    international    on    business    and    her    mom    had    an    influx    of    clients    ,    so    it    worked    out    well    for    ken    to    have    a    summer    away    to    enjoy    a    change    of    pace

she    was    always    pretty    bright    but    her    teachers    described    how    curious    it    was    to    see    kennedy’s    two    sides    .    when    it    came    to    classwork    ,    she    was    focused    and    kept    her    head    down    ,    tending    to    keep    to    herself    to    ensure    a    job    well    done    .    they    explained    what    a    notable    storyteller    she    was    on    the    flip    side    ,    thriving    off    the    attention    she    got    when    she    described    something    that    had    happened    on    the    playground    in    such    detail    and    with    such    phrasing    it    would    hook    the    attention    of    many    ,    if    not    most    ,    of    her    peers    .    her    parents    had    always    known    this    ,    kennedy    and    her    penchant    for    putting    on    elaborate    skits    at    home    whenever    the    two    of    them    could    spare    5    minutes    to    dedicate    to    her    antics

she    took    to    the    engineering    side    of    things    rather    efficiently    in    science    classes    ,    leading    to    an    enrollment    in    a    STEM    magnet    high    school    that    truly    fostered    her    talent    for    robotics    .    bright    ,    vibrant    ,    and    enthusiastic    about    her    craft    ,    with    a    personality    and    a    work    ethic    that    readily    charmed    a    handful    of    her    professors    ,    she    landed    herself    a    spot    at    the    prestigious    california    institute    of    technology    .    college    was    where    kennedy    truly    blossomed    ,    able    to    explore    herself    and    her    passions    outside    of    the    rather    structured    lifestyle    she    had    been    brought    up    in    .    she    experimented    more    with    her    style    ,    reached    out    to    mingle    with    new    people    ,    and    did    things    nobody    would    have    ever    expected    from    the    rather    studious    girl

kennedy    became    known    throughout    her    circles    for    being    the    storytelling    friend    ,    recounting    adventures    with    her    group    in    such    a    way    that    she    commanded    the    presence    of    the    room    ,    making    people    double    over    with    laughter    and    feeling    herself    glow    under    the    knowing    that    she    was    bringing    so    much    entertainment    to    so    many    people    .    though    she    never    considered    herself    to    be    a    performer    ,    more    and    more    she    found    herself    enamored    with    the    experience    of    making    people    laugh    ,    distracting    them    from    whatever    their    life    may    look    like    ,    and    hoping    to    push    to    give    people    at    least    a    moment    of    happiness

she’s    blasting    through    college    with    ease    until    a    phone    call    at    the    end    of    her    sophomore    year    upends    her    life    as    she    knows    it    .    her    dad    is    incoherent    explaining    her    mom’s    sudden    collapse    in    the    middle    of    a    session    at    work    ,    an    unexplained    occurrence    even    beyond    the    understanding    of    the    medical    examiner    .    with    her    mom    being    perhaps    the    closest    thing    to    a    best    friend    ,    she    didn’t    take    the    passing    lightly    .    kennedy    buries    her    mourning    in    her    work    ,    a    forced    distraction    from    the    devastation    she    experiences    at    losing    the    one    person    she    really    ever    felt    herself    with    .    she    takes    up    more    internship    hours    ,    more    lab    hours    ,    shuttering    herself    out    of    a    social    life    to    the    point    that    all    she    does    is    pad    her    resume    and    pass    out    on    her    bed    from    exhaustion    and    crying    herself    to    sleep

it’s    a    heartbreak    for    there    to    only    be    one    van    der    yaeger    parent    present    for    her    graduation    ,    a    moment    that    kennedy    takes    upon    herself    as    somewhat    of    a    decision    to    try    and    stick    to    a    career    that    would    make    her    family    legacy    proud    .    of    course    ,    she    adores    the    concept    of    entertaining    others    ,    but    the    sheer    unlikelihood    of    ever    getting    anyone’s    approval    pursuing    a    lifestyle    like    that    is    enough    to    push    the    thought    into    the    recesses    of    her    mind

she    graduates    top    of    her    class    and    the    silver    lining    to    it    all    is    a    formidable    offer    to    do    an    internship    at    a    major    tech    company    in    silicon    valley    .    she    takes    it    up    without    hesitation    and    is    preparing    to    start    in    the    fall

the    rivalry    has    never    been    major    in    kennedy’s    mind    until    last    year’s    incident    with    the    pogues    ,    since    then    she’s    been    on    edge    with    the    prospect    of    issues    escalating    beyond    someone’s    control    .    she’s    not    the    type    to    discriminate    on    the    basis    of    a    stupid    label    ,    but    out    of    hopes    to    keep    everyone    in    one    piece    ,    she’s    rather    hesitant    when    drama    starts    to    stir    .

personality    wise    ,    kennedy’s    best    known    for    wearing    her    heart    on    her    sleeve    .    she    SUCKS    at    keeping    secrets    and    you    can    usually    read    her    emotions    right    on    her    face    .    she’s    a    chronic    over    thinker    which    is    rather    ironic    for    someone    who    seems    to    have    no    filter    ,    endlessly    spouting    off    whatever    mindless    thoughts    she    deems    valuable    for    the    sake    of    sharing    .    she    has    a    plethora    of    expressions    that    deliver    what    her    words    can’t    and    is    often    the    one    in    the    friend    group    making    commentary    when    LEAST    asked    for    .    she’s    got    a    big    heart    and    likes    to    see    her    loved    ones    thriving    and    happy    .    she    hesitates    to    say    something    mean    or    lie    to    someone    and    will    often    phrase    things    in    the    most    convoluted    way    due    to    her    hesitation    with    confrontation    .    she    ain’t    want    no    SMOKE    fr    .    on    the    plus    side    ,    that    makes    her    super    earnest    and    straightforward    with    her    sentiments    —    she’s    not    the    type    to    pretend    to    be    anything    she    isn’t    and    tries    to    live    her    most    authentic    life    (    when    it    suits    her    bc    shes    .    a    bit    of    a    hypocrite    jwhejhwe    )

though    she’s    got    a    definite    neurotic    streak    in    her    ,    she    has    a    sense    of    confidence    that    allows    her    to    just    push    forward    and    go    on    with    her    life    ,    though    she’d    rather    streak    naked    in    the    middle    of    her    family’s    jewish    synagogue    than    to    fail    at    something    .    her    grades    and    her    work    ethic    are    motivated    by    a    joke    her    mom    used    to    repeat    to    her    after    having    seen    it    on    facebook    :    ‘    you    better    get    good    grades    ,    you’re    asian    not    bsian    .    ’

on    the    note    of    middle    aged    memes    ,    kennedy’s    most    notable    strength    is    her    sense    of    humor    ,    something    she’s    been    lauded    for    her    whole    life    .    the    bitch    is    the    DEFINITION    of    comic    relief    and    is    just    so    stupid    funny    !    she    doesn’t    handle    tension    well    so    her    go    -    to    response    is    simply    an    attempt    to    lighten    the    mood    ,    often    with    a    well    -    timed    quip    that    will    do    the    trick    .    she’ll    occasionally    miss    the    mark    and    just    make    things    more    awkward    ,    which    in    that    case    ,    watching    her    squirm    is    funny    enough    lmao    .

in    terms    of    weaknesses    ,    her    tendency    to    over    -    think    make    her    often    act    on    impulse    before    having    thought    a    situation    all    the    way    through    —    she’s    so    prone    to    want    to    over    -    do    things    ,    she    under    -    thinks    as    an    attempt    to    be    ~spontaneous~    and    will    often    misread  �� or    fuck    up    a    situation    that    could    have    been    easily    avoided    kwjehrwr    .    being    so    in    -    tune    with    her    emotions    means    she    has    a    tendency    to    overreact    to    things    on    occasion    or    be    completely    devoid    of    a    reaction    ,    whichever    the    roulette    lands    on    tbh    .    she    can    cry    for    2    hours    uncontrollably    just    because    someone    else    is    crying    ,    or    repress    emotions    until    they’re    so    pushed    back    they’re    untouchable

not    a    spitfire    by    any    means    she    just    wants    2    be    friends    and    make    everyone    laugh

coston    is    a    break    from    her    fancy    fast  pace    life    and    a    place    for    her    to    come    back    into    herself    .    she    represses    so    much    of    her    personality    in    order    to    be    taken    seriously    that    sometimes    she    starts    to    feel    inauthentic    in    her    own    skin    ,    so    the    ability    to    be    around    a    place    that’s    less    judgy    (    although    admittedly    ,    kooks    are    pretty    judgy    )    is    still    something    she    treasures    greatly

[hsmakingmeblush]

I’m Lost In Your Fire

A Vampire Journalist Harry Fic

*Read Chapter One 

Chapter Two

Harry can’t help but let out a groan as he lets his body sink deep into the warm water filling his pearly white porcelain bathtub. It feels like a relief as the water sinks into his skin and envelops his sore muscles in warmth. He lets the soothing scent of lavender fill his nose and allows calm to overtake him as his bath bomb continues to fizz in the quiet of his bathroom.

Today hasn’t been the worst day he’s ever had, not by a longshot, but it’s been long and stressful. Putting up with pricks like Jimmy at the office all day and not being able to say anything can make the tension in his body skyrocket with holding back any reaction. And believe it or not, working on fluff pieces he could writing his sleep can actually be more draining than the hardest hitting journalism beats. There’s only so many times he can type out the words London Poodle Parade before wanting to break his computer himself.

But now that that piece is over, finally, he’s got to get down to the real business. Mr. Turner’s finally given him a story he can actually sink his teeth into… so to speak. It may not be the hard hitting stuff they write down in the political new section, but a profile feature actually gives him something to work with, real substance that’ll occupy his mind and give him something to research. Which is why he’s decided to take a nice long soothing bath to help ease him into the research process. Admittedly, it’s been awhile since he’s had to do anything this extensive.

So, Zoe Price, who are you?

He clicks his laptop on from where it was sitting asleep on his wooden bathtub tray along with his wine glass that was decidedly not red with wine.

He decides to start his search by typing her name into Google- the best way is oftentimes the simplest. He’s almost surprised when he sees the rest of her name pop up in his suggestions when he’s only typed “Zoe P” so far, but then he remembers that if this woman was truly a nobody he probably wouldn’t be writing a profile on her. He clicks down to her name and hits enter and the first thing his eyes are drawn to on the screen is the photo in the corner of a woman with warm eyes and dark hair. She’s not bad to look at, but he doesn’t let himself linger before he moves on to the rest of the webpage.

The first link up is for something called London Bites. Was she some kind of food blogger or something? Sharing recommendations for London’s hidden dining hotspots for tourists and residents alike can all enjoy the best of what the city had to offer? Hm, didn’t seem likely that he’d be assigned a profile on someone that… mundane.

He clicks the link, mentally reminding himself to go back and look through the twitter that had been listed just below on the search page.

At the top of the page is a a black and white photo of London with London Bites across the top in red cursive. Not exactly the vibe he would expect from a food blogger.

As he scrolls down, he sees yet another photo of who he presumes to be Zoe herself if the caption is to be believed.

Zoe Price.

24.

London, UK.

Political Science, B.A.

But in this one her hair is shorter, lighter, and any warmth Harry fleetingly thought she’d had minutes ago is nowhere to be found. She looks more severe in this photo, it’s to be expected when it’s clearly been professionally posed and shot for business purposes, but Harry can’t say he likes the way she looks in it all the same. Not that it matters what he thinks. He’s writing a piece on her and her work, not on… her looks or how friendly she may or may not be.

To the right of her photo is a little blurb that reads:

It can be hard keeping up with all the goings-on in London politics and current events. There’s politicians galore, people with opinions everywhere you turn, and vampires just around the corner. Join Zoe Price every Monday as she interviews guests, debates hot button issues, and provides you with your weekly dose of social and political insight. Whether you want to be a more educated citizen, you want to impress your friends with being up-to-date in all things politically relevant today, or you just like the sound of Zoe’s voice, this is the podcast for you.

Subscribe and listen to London Bites now on Apple Music, Spotify, or wherever else you like to stream podcasts.

Below that are little Twitter and Instagram icons which presumably link to Zoe’s own social media. A cursory scroll down also reveals the latest episode of London Bites available to listen, but Harry’s still thinking about her podcast description. “Vampires just around the corner.” He’s already getting the feeling that this piece isn’t going to be all that great of an opportunity as Mr. Turner suggested it would be. The churning in the pit of his stomach only worsens when his eyes focus on the title of her latest podcast episode just under the streaming widget.

Vampires: Friends or Foes

Vampires. Society loves to hate them. Are they really the filthy bloodsucking monsters politicians would have us believe? Probably. But join me as I share my own experiences with vamps and the stories my subscribers have shared. Who knows, maybe the results will surprise you.

It seems pretty obvious now, Zoe Price is no mundane food blogger. Instead she’s a… an antisanguinist? A sympathizer? Well, no definitely not a sympathizer if she says that vampires “probably” are all those vile things people say.

At this point Harry’s not altogether sure what to make of Zoe Price. And he’s not so sure he’s looking forward to figuring it out. Figuring her out.

He swallows down a big gulp of lukewarm blood before he clicks play and closes his eyes, allowing his body to sink deeper into the soothing lavender and chamomile oils that have mixed in with the warm water.

Hi everyone, welcome to London Bites! I’m your host Zoe and today we’ll be getting into what seems to be everyone’s favorite topic to discuss: Vampires. If you’ve been a subscriber for awhile you might remember our episode from a few weeks ago, The Londoners guide to dealing with vamps featuring guest Maggie Sinclair. If you’re new to the podcast don’t fret, you can go back and listen to self defense instructor Maggie Sinclair share all her tips and tricks for handling a vampire situation. I’ve received a lot of messages on social media since then letting me know how helpful you listeners found that episode, so as usual feel free to tell me what you want to hear and maybe it’ll make it into the podcast!

Now onto today’s business. I hope you have a snack and something to drink because today’s episode is gonna be a long one. There’s no guests today. Insert “boooo” sounds here (but not really because who has the budget and skill for that? Not me that’s for sure.

Harry’s ears prick up just the slightest bit at the laugh she lets out at her own self-deprecating joke, but otherwise he remains still and faintly tense as he waits to here what else Zoe has to say.

Today’s show is going to run a little differently than usual, but hey it’s always fun to spice things up once in awhile, right? Instead of a guest joining me, I decided to pose a question to my wonderful followers on Twitter and Instagram. What have your experiences with vampires been like? And bleeding heck you lot had many a story to share!

So without further ado I’ll get right into it. And if you’re asking yourself right now “when is Zoe going to share her own story?” well tha’s a good question and I’ll be sharing at the end so I guess you’ve got to listen to the whole episode to get to it. No one likes a podcast fast forwarder! At least I don’t.

Ah, our first story is from Amy right here in London and she said that she once saw a vampire help an old lady cross the street. Hm, well who’s t’say it even was a vampire. It’s London! The weather is absolute shite if the number of jackets I’ve got in my wardrobe is any indication. Who’s t’say it really was a vampire and not just a human whose mark was covered by his coat. I’ll just put that one down as a… maybe vampire experience.

Harry doesn’t know whether he should scoff at how very human it was for Zoe to bring up those damn marks or seethe at the notion that a vampire helping someone was impossible. Nonetheless, he finds himself rubbing the pad of his thumb over his own cross marking on the skin of his left hand, just as dark and inky black as the day he got it.

He must get lost in his thoughts, thinking back to how it felt to get the mark branded on— the excruciating, his tears as he looked over the doctor’s shoulder to find his mother’s eyes, her own solemn expression— because once Zoe’s voice floats back through his ears, she’s already in the middle of sharing someone else’s story.

We could just let the filthy leech stay in our town, Zoe, and living right by a school no less? Not on our watch. Me and a few of the guys got together and drove the bloodsucker right out. The best part was he didn’t even try to fight back! Can you believe how humiliating? If he wasn’t a disgusting monster I might’ve felt bad for the kid really, but ‘ey he got what he deserved.

Well listeners, what a harrowing account by Joshua in Liverpool. It just goes to show the lengths some vamps will go to concealing their identity and how we as citizens must be vigilant. It was great to hear that none of those children got hurt before Joshua and his friends were able to get rid of that vamp.

Harry’s breathing picks up at that, fast and loud in the quiet of his bathroom. His hands find the edges of his tub and his fingers curl over the porcelain in vice grips. That was- humans call them the monsters but when they do things like that… humans are the deluded monsters in this world.

And this, this Zoe Price. She’s just, well, it doesn’t seem like there’s a question about her being an anti now. The way she talks about vampires… pretending like she’s willing to give everyone a fair shake. Ha! Fat chance at that.

It’s then that he hears her say “it’s truly a godsend that those god forsaken leeches can’t procreate or else we’d truly have a mess on our hands trying to get not just adult vamps but their spawn too.”

He can’t slam his laptop closed fast enough. He wants to scream at all the anger bubbling up from inside his chest. These people, they don’t know anything! Harry’s disgusted at how Zoe’s voice curled around those words, how she said them as if she’s said them before. Most of all, Harry’s angry at the fact that hearing that sentiment isn’t new, far from it really. The fact this his whole life, he’s had to listen to human talk about how vamps shouldn’t have kids, how it was a good thing they couldn’t. Well, he only really started hearing the latter when he grew older, when people forgot, when he moved away from Manchester and nobody knew him or where he came from.

All the same, it makes him sick to hear and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do tomorrow when he’s supposed to call this woman and set up a meeting. He doesn’t know how he’ll stand being on the phone with her let alone seeing her in person.

To stop his thoughts from swirling around in his head, he lets his body sink down until he’s submerged in his bathwater. He lets the silence overtake him and feels his tense muscles relax and his limbs grow heavy. He thinks of his mother and how mad she used to get at him when he did this as a child. He thinks about how warm her body felt as she wrapped him up in a towel and held him close to her chest and whispered how much she loved him in his ear. He thinks about how much he misses her. How now there’s no one here to pull him out of the bath and dry him off. So he stays like that, in the dark and the silence until sleep overtakes him.

---

*This fic would definitely not be written if it wasn’t for the amazing Danie @angelinsheer so thanks binch! And if you’re enjoying this fic just know that Danie’s been a huge help at planning and holding my hand through the entire writing process 😂

[recentanimenews]

Summer 2019 Anime, Ranked.

With the exception of Fire Force’s twelfth episode, we’ve wrapped up our coverage of the Summer 2019 season, which is just as well since we’re technically in the second week of Autumn.

Between Braverade, sesameacrylic and MagicalChurlSukui we watched and reviewed eleven shows in all (plus additional coverage from Oigakkosan, not detailed here), totaling 132 episodes, or approximately 53 hours. Without further math, here’s how we ranked those shows, and why.

11. HenSuki

RABUJOI Score: 7.00/10 MAL Score: 6.83/10

Pros: Novel premise, colorful pastel palette, likable characters, generally witty banter, risque ecchi situations that never cross hard lines of decency.

Cons: Uneven at best animation, silly central mystery that drags on too long, “twist” resolution feels like a cheat.

Verdict: An enjoyable, fluffy guilty pleasure. I try to watch one per season.

10. Lord El-Melloi II Case Files

RABUJOI Score: 7.77/10 MAL Score: 7.44/10

Pros: Built-in goodwill from Fate/Zero, always intriguing setup for cases, sumptuous setting, production, and mechanical design, stirring score, bonkers magical battles.

Cons: Excessive magical technobabble can be exhausting, conclusions to mysteries can feel contrived/arbitrary, non-Fate fanatics will end up hopelessly lost by most cameos or name-drops.

Verdict: A pale shadow of the classic upon which it’s based, but nonetheless a fun and moderately clever detective series.

9. Fire Force (Episodes 1-11 of 12)

RABUJOI Score: 7.82/10 MAL Score: 7.75/10

Pros: Gorgeously bizarre alternate-universe setting, elegant world-building, virtuoso action sequences, powerful orchestral soundtrack.

Cons: And MC who is dull and cliched within an inch of his life, Characters who go from evil-to-good (or vice versa) at the drop of a hat, a tedious central conspiracy, the potential for character bloat, frustratingly uneven gender balance, pathetic bouts of fanservice.

Verdict: A stylish show primarily about spontaneous human combustion might’ve weathered news of the horrific KyoAni arson attack, but isn’t quite good enough to watching following into the Fall.

7 (tie). How Heavy are the Dumbbells You Lift?

RABUJOI Score: 7.83/10 MAL Score: 7.68/10 Pros: A fresh, original premise to which it remains totally devoted, marvelous comic timing in the rapid-fire, self-deprecating, fourth-wall breaking dialogue, lovable and believable MC, decent animation, one hell of an earworm OP.

Cons: Ecchi elements and a superfluous Russian chick don’t add much, some parody bits are too on-the-nose, the show loses momentum in the final couple episodes.

Verdict: The show that inspired me to get off my skinny, underdeveloped backside and actually join a gym for the first time in my life!

7 (tie). Cop Craft

RABUJOI Score: 7.82/10 MAL Score: 6.94/10

Pros: Cool reverse-Isekai-lite premise, Range Murata character design, toe-tapping OP and lively soundtrack, entertaining buddy cop dynamic, engaging fights and chases.

Cons: Lame villains, some odd narrative choices, inconsistent/unfocused direction, disappointing animation, underutilized supporting cop cast, lots of loose ends.

Verdict: A show with some good parts to work with, mostly used badly. A wasted opportunity that’s not as good as our episodes ratings indicated.

6. DanMachi II

RABUJOI Score: 8.25/10 MAL Score: 7.45/10

Pros: Appealing, charismatic characters you love to root for, amusing romantic polygons, tremendous score, superb utilization of twelve episodes to tell a variety of engaging stories with a beginning, middle and oh-so-epic end, culminating in a quiet finale that doesn’t forget its core goddess-child dynamic.

Cons: Villains’ barks prove far worse than their bites, a couple slower episodes between mini-arcs don’t really distinguish themselves, and that huge Amazoness Phryne…what the hell?! 

Verdict: After the very lame Sword Oratoria spinoff DanMachi got a proper sequel, focused on the characters we cared about, full of emotion, excitement, and good old-fashioned fantasy ass-kickin’.

5. Fruits Basket 1st Season (Episodes 14-25)

RABUJOI Score: 8.50/10 MAL Score: 8.36/10

Pros: Impeccably-rendered characters and depictions of their various psychological issues, dark and poignant flashbacks, exquisitely cozy slice-of-life, a good balance of the mundane and the mystic, and hard-hitting cathartic scenes.

Cons: Some members of the Souma family are more interesting (and tolerable) than others, but even the less interesting ones get plenty of screen time, Tooru’s saintly selflessness can wear thin at times.

Verdict: A beautifully-crafted second half that rewarded patience by delivering some of the strongest and most moving episodes of the year.

4. Master Teaser Takagi-san 2

RABUJOI Score: 8.58/10 MAL Score: 8.40/10 Pros: Truly magnetic chemistry in the central pair, Deft use of subtle facial expressions and body language in the animation, superb performances by Takahashi Rie and Kaji Yuki.

Cons: Like the first season, the various teasing games can grow repetitive, as can Nishikata’s denseness and inability to see more than one or two moves ahead, the side stories involving side characters often felt like padding.

Verdict: Continues and refines the brilliantly simple teasing formula of the first season, while ever-so-gradually blurring of the line between teasing and flirting. A sweet and touching, slow-burn portrayal of young, awkward first love.

2 (tie). Vinland Saga (Episodes 1-12)

RABUJOI Score: 8.67/10 MAL Score: 8.57/10

Pros: Flawed but rootable MC whose character is more complex than it initially seems, his multi-layered antihero mentor, exemplary action and battle sequences, powerful score, compelling exploration of the hard old world, with enticing glimmers of a brighter new one.

Cons: That said mentor would keep a kid dedicated to murdering him around so long stretches credulity at times, those battle sequences sometimes feature individuals or groups doing superhuman things that detract from the otherwise naturalistic milieu.

Verdict: While not quite as big, loud, epic, or bonkers as Attack on Titan, or Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress, Vinland Saga is arguably Wit Studio’s most balanced and human series. Looking forward to the second half.

2 (tie). Astra Lost in Space

RABUJOI Score: 7.77/10 MAL Score: 7.44/10

Pros: Very well done futuristic world- and space-building, a large-ish main cast that you steadily come to know and love, the sense of family that arises from the crewmembers’ experiences together, an optimistic spirit of exploration that isn’t constantly beset by mortal peril, creative planets and lifeforms, thankfully subverted expectations for a Lerche-style bloodbath.

Cons: “Character gets a backstory” formula to some episodes felt repetitive at times, the crew almost faces too little mortal peril considering their circumstances, they similarly rely on a lot of luck, some major plotlines and twists could have been left out and still resulted in a pretty strong show.

Verdict: Maybe the season’s biggest surprise hit, the ambitious Astra calls to mind some of the best of live-action shades-of-gray sci-fi (Firefly, Battlestar, Expanse) while maintaining an old school optimistic, exploratory outlook. It set out to do and say a lot, and was mostly successful in doing so.

1. O Maidens in Your Savage Season

RABUJOI Score: 8.58/10 MAL Score: 8.40/10 Pros: Fearlessly tackles tough social topics on adolescence, sexuality, gender roles, upbringing, and abuse, ably juggles multiple, diverse love stories and triangles at once, pleasingly drawn and animated, and despite all its serious themes, doesn’t leave out the comedy.

Cons: What seemed to be an irreversible dive into an abyss that would tear the five girls apart, they work almost everything out almost too easily for a tidier ending than expected; while the show dips a toe in LGBTQ themes through Momo’s awakening, her’s is one of the least developed arcs despite being one of the most interesting.

Verdict: A rare-for-anime honest and unblinking exploration of the awkward, painful, and sometimes savage emotional journey to adulthood all kids must face (and not always at the same speed). By the numbers, the best show I watched this Summer, and the one I looked forward too most from week to week.

Summer 2019 Big Board:

By: rabujoistaff

[captaindaddykru]

you hurt the ones you love (i don't believe that)

for @obviesbellarke based on this photo ;)

Raven has always prided herself on her work ethic. She didn’t come from much, her parents did not plan on having a child which about described her relationship with them, and she worked part-time jobs ever since the goverment allowed her to. (Since they put her in the system and the system failed her, she felt like she could pretty much do whatever she wanted to the system. So sometimes she repaid the cards they dealt her by doing some not so legal hacking into college databases to slightly change rich frat boy GPA’s and make some extra cash.) 

It paid off, because now Raven works for NASA and she didn’t even apply for the job. They asked her to come work for them. Who can say NASA asked them to come work for them? Raven Reyes can. Why? Because she is a certified genius who worked her way through high school, and college, and a master degree, and still managed to look halfway attractive, get in thirty minutes of exercise a day and keep a semi-active social life throughout it all. 

She loved her job. She did, but—but it also meant long days, a lot of overtime, even more time spend on business trips and conference calls. If it wasn’t for her boyfriend Zeke working in the same building as her, she’s pretty sure she would never see him either since she barely ever goes home. She just happened to luck out and get the most amazing, understanding and supportive friends in the universe. 

Besides, after spending half her life ‘being friends’ with Finn—who fucked her over and ghosted her after mere nine days apart at different colleges—Raven has come to learn what real friendship is. Emori tags her in a meme at least every other day, Harper brings over fresh vegetables from her and Monty’s garden whenever she looks extra pale and Clarke dutifully keeps her up to date on all her favorite shows she has zero time to watch. They’re as real as it gets. 

Hence, when things start to cross over from a strong work ethic to borderline workaholic slash inevitable burn-out and her boss Sinclair forces her to take two weeks off, she is disappointed when the first three people she asks to hang out on her first free Saturday night that year already have plans. They barely hear from her in months beside a quick ‘what’s up’ in their group chat before she falls asleep on her couch every Saint Glinglin and they have the audacity to not keep their nights free in case she might ask them to hang out sometime? Assholes. 

Since Emori and Murphy are out of town (probably robbing a house or something, she still doesn’t know what they do in their free time), and Harper and Monty have dinner with her parents, Clarke is up next. Raven texts her asking what she is doing that weekend, opening up a bottle of wine before padding over to her living room without a glass. She deserves the entire thing. Raven starts up Netflix on her smart TV while she waits for her friend to reply. 

Twenty minutes deep into an episode of Homeland, her phone buzzes annoyingly on the armrest. 

CLARKE [8:51 PM]:

who’s number is this?

RAVEN [8:54 PM]:

very funny griffin. drinks on saturday?

It takes a surprisingly long time for Clarke to answer her text, even though she isn’t a notorious bad back-texter unlike her boyfriend. One time like two years back, Raven asked Bellamy if he wanted to chip in on Murphy’s birthday present and he still hasn’t replied to this day. She’s pretty sure he isn’t even aware of the fact iMessage exists.

Raven has almost single-handedly finished off a bag of Cheetos before her phone buzzes again. She unlocks her phone to find a photo of a pregnancy test staring back at her, balanced precariously on what she assumes is Clarke’s knee, like the night terrors she used to have in middle school, terrified to end up like the other girls in her neighbourhood, sure a boy even looking at her could knock her up. 

RAVEN [9:08 PM]:

so no drinks then???

The reply comes faster this time, Raven sure that Clarke was just jumping for her to something. Anything.

CLARKE [09:09 PM]:

i just found out and my first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer, i’m fucked

She’s not sure what Clarke wants from her here—that one always had more up her sleeve than expected—a congrats or a condolences, so she settles on the safe middle of comic relief. 

RAVEN [9:10 PM]:

who’s the father?

CLARKE [09:10 PM]:

seriously?

RAVEN [9:11 PM]:

what? thought you two went to that swingers club the other month

CLARKE [09:14 PM]:

that was a teacher’s conference. he begged me to come

RAVEN [9:15 PM]:

i thought YOU begged HIM to come and now we’re in this whole mess?

A reply doesn’t come for two minutes, and then three, and when the clock ticks closer to five minutes, Raven decides to dial her number. It switches over to Facetime, but the screen is black, static commotion of the phone being moved around the only sound between their two devices for a good ten seconds. Finally, she asks, “Clarke?” 

“I didn’t plan for this, Rave,” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Raven has to bite back a smile. Clarke is such a in-the-closet neurotic mess and she missed it. The screen turns very bright, then finally she can make out her friend. From the looks of it, she is on the floor in her bathroom, mascara smudged lightly under her eyes, wavy hair a mess on top of her head. “I haven’t even finished school yet. My NCLEX exam isn’t until next month—“

“Sound like perfect timing to me,” Raven snorts, keeping her tone very bored. Is this all she has? Are these her best arguments? She’s off her game. “You’ll ace the exam, get a few months of nursing experience at the hospital and then you can go on maternity leave. Your mom owns the surgical ward, I’m pretty sure she can make it happen.”

She watches Clarke draw her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on top of them for a moment before looking back up at her phone. She does look wrecked. Raven hesistates for a second, then inquires, “Have you told him?”

“No,” Clarke replies, and then she is quiet for another second. She sounds softer this time, “What if he doesn’t want this?”

Raven almost cackles out loud. That loser would do anything for her, even if he didn’t want a baby with her—which seemed very unlikely—he would probably go to his grave swearing it was all he ever wanted. Besides, Bellamy has a few years on Clarke, is a well-known mother hen and is practically smitten with his sister’s toddler. (The only pictures he ever posts on social media are either of Clarke, his sister, that bratty little Octavia look-alike, or the three of them together—which was probably Nirvana by his definition.) He was more than ready, Raven’s sure that his old man primal hormones are just off the charts.

“Fat chance,” Raven settles on, instead of manic laughter because she’s a good friend, eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline. “You’re talking about Bellamy Blake? The same Bellamy Blake who, when you introduced him to me and I told him I would kick his ass if he ever hurt you, said he couldn’t wait to have your babies someday?”

Clarke scrunches up her nose in disbelief, and Raven wonders if she needs to get her sight checked. Does she not see how that buffoon looks at her? “He said that?”

“Yep,” Raven drags out, seemingly unimpressed.

“He was drunk,” she argues, brushing her off as she runs a hand through her tangled blonde hair. 

“That makes it more true, Clarke, not less,” Raven replies without skipping a beat, can’t help but sound a little tiny bit judgemental just because of who she is as a person. There’s more silence, Clarke chewing on her thumbnail as she stares off in the distance and Raven sighs, softening her voice. “No offense, but why are you complaining to me about this, babe? It isn’t like you to be this insecure.”

Was this not the Clarke Griffin who marched up to their arrogant orange-President-affliated professor and told him he might be an art teacher, but she was an artist? It was a popular meme around their college for weeks, black sunglasses and a animated blunt photoshopped onto her yearbook picture and plastered around the halls. The same Clarke Griffin who punched through a glass window because racist campus police let her go and took Monty into a interrogation room alone after catching the both of them with some weed brownies and still has the scar to prove it? Was she not the Clarke Griffin who got everyone to sign a petition to get Kyle Wick kicked out of school when he tweeted out a sexually suggestive picture of Raven?

“Because you know he’ll be excited,” she presses, aggrevated, blue eyes dark as she stares at her camera as if she can stare straight into Raven’s soul. “And I can’t break his heart and tell him that—”

“That what?” Raven cocks an eyebrow, figuring it’s time for some though love now. “You dont want a baby?”

“No—“ She tries to get it, but Raven doesn’t relent, keeps pressing, “That you don’t want his baby?”

“No!” Clarke blurts out harshly, cutting her off as her eyes brim with tears. “That I didn’t plan for this!” She swallows tightly, and Raven just watches her, chest heaving up and down erraticly, blue eyes darting from left to right as she tries to get her thoughts together.  “You know what happened when I started medical school, why I had to drop out,” her voice finally breaks, lip trembling. “This time, I was going to better. I was going to do it right.”

“You had a nervous breakdown, Clarke,” Raven snaps, tired of the sugarcoating. She was so hard on herself, and Raven still feels the slighest pang of guilt at that because she used to encourage that quality in her, held her to even higher standards. Maybe at first because she was jealous of her, of the golden girl who got everything handed to her. When she realized that wasn’t true, it was more because Raven knew she could be brilliant. Then after everything went down, she realized Clarke had already been brilliant all along. “You were making eighteen hour days, Lexa broke your heart and then your dad died in your arms. I think not having a breakdown over that would’ve qualified you as a sociopath.”

Clarke quickly wipes at the wetness trailing down her cheek, like she is trying to keep Raven from seeing, hugging her knees closer to her chest. Quietly, she sniffs, wondering, “What if it happens again?”

“It won’t. Because you’ve learned you can’t plan everything because life comes at you fast,” Raven says, authoratively, like she’s reading it from the pamphlet her therapist got them back then. “—and to communicate about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Eat enough vegetables and sleep enough hours.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand as she lets herself nod. Raven can’t help but press, “Isn’t that what you and Bellamy use as foreplay? A good old fashioned emotional conversation?”

Clarke scoffs. “No, like talking shop doesn’t get you and Shaw going.”

Raven lifts a shoulder, indifferent. She’s not going to sit here and pretend like him being able to name every component of a Harvey Davidson motorcycle in alphabetical order doesn’t get her all hot and bothered.

Clarke wipes her palms on her jeans-clad thighs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “What if I’m not any good at this?”

“Then the child will have the most awesome aunt to fall back on,” Raven smirks, and luckily, Clarke finally cracks a smile too. “You’re Clarke fucking Griffin. If this is something that you want—“ She drags out the last word, pausing to get her confirmation (she’s pretty sure it’s something she does want, deep down, but it doesn’t hurt to check before she rolls out the whole peptalk), and reluctantly, her friend nods, corners of her lips turned up almost shyly. “If it’s something that you want, you’ll succeed at it. You care about everyone, Clarke, to a fault.”

Raven finds herself smirking again, pretending to be half-distracted with re-tightening her brace. “And I know it’ll be hard to care about that baby knowing it’s Bellamy’s—“

“Shut up,” Clarke deadpans, and her eyes look brighter, clearer. Tentatively, her hand comes to rest on top of her lower belly, fingers flexing on top of her shirt for just a second. Raven can’t help but smile, happy for her friends. It’s what they deserve.

“You should really call him,” Raven pushes, pursing her lips satisfactory, “He’s going to be so salty you told me before him.”

“Probably,” Clarke snorts, just the slightest bit of nervousness flashing across her eyes before they soften as she says, “But, thanks, Rave. I’m glad to see NASA lets you out on probation every six months.”

“It’s NASA though,” she responds—a little boastful, because it’s NASA, she gets to be boastful—then stretches out her free arm. “Also, mocktails Saturday?”

Clarke beams. “Deal.”

(The next time Raven gets a text from Clarke, it’s a photo of a ring on her finger.)

[amphtaminedreams]

It’s Never Too Late for a Summer Outfits Post When the Concept of Time No Longer Exists: Lookbook no.17

Hiiii to anyone reading,

2021 has been…well, it’s been a year.

Somehow it’s the end of October and I’m lining up halloween outfits and making plans to decorate the flat and I’m realising FUCK, summer ended over a month ago now-idk about other UK people but I’ve always counted September as summer because a lot of the time the weather tends to be nicer at this time than it is during half the “official” summer period. It always felt like some kind of sick f.u from the universe back in secondary school that the hottest times of the year were consistently the months before and after the summer holidays whilst the 6 weeks sandwiched in between were a never-ending demo of the water cycle in action. Don’t ever dare to say you’ve “profusely sweated” until you’ve walked home from school in 20 degree heat wearing a poly cotton blend blouse 2 sizes too small and a part wool shoulder-padded blazer, until you’re having to carry your food tech ingredients AND your P.E kit. Don’t pretend to KNOW THE STRUGGLE.

Anyways, back to the point before this tangent turns into a full on essay revolving around the hardships of a middle class year 7 pupil-I was holding out hope for a few more opportunities to bust out the cute summer fits right up until October. Being stuck working about 40 hours a week in a grocery store because half your staff have been pinged by test and trace is kind of limiting and I had so many cute picnic days and trips to the beach and New Forest walks planned in my head that never happened. It really feels like the passing of time has gone up several gears since the pandemic begun, the speed of every day life has gone from, like, your grandma driving round a multi-storey car park looking for a space to a 17 year old boy in a Vauxhall Corsa without a black box covered by a very forgiving mummy and daddy’s insurance plan. Now it’s gone 4 weeks and I’m in living in a different city, drowning in a load of uni work and adult responsibilities which I’ve still yet to adjust to after a good 3 years out of education, living at the family home, and I’m thinking shit, I’ve barely had a chance to process all the change yet. Given I’m fully aware of this COVID time anomaly where stuff that happened 2 years ago now kinda feels like it could be a couple of months back, I should’ve just accepted summer was over before the chaotic energy levels of life went through the roof and smashed out outfit post while I had the chance. However, I was dumb, as per, and overestimated my abilities to balance studying, working and actually having a life and so I didn’t okay! Here it is, on the 1st November, very much past the cut off point where any convincing argument as to how my summer outfits are still relevant exists: a collection of those I did get to wear and the ones that unfortunately never made it outside my front door. Enjoy:D

LOOKS 1 & 2

So I may have sacrificed my whole summer working and I may still be a biiiit annoyed at myself for waiting til the end of August to put my foot down and ask if it was possible for me to do some day time shifts so I could, you know, actually have a bit of a social life buuut I finally managed to treat myself to a brand new Vanessa Mooney Elisabeth romper so it’s not all bad! Who needs life experiences when you can have superficial comforts, lol.

I’ve wanted to order from the site for years so I was super relieved to find out they are a sustainable company. It’s really the least you can expect considering the prices but then again, there are plenty of high end, full-on designer brands out there that get their accessories made in sweatshops and ship it across the world to wherever the design headquarters are solely to get the logo stitched on so they can claim it was made “in house”. I did browse for the playsuit (I really hate calling it a romper) on Depop but the ones available didn’t end up being all that much cheaper given the only people selling them were shipping from the US. In the end, I went for the real deal in white satin and shipping fees for that included, it came to about £160. There are plenty of AliExpress and Ebay dupes out there, don’t get me wrong, but AliExpress in particular has a horrible reputation and I don’t think this piece is something I’ll ever go off-I have genuinely wanted one for YEARS so I know it’s got that longevity. To go with I wore this Missguided cardigan which again, I don’t think I’ll tire of-I bought it years and years ago now and I still think it’s gorgeous. The hat is old Topshop I believe, the platform sandals are Ebay and I would drop the Depop shop @ for the belt but it broke several times and the owner wasn’t the most helpful especially considering it cost what I consider to be a semi-extortionate £20. One thing to consider with the Vanessa Mooney romper though-it does come up small both in terms of tightness and length. I’m only 5”3/5”4 but if I bend over I’d be very close to flashing the cheeks and they aren’t cute enough for that, I’m sorry. My rational mind is saying body positivity, who cares! But the body dysmorphia is saying sweetie, no one wants to see that, and you know that bitch is reeeeally loud ffs.

The shorts from the second outfit I’m pretty sure I’ve included before in a previous post where I wore them but if not, they’re just a pair of second hand Levis from Ebay. The top is then one of those reworked vintage scarf wrap tops from @shrnsctt’s Depop shop and I’m gutted I never got to wear it out because the colours are even more stunning in person when the sleeves are moving about. Big Woodstock flower child energy.

-16/06/21-

-30/06/21-

(skirt from Ebay, top from Urban Outfitters)

-06/09/21-

-10/08/21-

(skirt and top from Urban Outfitters, jacket from freyax19 on Depop)

-11/08/21-

(top from lauragendall on Depop, skirt from immysurridge)

-13/08/21-

(dress from evie7732838 on Depop)

LOOKS 3 & 4

My first H&M buy since I started (not without hitting stumbling blocks, I can’t lie) reducing my fast fashion purchases, the sunflower print two piece was from their Conscious collection, which is supposedly more environmentally friendly. I’ve always been of the mindset that the affordable fashion industry doesn’t need to die, it needs to change to reflect ethical concerns around exploitation and a vulnerable planet, and that though like with a lot of industries, that would require a major reshuffling of the distribution of wealth OR where their interests lie (saving the planet ain’t much of a priority when Elon Musk has your back with his delusions of establishing a Mars colony in the near future, have fun sitting through the G-force of a rocket launch only to return back to earth about a month’s later because you’ve run out of food Bezos and friends xoxo), I hope we can make a bit of a difference as consumers by indicating to brands that a more considerate approach pays off. The best way to do this is by abstaining from buying there altogether but that’s not always realistic for everyone, and there are plenty of average working people whose livelihoods depend on the high street staying alive. I’m not going to pretend I’m some eco warrior goddess because I broke a fast fashion boycott by buying into the concept of greenwashing, god knows it’s not the first time I’ve fucked up and bought clothes new anyway, but when it’s profit that big business cares about, increased sales of pieces included in the slightly more ethically and environmentally conscious lines are really the only outcome of actions we can take that shareholders will pay attention to. This may be a bad take, but idk, it’s an issue people are so split on and both sides of the debate tend to lack a bit of nuance which yeah, could apply to pretty much any divisive issue online these days so no difference there. The hat I’m pretty sure is ASOS? But I can’t actually remember and it’s back at my family home somewhere, though I’m sure it would be pretty easy to find a similar piece.

For look 4, no, I’m never gonna stop busting out the Poppy Lissiman Crikey BB bag at any chance I get, it was a treasured bday present from me to me, okay, and it ties together the slightly girlier version of the 90s grunge vibe that I really fucking love. It’s probably v basic wannabe edgy bitch of me but my obsession with the Courtney Love influenced baby doll dresses with chunky shoes era of fashion is a constant; the silk night dress with the tiara and the smudged liner will always be iconic and I think that’s something most of us can agree on whether you like her or not (and if your answer to that is not, yes I am partial to a bit of the old “Courtney took out a hit on Kurt” conspiracy too but if I get too into that, give it another 5000 words and I’ll be just STARTING to get into why the royal family were definitely involved in Diana’s death after spending 2000 explaining why the idea of the moon landing being faked isn’t that wild and…you get the picture). The adorableee co-ord is old Topshop which I legit remember seeing back in the store around 2013, and it’s from @jessibeeee on Depop. The crochet cardigan is also from Depop, @milliejobson_’s shop.

-19/08/21-

(bralette from xxelllxx on Depop, blazer from identityparty, trousers from Zara, boots from foxjessica97 on Depop)

-23/08/21-

(dress from Urban Outfitters)

-02/07/21-

(dress from Motel Rocks)

-06/07/21-

(top and trousers from Hollister)

LOOK 5

-on right: 22/09/21-

(top from katie_kelman on Depop, skirt from andreamorant)

So this was an outfit I planned to wear out clubbing back when things seemed hopeful with the COVID situation but then my friend convinced me to come on a night out just one time and of COURSE, I caught it from there. There were 5 of us, and I was the only one. Fabulous, right? Anyway, after that I put off going anywhere crowded again until I’d had my 2nd vaccine and so by the time that was done and dusted, it was too cold for this fit which makes me sad because if I were to add a little (okay, probs quite a lot but then again I am a huge lightweight these days so I’d say about 3 doubles of gin would do the trick) alcohol, I reckon I would’ve felt like somewhat of a bad bitch. In reality I may look like even more of a child than usual given the space buns and the butterfly print (will never not be cute, imo) from @madlendavies’ Depop shop, but I’d be feeling myself and that’s the important thing. As for the shorts, they’re also just vintage Levis from Ebay but I believe I included them in my summer outfits post this time last year and did have the specific name of the shop if you wanted to find that in the archive.

-08/07/21-

(dress from Zara)

-09/07/21-

-26/07/21-

(dress from Zara)

-28/07/21-

(heels from Ebay, hair clips from H&M)

So, that’s it for now! If you got this far, huge thanks for reading! I’m hoping the effect of this post being a brief coming up for air in between deadlines is that it’s more concise because I feel like less is more when it comes to ones that, you know, revolve around me because trust and believe I myself wouldn’t want to dissect that any more than you would. I am sure I sound like a broken record to everyone around me at this point, rotating between the same 3 complaints of “London is too expensive!”, “shocked and offended that full time education actually requires me to study full time!” And “why should I have to pay for a TV license just because I want to watch Drag Race UK on IPlayer when it’s such a mediocre season!?” phrased slightly differently each time. In all seriousness, despite the stress, it’s so cool to be learning again and I think this time round I truly realise how much of a privilege higher education is; I had so much fear I’d spiral a bit again once I moved out and there were moments where I did consider other options even though I’d my heart set on the uni and course I’m doing for a long time. I can’t remember the last time my anxiety was as intense as it was in the couple of months before I moved away and that is reflected in the amount of new clothes in this post lolllll, because of COURSE when you know you need to SAVE money it makes COMPLETE sense to compulsively shop, right? That instant gratification is soOoO worth the guilt from blowing savings and falling back into shopping habits that are wholly unhelpful for the planet. Yep. 100% :) Turns out spending time fearing you’ll end up another huge train wreck is a self-fulfilling prophecy, who knew?

I am so thankful I had a lot of support and encouragement from those around me because there will be people out there who don’t have that and for one reason or another cannot get around the fear. It’s a debilitating thing not having enough faith in yourself to believe you can manage your wellbeing, like I am SO glad I did follow through with the September start but I had a deep, painful almost apocalyptic dread in my stomach in those months before I moved, more than usual anyway lmao, and everyone feels and handles that differently. I completely understand how struggling with your health can make the prospect of studying your chosen subject seem genuinely impossible. People offer Open University as the end-all-be-all to the accessibility issues universities have as if that one, singular option should be enough so “stop whining!”, as if there’s no real discrepancy between having just one path available and the typical prospective student experience where the hard part is narrowing down your choices. The Open University is a perfect fit for a lot of people and I’ve only ever heard good things so I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m shitting on it, what I’m saying is that it taking a pandemic for unis to offer the option for individuals to study remotely due to their health or financial circumstances is just a reminder of how much work we still need to do to make all spheres of life of equal quality for everyone.

And I said I wouldn’t ramble. Sigh.

I’m thinking my next post will probably just be a photo dump; even though there’s no value to them in terms of engagement it feels like collaging minus all the ball ache of cutting and sticking and it’s funnnn, so I will keep them a-coming every now and again:D For literally anyone else though, the next post of value will probs be another F/W21 highlights and after that a festival inspired lookbook which is either reeeeally late for 2021 or reallyyyy early for 2022 depending on which way you look at it. Preferably the second, if you’d be so kind as to help a girl out. This Tumblr would really have you thinking I am the most unorganised person ever but I am the exact insufferable opposite irl so consider yourself lucky, I guess?

For now, all the best and stay safe! Lauren x

[your-dietician]

What college football coaches learned from the pandemic last year

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/ncaa-football/what-college-football-coaches-learned-from-the-pandemic-last-year/

What college football coaches learned from the pandemic last year

WEST VIRGINIA COACH Neal Brown is hesitant when he says there are positive things to be gained from what he and his fellow coaches went through last season.

“Maybe ‘positives’ isn’t the right word,” he corrected himself.

Brown doesn’t want to paint a rosy picture of what was a frustrating situation for everyone involved. Talk to enough coaches and they’ll tell you how exhausting it was going through a pandemic, juggling safety and practice and those endless pages of protocols and, oh yeah, the games themselves.

They’re creatures of habit who thrive on structure and routine. But as North Carolina coach Mack Brown told his staff one day last year, “The only thing consistent is inconsistency.”

So, no, it wasn’t much fun, and there was very little in the moment that felt positive.

But the further away they get from what Neal Brown says was the most challenging experience for anyone in leadership, whether they were a coach, a CEO or a principal, the more there’s something to be gained from the experience.

2 Related

“I think there are opportunities that have come out of the adversity that we’ve been through,” he said.

Opportunities to rethink the way they practice and recruit. Opportunities to rethink the way they teach and communicate. Opportunities to not look away from social justice issues that for so long were ignored.

Like millions of Americans, Neal Brown has learned to embrace Zoom, which is why he was able to participate in this interview from his home one day last month.

That may not sound like much — it is the offseason, after all — but it runs contrary to an entire career of waking up early, going into the office for daily staff meetings, and since he was already there, staying a while even though there wasn’t much work to be done.

But on this day, he held the staff meeting virtually and drove his kids to school. Then, he returned home and spoke to a reporter from his own couch about coaching post-COVID-19 and how there’s a need for a better work-life balance in his profession, which for too long has embraced the lifestyle of the workaholic who sleeps in his office at nights.

After the call was over, his plan was to take the rest of the day off.

“There was no more, ‘This is the way we’ve always done it,'” Neal Brown said. “That’s probably the most growth that I made not only as being a head football coach but personally as well — adapting and embracing change.”

THERE WAS ONE curveball coaches were thrown that they all almost universally enjoyed and want to integrate moving forward.

The NCAA dubbed it “enhanced summer practice,” but what it boiled down to was a sort of pre-preseason practice to help players ease into more traditional training after so much time away because of COVID restrictions.

Similar to the NFL’s organized team activities, colleges were granted two extra weeks dedicated to weight training, conditioning, film review, walk-throughs and meetings. Players couldn’t wear helmets or pads during walk-throughs, but they could handle a football.

Alabama coach Nick Saban was a proponent of the plan, stressing how the practices would be non-contact and how they would provide more education, focusing on things like technique and fundamentals.

“It was awesome,” Georgia Tech coach Geoff Collins said.

Because of the limited contact and slow build-up, Collins said, “I thought we were fresher the early part of the season than we had been in the previous four years.”

Neal Brown has learned to embrace the benefits of Zoom meetings and working from home. Frank Jansky/Icon Sportswire

Iowa State coach Matt Campbell felt the same way about the health benefits of the extended preseason, except he noticed a difference on the back end of the season. In an interview with The Athletic, Campbell said he saw better practices from his team late in the year and quicker recovery times.

The Cyclones finished the regular season as winners of five straight, reaching the Big 12 championship game for the first time in school history.

“I thought the week of preparation, going into our bowl game, was maybe the best practices we had all year,” he told the website. “We were able to continue to add fuel to the tank instead of extracting some of that fuel. When we needed it most, we were able to find it and use it.”

Stanford coach David Shaw, who is chair of the NCAA rules committee, said coaches are hoping to adopt the extra lead-in time on an annual basis.

While there wasn’t enough time to change the calendar this year, next year is a possibility.

First, Shaw said, they need to talk to medical professionals to see whether their hunch that it’s healthier for players is backed up by actual science. Second, there’s the coaches’ quality of life to consider, because it’d be taking away two weeks of vacation.

Time will tell whether everyone gets on board, but in the meantime, Neal Brown has a more radical approach he’s considering.

Last season, out of necessity in order to limit a teamwide outbreak and to make the most out of the limited time they had to prepare, he essentially split West Virginia’s roster down the middle. Instead of holding one practice and one set of meetings for players each day, the Mountaineers held two.

What it did was confront the fact that if there are 85 scholarship players on a team, not all 85 are at the same level of maturity or understanding. So teaching them all the same is going to inevitably leave some players bored and leave others behind.

It’s simple, Neal Brown said: “You don’t want to slow them down where you lose the fourth-year player just so the first-year player has a chance.”

By dividing the roster along the lines of experience and readiness to play, he provided more targeted coaching and, perhaps most importantly, more reps for everyone.

He hasn’t made a final decision on split practices in the future, but said, “There’s a thought that maybe that’s the best way moving forward.”

IT’S SURPRISING THAT the pairing of Zoom and recruiting didn’t happen sooner.

After all, the growth of recruiting departments in college football and video communication technology like Zoom and FaceTime have coincided over the past decade. But before the pandemic, there was very little integration on those two fronts.

Well, not anymore.

Virtual visits allow for recruits to experience places like Fayetteville, Arkansas, they might not have ever been able to go to. Nelson Chenault-USA TODAY Sports

What happened out of necessity during a year of no in-person recruiting — namely FaceTime calls and virtual campus visits over Zoom — is here to stay.

Instead of hoping for an unofficial visit to show off their programs, coaches are now able to make a more tangible first impression online, which could be a huge win for difficult-to-reach places like Arkansas and Stanford.

During the pandemic, Shaw said his staff got creative and learned how to “bottle” the Stanford experience. That meant virtually introducing prospects to their professors and students, and showing off the beauty of campus, along with its terrific weather.

“We can’t wait to get people on campus,” Shaw said, “but we have a good program now to show them as much of campus as possible — the people as well as the scenery — to entice them to come.”

While Arkansas coach Sam Pittman says there’s no substitute for in-person contact, the value of virtual visits makes too much sense to ignore.

It’s a matter of logistics. Because Fayetteville’s nearest major recruiting hubs — Atlanta, New Orleans and Dallas — are all at least a five-hour drive away, it’s difficult to get recruits to campus.

“Instead of saying, ‘This kid can’t make it to Junior Day,’ why don’t we take the Junior Day to him?” Pittman said. “I learned that and we may use that in the future.

“We may have a weekend totally committed only to Georgia or Florida or someplace where the kids can’t get here.”

Neal Brown, whose West Virginia campus is a hike for many of the country’s top prospects, said it’s a win three times over to go virtual in recruiting.

“Players save money getting to and from campus, and universities save money, and it’s a better life for an assistant coach,” he said.

Plus, it’s fewer nights on the road for everyone.

MACK BROWN FOUND himself pouting last year.

During the first wave of the coronavirus, when everyone was forced to leave campus and it looked like the football season might not happen, he wondered why he bothered to come out of retirement.

“Why am I doing this?” he thought. “I came back to be around players and try to help them and help younger coaches, and I can’t talk to anybody, I can’t see them, they can’t even come around. What are we doing?”

That’s when his wife, Sally, spoke up.

“[She] jumped on me and said, ‘You know what? There’s never been a more important time for leadership. You need to help people understand this. You need to help solve the problems. You’ve been around a long time, so you need to figure it out,'” he recalled.

“And at that point I kind of woke up and said, ‘All right, I got it.'”

He had to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

That meant acknowledging what he didn’t know, whether it was about the pandemic or the social justice issues playing out in Raleigh and cities across the U.S.

At 69 years old, Mack Brown confronted some harsh realities.

Mack Brown told his staff one day last year, “The only thing consistent is inconsistency.” Grant Halverson/Getty Images

For so long, he saw the locker room as a place free from racism. But then he heard the pain in his players’ voices as they discussed the murder of George Floyd. And then he found out that two of his coaches — one white and one black — hadn’t spoken in days.

“That really bothered me,” he said. “I could tell there was pressure, there was tension.”

Rather than sidestepping it, they confronted it head-on as a team.

“We talked hard,” Mack Brown said.

And he also listened. A lot of what was said surprised him.

He kept hearing about white privilege, which he took to mean that he had money and a good life. So he asked his players questions about it and began to understand.

“I’m white privilege,” he realized. “I don’t feel race. I don’t see it. I don’t get stopped going home. I don’t get shot in the back.”

Talking it through brought them closer together, and it led to conversations about mental health, drugs and homelessness.

“I’m not sure it wasn’t the closest team I’ve ever been around,” he said.

Kentucky’s Mark Stoops was one of many coaches across college football who walked arm-in-arm with his players last summer to protest police violence against people of color.

But just because the protests have subsided doesn’t mean the issues have.

“I’ve learned that we need to continue to not let this matter go away,” Stoops said. “We have to continue to address it. We have to continue to work at it. We have to continue to do our part to be part of the solution to grow closer together, and keep that at the forefront of our program through communication and education.”

BAYLOR’S DAVE ARANDA says he saw the worst in a lot of people and the best in others.

He doesn’t name names, nor does he cite specific issues. He doesn’t want to be polarizing. But the last year revealed a lot to him.

He referenced the TV show “Ted Lasso” and a scene in which the lead character, a soccer coach, is playing darts in a pub and quotes Walt Whitman: “Be curious, not judgmental.”

“Keeping that approach all the way through COVID when there’s really good and really bad things happening and you’re seeing bad parts of people, I think is the key,” Aranda said. “When you come out on the other side of it, there’s an opportunity to blossom.”

But to blossom into what?

Whether it’s a global pandemic or a life event, Eli Drinkwitz sees a need for coaches to be more amenable. AP Photo/L.G. Patterson

Aranda sees a shift taking place in college football in which the old-school ways of coaching are fading.

“I’m not saying we’re it,” Aranda said, “but I do sense that along with the NIL and all of it, the birth of a modern coach — of someone that [deals with] social justice issues, race and inequality, the transfer portal, social media, mental health. It’s self-talk, positive talk, negative talk. It’s perfectionism. It’s bullying. It’s parents and expectations. It’s all of it.”

Missouri coach Eliah Drinkwitz talked about that trend toward a more holistic approach as well.

This generation of athletes is so flexible and adaptable, he said, and coaches are generally more rigid and routine-oriented.

There’s a fine line, of course, but whether it’s a pandemic or a life event, Drinkwitz sees a need for coaches to be more amenable.

He brought up Abraham Lincoln’s first inaugural address and the idea of striving to become a more perfect union. That notion of striving — admitting you’re not there, but you’re working toward it — is where he finds meaning.

It’s about listening and learning and working together.

“I’ve learned there’s a lot more capacity to do things than I ever thought possible if you take it one step at a time,” he said. “Then, before you know it, you get somewhere. You don’t look at the totality of the task, you take it one step at a time and put one foot in front of the other.

“And that’s really what we were trying to do the whole time — keep moving forward and try to make a positive impact, whether it was the pandemic or social justice, whether it was our football team trying to improve and establish our identity, every day let’s take a little step forward.”

Source link

[unmelllowyelllow-blog]

#MeToo

Let’s talk about sexual assault for a second. It’s alive in well in 2018, and has gone on as far back as I can remember. A part of my healing process with my therapist is opening up about certain things I’ve kept bottled up inside. Sexual assault is a H U G E one that I choose to keep to myself because I believe it’s super embarrassing to talk about. I feel like people judge you because of it. 

The #MeToo movement swept across the internet not too long ago, and I’m finally willing to share my experiences with you readers that follow my progress. I’m posting it in somewhat of a timeline fashion so you can see exactly how long this has been going on. I’m definitely not alone in this situation, and I hope by posting this, that I can be someone’s voice that’s too afraid to speak up. You’re not alone, you’re experiences matter. You matter. You are enough, and I believe you. <3

Me, too.

For the time in daycare a boy spat in my face at recess, then touched my no-no zones during nap time. I was 4 years old.

Me, too.

For the time I was too much of a "tomboy" as a kid and chose to look that way so other people wouldn't find me attractive at such a young age.

Me, too.

For the time I could no longer hide my developing chest under sports bras and baggy t-shirts. The first time I put on a real bra, I was fitted into a C-cup. Every boy in school would stare and whisper. I was called a skank in 5th grade from other girls because boys paid attention to me and not them.

Me, too.

For the countless times someone snapped my bra strap while sitting in class, all because they wanted to see who could unhook my bra first. The overwhelming fear of assigned seats and being placed in front of a boy was humiliating throughout gradeschool.

Me, too.

For the time I was playing over at a friend’s house, and his mom ran to the store and left us alone together in their living room. He pinned me against his couch and forcefully stated "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine." as he pulled his dick through his zipper. I was only 11 years old.

Me, too.

For the time I couldn't wait to get off the school bus in middle school on the way home because I was being aggressively groped. Then later found I had a bruise from the incident that left finger marks on my body, even though I was wearing a padded bra that day. I was too embarrassed to show, let alone tell my parents what happened. I still had to ride the bus. I would miss it on purpose to catch a ride to school.

Me, too.

For the time a 17 year old boy "liked" me. He knew I was 13, but he didn't dare tell his older cousin that information. The boy I had a crush on asked me to meet him outside for a first kiss. As soon as I turned the corner he held me down outside in the dirt while his older cousin forced himself in my mouth. I found out after the incident that he was 24 years old. It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. I took a million showers and scrubbed my body with a Brillo pad. I still felt dirty. I was disgusted with myself. I replayed the scenario over, and over, and over again in my head to try and figure out how I could’ve stopped it from happening, but I froze instead. I suffered from depression and even self-mutilated over this. My parents thought it was a “phase” I was going through as a preteen.

Me, too.

To the worthless dude that stole my virginity. It was never consensual. He was 17, a Junior in highschool and I was 14 years old in 8th grade.

Me, too.

For the time I wore a skirt to school to look nice and would have guys snap pictures of me trying to walk up the stairs for class. You’re a special type of asshole.

Me, too.

For the time in my Freshman year of high school, a boyfriend forced himself on me and I told him to STOP. Then he said "You don't really love me if you don't fuck me." We broke up the following week because I didn't 'love' him. He told the entire football team we had sex and I was an easy fuck. I earned the reputation of a slut my first year of high school. I had zero friends because I was brand new to this school district. All we ever did was kiss and I never slept with this douchebag.

Me, too.

For the time in my Sophomore year of high school I got invited to an older co-worker's Hotel party and thought I was cool (They were college kids). Only to be shit-faced drunk, covered in vomit and your friend telling you that they can't tell you what happened that night...not because he didn't remember, but because he couldn't bear to tell me what really happened. I still, to this present day, have no recollection of what really went down that night. I was a few days shy of my 16th birthday.

Me, too.

For the time when I would come to school covered in bruises on my neck/chest, and someone would point them out in class. I would lie and say that they were hickeys. I didn't dare ask anyone for help, because I was afraid it would get back around to my ‘boyfriend’ at the time.

Me, too.

For the time in my Junior year that I got pregnant and later lost that baby. When a rumor went around school, people would ask if I knew who the father was. Plot twist, yes, it was my secretly-abusive-boyfriend, and he told people it wasn't his. I never told my parents about this. I went through a miscarriage alone while I was at work 7 weeks pregnant.

Me, too.

For the time at the end of my Senior year when I was pregnant with Aiden. People still labeled me a slut. I finished high school and walked the stage to graduate 3 months pregnant. I hid the pregnancy from my parents, I didn’t know how to tell them. I thought this would all finally end now that high school is over.

Me, too.

For the time I was pregnant with Aiden and would get pushed and shoved while fighting with his dad over the dumbest shit. I remember being thrown into a tall dresser and hurting my back really badly. Immediately after the incident, he apologized and told me it would never happen again. I spotted for 4 days still carrying my child.

Me, fucking too!

For the time I tried to stay with Aiden's dad my abuser for the sake of our family being together and having both parents. I put up with mental, emotional, verbal, and physical abuse for 7 years. 7. Fucking. Years.  I gained excessive amounts of weight due to depression. I suffered bruises and broken bones. I went through more foundation than you could imagine to hide things and cover up for work. My breaking point to walk away was when it was happening in front of my then-2-year-old son. I refused to let him think this is how he is supposed to treat women. Period. It took the love that I have for my child to find the strength to finally leave my situation for good. I have never looked back.

Me, too.

For all the guys via online dating. Is that really how you talk to women? Ew.

Me, too.

This is the one for the scumbags in my inbox on any social media platform I own, NO I don't appreciate your unsolicited dick pics. And NO I don't want to fuck you. To the pieces of shit that offer monetary value in exchange for sex and/or nude pictures, that’s illegal and I’m not a prostitute nor do I shoot porn. And for the ones that are married, I’ll screen shot your one-sided conversations to your wives. IDGAF.

Me, Too.

For the time I went to SXSW 2016 to support my boyfriend on stage, only to be groped by a man I've never met or spoken a word to. I was surrounded by friends, and people that care about me. I was coming back to my group from using the restroom when you assaulted me. I told my boyfriend immediately and you were already gone. To that guy- F U C K Y O U.

The list goes on....

I'm strong because I know I am enough.

I hope this gives someone else their voice.

You matter.

You're not alone.

#MeToo

[luisprada]

The Most Boring Summer Ever (or, How To Set Your Arm On Fire In 5 Easy Steps)

I wish there were still a bold line separating summer and the rest of the year. School used to go on seemingly without end until one day it just stopped and an extended months-long playtime began. Now summers camouflage into the rest of the year in one large blob of work and responsibility where, in the middle, my inner thighs get sweatier than usual.

No obligations and hardly any adult supervision laid the groundwork for a period devoid of the downers that taint adulthood. Even then, I knew how rare those days of bliss were.  Those months satisfied the need for adventure and fun that the school year forced me to suppress. We rode bikes beyond the streets our parents told us we couldn’t cross. We swam during thunderstorms after they told us we’d get struck by lightning if we kept it up, which only made us do it more. We explored the spooky burnt down house at the end of the block. The dread of the looming school year crept as the calendar marched on to the final week of August when classes started up again. Those summers were about discovery, of myself and the world. I never wanted them to end.

They ended the summer I set my arm on fire. All that freedom shit I was romanticizing can, if you’re not careful, lead to being consumed by flames that were kindled by a mix of boredom and stupidity so toxic it requires a HAZMAT suit to approach.

Looking back on it, I don’t just see the moment I set my arm on fire as a single scene. I see the sequence of events that unfolded over months that led to it.

When I Decided Not To Attend Summer Camp

Boredom is a powerful tool that can lead to creative breakthroughs maybe 2% of the time. The other 98% is guys laughing as they punch each other’s dicks after having exhausted all other entertainment resources. If not for camps, my summers would have been slogs I’d use to later become either a creative genius or a supervillain with a volcano base.

Unlike in movies where kids returned to the same camp every summer, the camps I attended changed every year depending on what my friends and I were into. I begged my mom to pull me out of a Boy Scout camp halfway through. I’m not a fan of Mother Nature’s severe lack of TVs, especially when this camp’s idea of wilderness was a park with 10 trees in the middle of a residential neighborhood across the street from a Best Buy and a Taco Bell. I was in a roller hockey camp where every day I and fellow campers donned all of our pads in the sweltering heat of summer to play a game of chicken against heat-induced delirium. It was like if child abuse was fun for the child. I was in another where we went on field trips every day. Mondays we went to a spring water pool in a beautiful local coral quarry. We bowled on Tuesday, went to an arcade on Wednesdays, and so on. It explains why, for a small stretch in my life, I thought we were rich. The illusion of wealth was shattered the day my mom couldn’t afford the camp fees anymore, which I found out minutes before I hopped on the bus for our weekly laser tag game. I was shuttled off to hang out with the rest of the kids who couldn’t afford the Premium Platinum Plus Executive Level summer camp experience. I got into a 4-on-1 fight within the first hour. Those kids were animals.

By the time I hit middle school, I felt I’d outgrown camps. I was fast approaching adulthood. I should be getting a head start on being a listless loser with no future who sits around all day while his friends are actually doing something with their lives. Rather than spend another summer socializing in the sun, I figured I’d take the first steps into maturity by spending this summer the same way I use any brief instance of free time I manage to scrounge up as an adult – doing as little as humanly possible and basking in every glorious second of it.

 When My Family Thought It Wise To Have A Candy Bowl of Lighters In Our Home

My home was a smoker’s paradise. Not a school year went by where at least one teacher or classmate who caught a whiff of me as I walked by didn’t ask if I had been running an illegal gambling ring out of a basement. In fourth grade, a classmate asked if I smoked cigarettes after catching an intense smoky whiff of my Sesame Street book bag. What a dumb question. How did he not notice me enjoying a couple smokes under the monkey bars every day during playtime?

My mom smoked one cigarette a day, just one to unwind after work. My aunt would pop in and out to snatch a smoke at odd intervals like she was an audience favorite sitcom character who’d have to wait for the applause to die down before she delivered her first line. My grandfather knew he was impervious to the Grim Reaper’s touch, so he’d chain smoke to rub Death’s futility in his bony face. To accommodate the smokers, there was always a candy dish filled with lighters and matchboxes somewhere around the house.

I wandered the apartment that summer struggling to find the reason I left the camp life behind. The desire to spend your free time relaxing at home rarely takes into account how little there is to do at home, especially on a weekday. Daytime TV was all soap operas and judge shows. I still can’t watch them without feeling like I’m in a waiting room about to get my braces tightened. I couldn’t rely on my Sega Genesis since the only games I had were Sonic Spinball, where the fusion of Sonic the Hedgehog and pinball into a punny title was the game’s only redeeming quality, and Math Blasters, a game I will never forgive for trying to trick me into liking math. The excitement the technological toys lacked I found in the primitive destructive powers of fire, which could be created with any number of the lighters and matchbooks lying around.

I improvised little fire-based games, like “Melt Plastic Sandwich Bags” where you won by melting clear plastic sandwich bags while trying to not boil my flesh or pass out from the fumes. Another fun one was “Let’s Burn Wooden Kebob Skewers For No Reason.” I was undefeated. Both of these eventually gave birth to a third game called “Try To Hide Signs of My Pyromania From Mom,” which I never won. The lighters were just sitting there, begging me to figure out how to use them to kill time and possibly myself and everyone in the building.

When I Shoplifted A Knock-Off Zippo Lighter From Spencer Gifts

When the boredom became too much to bear, which happened after I ran out of things to set on fire, I’d walk a few blocks to a local mall. I’d make routine stops at Electronics Boutique to gawk at all the non-Math Blasters games I couldn’t afford and then at Sharper Image to sit and groan with sensual pleasure in the massage chair until I was asked to leave. I’d circle the food court collecting free samples of chicken slathered in the traditional sugary chicken sauces of mysterious far-off lands.

No trip was complete without a visit to the Spencer Gifts hidden in the dark corridor at the ass end of the mall. All malls are required by federal law to have at least one Spencer Gifts or be heavily fined. It’s a loadbearing store. Spencer Gifts is where people with bad taste make a pilgrimage to stock up on fake dog poop, edible underwear, and novelty shot glasses emblazoned with fun slogans celebrating alcoholism. Today, it’s mostly filled with people deciding if they should buy a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles snapback flatbrim hat or pay their bills. The placement of this particular Spencer Gifts suggested it was this mall’s greatest shame. In my memory, it looks like the kind of place you suspect launders money for a local crime syndicate. Part of the proceeds of every glow-in-the-dark Jimi Hendrix poster went to buying off a couple cops and a City Councilman.

It was there that I saw it, the object that would save my summer: a knock-off Zippo lighter with a picture of a woman’s ass with a black thong running up the crack. Since anything that could be even vaguely described as porn was hard to come by for at least another year until I finally had internet, anything that showed off a woman’s body was a holy relic worth sacrificing my life to obtain and protect. One day between classes in middle school, some classmates and I came across an issue of Hustler lying on the grass out in the open. There was a woman showing off her vagina right there. How did no one else see this? Were we dehydrated wanderers being deceived by a mirage? We pounced on it at the same time and tried wrestling it from each other’s grasp, titties and pubes flying everywhere. We had to fight for our porn then. There’s only so much scrambled cable TV porn that looks like people are fucking in a Dali painting that a pubescent boy can take. One clear picture of a naughty part is all we asked for, and this knock-off Zippo with a thonged ass delivered that and fire. I was a budding pyromaniac in the throes of puberty and I kind of wanted to have sex with this lighter. But I had no money. The only way to make this truly terrible lighter mine was to steal it.

I cased the joint in the days leading up to the big heist. Their security system was no more than the bored guy in his early 20s working the cash register and hoping he’s not this store’s manager by the time he’s in his early 30s. There wasn’t a camera in sight. No scanners at the entrance. This wasn’t the Ocean’s 11 Bellagio heist. I grabbed it and headed over to the rear corner of the store, as far away from the register as I could get with plenty of aisles and novelty piggy banks shaped like boobs between me and the sole employee. I ripped open the packaging and slid it into my pocket. I probably could’ve told the cashier I was taking it and that he wouldn’t have broken his thousand-yard stare into the void of boredom enough to stop me. But in the moment my heart was racing, my temples were sweating, and my veins were pumping with enough adrenaline to lift an excavator off a baby if need be.

I walked home with the butt lighter in my pocket, terrified, thinking a squadron of waddling mall cops would be hot on my tail. I relaxed when I stepped into my apartment, and more so when I entered my bedroom. I had made it. The knock-off Zippo with a woman’s thonged butt was mine. My boring summer was about to become legendary.

All of this was the beginning of my brief but prolific career as a petty shoplifter. My youthful dabbling in criminality would come to an abrupt and fitting end a few years later when I got caught stealing Sonic Adventure for the Sega Dreamcast from a Target a block from home. When I die, the Grim Reaper will visit me in the form of Sonic the Hedgehog and together we will loop-to-loop over spike pits into the Great Beyond.

When I Ignored My Own Really Good Advice

I’d spent all summer searching for meaning in the boredom. I almost found it in the bowls filled with lighters, and again in the melted sandwich bags, but I wound up having to steal it from a Spencer Gifts. The lighter was the reason I left summer camps behind. It was the discovery of self at the end of a spirit quest. More than anything, it let me set things on fire with a butt.

When I wasn’t fiddling with it, it was never more than an arm’s length away. I’d spark it again and again, so often that I’d go through a bottle of lighter fluid every couple weeks. The cheap plastic gas station lighters in the candy bowls were functionally identical to the butt lighter, except the butt lighter had meaning. I earned the butt lighter. Each flame burned as hot as my desperation to not be so fucking bored because I made the horrible mistake of not going to summer camp. The flame, with its mysterious alluring powers to ruin and purify, became my Savior, and because of it I now totally understand how religion got started in the first place.

One day, I sparked the flint and it wasn’t followed by a flame. Out of fluid. No worries, though – I had some hidden away in my bedroom desk. Zippo-style lighters don’t have an enclosed inner chamber like cheap plastic gas station lighters. They’re filled with cotton stuffing that keeps the wick moist with absorbed lighter fluid. I slid the fluid tank from its casing and flipped it upside down to expose the cotton over the kitchen sink. The stuffing is so absorbent it can be hard to tell when it’s filled. The time between when the fluid peaks over the top of the cotton and when it’s dribbling down your forearm is roughly the same as a single flap of hummingbird’s wings or the length of my attention span. I got lost in thought and the fluid overflowed. It ran down my left forearm, streaming down my elbow. I knew the muscle memory wanted me to give the flint a flick after sliding the tank back in its casing, so I over-prepared by repeating a single mantra to prevent a worst-case scenario:

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

It echoed in my brain. It was my only thought.  

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

“DON’T SPARK THE LIGHTER!”

 When I Sparked The Lighter

As I watched the flames race up my left pinky to my elbow in an instant while making that dramatic “WOO-UUF!” sound fire makes in movies (which I can assure you is the sound it actually makes), I remember thinking, “Well, see, now this is pretty rad.” A second later I went into the customary “I’m on fire” panic, but not before I took a second to appreciate how, despite the horror, being on fire makes you feel pretty fucking metal. I wouldn’t suggest it to spice up a dull evening at home or an uneventful cocktail party, but it is a nice change of pace that can liven things up a little.

Stop, Drop, and Roll is an easy to remember tip that could save your life if you’re ever on fire, assuming you remember it. But being on fire really screws with your priorities. So I did not Stop, Drop, and Roll. Instead, I just went with the flow and did whatever my spirit told me to. My spirit was telling me to wave my arm around and scream. It wasn’t really helpful, but it felt right. That’s what really matters when you’re on fire.

The screaming wasn’t from the pain. It was from the shock of being engulfed by flame. I don’t remember the pain. Being on fire is a spectacle just uncommon enough in real life that it only makes sense in a movie, where the hero barbecues a henchman with a flamethrower who flails around screaming before leaping out of a window to splat on the street to end the pain. Something heroic like that. You don’t imagine setting yourself on fire in your kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon. I may have felt pain in the moment, but I was too distracted by being on fire to feel it, if that makes sense.

Something I’ve always marveled at is how, in a moment of desperation, the ghostly spirit of instinct will possess your body to guide it to safety. While my eyes and most sections of my brain were busy trying to comprehend how part of me was on fire, instinct launched my right hand over to the knob on the sink. I twisted the faucet open with a swift spin. In one fluid swipe, my left arm cut through the stream. The momentum swung water spotted with the black ashes of my arm hair across the counter to my right.

The fire was out.

The little wisps of burnt hair smoke I inhaled trying to catch my breath made me want to vomit. There was a defining line of forearm hair that had been scorched away. Hair, hair, ha—BALD. The few hairs that remained had singed tips that smeared into dust. I caught my breath then wiped down the counter. I lit an incense to mask the unmistakable funk of burning me. I pieced the lighter back together and sparked it again.

Yep. It worked.

The hinge on the lighter top snapped off a couple months later. I never used it again. I kept it in my desk for a few years longer as a memento of that time a woman’s ass set me on fire. I didn’t go back to camp the following summer, or ever again. My instinct was right. I had outgrown summer camp. I had chosen the worst way to end that chapter of my life. I hung out with friends and generally tried to spend more time away from places I could accidentally self-immolate in a fit of boredom. 

Summer came to a well-earned end a couple weeks later. The hair on my arm had mostly grown back by the time I stepped foot into homeroom for the first time. I didn’t let the lingering summer heat stop me from wearing long-sleeved shirts to hide my arm stubble.

Most school years began with dread. Not this one. For the first and only time in my life, I couldn’t wait to go back. I hated school like it murdered my family and only kept attending so I could destroy it from the inside, but at least it wasn’t so boring that I had to set myself on fire to make it interesting.

[omegaling]

Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: Mushrooms and Croissants

First off: many thanks to my dear friend @sleepyowlet who helped me through the tougher parts of this chapter.  I was soundly stuck in some areas before she offered me her invaluable input.

Chapter Eleven: Mushrooms and Croissants

Rey did not care for Fifth Avenue.

Like many new arrivals to New York City, Times Square had been one of the fist iconic landmarks Rey went to see after she got settled in her new living arrangements.  She had just turned eighteen, free from the system and out from under Unkar Plutt’s fat thumb, and it seemed only right to see One Times Square for herself, that its massive LED displays and forest of Broadway billboards, would cement the reality that she was actually there, that she had finally made it.

However, it was not long before the blaring horns and haze of exhaust fumes from the countless vehicles and taxis, the blazing advertisements for products she could never afford, and the endless crush of businessmen and roving tourists completely overwhelmed her.  Ever since that day she stuck close to the NYU campus or to the Village, and other than when she went to see Book of Mormon with Finn and Poe last year for Poe’s birthday, Rey avoided Fifth whenever she could.

It was the task at hand today that brought her back, staring up at the steel and black glass monolith looming high above her.  The headquarters of the First Order, Giacovanni Snoke’s empire, looked like a colossal obelisk, dominating that stretch of New York skyline.  Perhaps it was just the adrenaline dancing in her veins, but Rey could almost feel a sort of nexus of energy pulsing from the edifice, commanding respect and fear in equal measures and casting a shroud over the city’s otherwise vibrant heart.  It was a stark reminder of what she was going up against, but she tempered her resolve.  If she could put a bunch of sneering high school boys from her autoshop class in their place by changing out a pair of brake pads in half the time they could, she could handle this.

The main foyer of the First Order headquarters was all white marble tile, chrome accenting, and black granite pillars supporting a ceiling that stretched forty dizzying feet over her head.  A lone reception desk sprawled at the far end, and an intimidating-looking security guard stoof sentry between a length of velvet rope and a line of gleaming elevator doors.  Although there was a steady stream of people trickling to and from the elevators, an oppressive silence filled the foyer like a palapital force, making her ears ache.  She may not know much about Snoke other than what she heard from other chefs, but standing in the foyer made one thing abundantly clear, as if the building had a voice and was speaking directly to her: you are in my domain, now.  The rules of the outside world need not apply.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Rey said to herself, earning a curious look from a woman in a pantsuit who passed by within hearing range.  Shoulders squared and head held high, Rey marched over to the reception desk to join the short line qued behind it.

“Good morning.  Please state your name and manner of business here at First Order,” the receptionist said in a tone that was equal parts professional and bored as Rey stepped up to the desk.

“Rey Jakken,” she responded, obediently handing over her ID when he asked for it.  “I would like to send a message to Chef Kylo Ren.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Rey shook her head.  “I don’t want to actually see him: I just want to get a message to him.  Whether he responds or not is his decision.”

“Very well.  Just make sure it’s brief.”  The receptionist fiddled with his computer mouse and keyboard for a moment.  Behind her, a man in an expensive suit heaved a sigh.  “Your message?”

Rey took a deep breath.  “Let him know that I’ve reconsidered his proposition.  He can contact me here.” She pulled a three-by-five card from her purse and handed it to the receptionist.  Her name and email address was printed on one side.  She had decided against adding her cell phone number; she did not want to give him the power to contact her whenever he wanted.  The receptionist typed on his computer for another full minute before asking her if he could help her with anything else.

“No.  Thank you very much,” Rey said, her fingers trembling slightly as she replaced her ID in her wallet.  Though the whole exchange had taken less than five minutes, by the time she walked away from the reception desk her legs were shaking so badly she was surprised she was able to stand at all.  A part of her wanted to fly back to the desk, shoving aside anyone in her way so she could tell the man there to disregard her message, to do whatever he could to delete it while she took her card back and ripped it up into a hundred pieces.  But she forced herself to walk on, keeping her eyes fixed on the large revolving door that would take her back out to the street.  

This warring of emotions - the mad urge to take back the proverbial die she cast clashing with a steely determination to push forward - was not an unknown feeling to her.  She had experienced it when she submitted her application to NYU; when she bought a bus ticket  to escape from Unkar Plutt once and for all; when she answered Finn’s ad for a roommate; on her first day flying solo as BB8’s new prep cook.  Each event carried its own classification of stress, sometimes to the point where the anxiety made her sick to her stomach, but each one ended up being one of the most rewarding decisions she ever made.  Rey felt her mood perk up a bit.  Who knew, maybe the events that stemmed from today would turn out the same.

Rey was almost to the revolving doors when something caught her attention: two sets of additional elevator doors she had not noticed until now, near the front of the building’s foyer.  Ropes of burgundy velvet, hung with a plague that read “no entry,” barred people from getting too close to the steel doors, and a reception station stood to one side, a woman in a smart black uniform typing busily away at a flat screen computer.  Rey went over to have a look, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but reservations for Vader are full for tonight,” the hostess said crisply.  “The head chef recommends that to guarantee a table, please plan on reserving a table at a minimum of six weeks out.  Availability is subject to change at any time.”

Christ, did his arrogance know no bounds?

“I would just like to see the menu, if that’s all right.”

The hostess gestured to a frame mounted to the black marble wall and went back to her typing, Rey completely forgotten.

Kylo Ren’s menu boasted some of the usual crowd pleasers such as escargot and a foie gras appetizer, oysters on the half shell, filet mignon and lobster, but that was where the similarities to any other restaurant ended.  His unique style was infused into every item, promising a dining experience of unprecedented levels:  Chinese-style dim sum with abalone and topped with caviar; charcoal grilled wagyu ribeye with a red wine and bone marrow sauce; Chilean sea bass poached in French butter; a dark chocolate cake with a molten core of Tahitian vanilla and cognac syrup.  The devil himself could not have come up with a menu more exquisitely sinful.  Rey was only halfway through reading the menu before she realized how much her mouth was watering, and how imagining how each item tasted ignited a slow-burning fire deep in her belly.

She had to make herself leave then, before guilt and her nerves once more compelled her to doubt her decision to come here.

He might not even return my message.  I probably missed my window of opportunity the first time I turned him down, Rey thought as she stepped back into the noise and rush of Fifth Avenue.  She couldn’t see Ren being the type who gave second chances, nor to possess the patience to wait for a smartass rookie to change her mind.  In all likelihood, all this stress would be for naught, and the only thing she’s ever see of Kylo Ren again was in magazines and on social media.

Two days later, he proved her wrong.

Rey was in the middle of prepping a simple mushroom soup for lunch when her phone pinged to inform her she had a new email.  She looked up from her growing pile of chopped shiitake, chanterelles, porcini and oyster mushrooms (pricey, yes, but when it came to making mushroom soup regular white buttons just didn’t cut it), wiped her hands off and picked up her phone.

It took her a full thirty seconds to process what she was reading.  Then she set her phone down, took a swig from the bottle of wine meant for the soup, and picked it up again.  The message was still there, unchanged.

Sender : Kylo Ren

Subject : Your Apprenticeship

Rey put down her phone for a second time, then set about scooping her mushrooms into a bowl and put them away along with all the other ingredients.  No matter what his email said, she already knew that she was going to have zero appetite by the time she was done reading it.  The only thing she kept out was the wine, which she took to the living room with her.  She made herself sit down on the couch with her laptop, took another pull of wine for fortitude, and opened his message.

Ms. Jakken:

I am pleased to hear that you have finally decided to put your pride aside in order to further your career.  That being said, I feel that I should warn you that I have no interest in moving forward unless you’re willing to be fully committed in return.  I have rejected requests to apprentice top graduates from the most renowned culinary institutes around the world, as well as a number of James Beard Foundation nominees and winners, so this is something I do not offer lightly.  Baring that in mind, you’ll understand that my standards and expectations are exceedingly high, and if at any time I feel that you are not meeting them I will terminate your apprenticeship immediately.

If you still believe you are up to the task, contact me at this email address within 48 hours so we can establish the details of your first lesson.

K. Ren

Rey was halfway through writing a scathing response when she realized what she was doing and forced herself to stop.  With great effort she stood up from the couch and walked away from her computer, gripping the wine bottle so hard that she was surprised the neck didn’t shatter in her hand.  

In retrospect, she didn’t know why his email enraged her like it did; she knew he was an arrogant asshole from the start, so she should have expected the condescending nature of his response.  He was one of the top chefs in the world, and she was a nobody.  However, even with knowing all that his email still managed to thoroughly rankle her, each sentence causing red to bleed into the edges of her vision.  It almost felt like he was intentionally trying to piss her off, his every word hitting a nerve like an acupuncture needle.

One thing was for certain, and that was she needed a clearer head before she decided if she was going to accept his offer or tell him to piss off.  Luckily, work promised to provide the distraction she needed.  There was a music festival happening in Washington Square that weekend, which meant that the Village would be crawling with people looking for a quick bite to eat.  During such events, Poe liked to open BB8’s lounge so it operated more like a tapas bar found in Barcelona or San Sebastián, where patrons were encouraged to indulge in the little appetizers as much as they wanted just so long as they had a drink in their hand.  For the past year Poe put Rey in charge of making sure the tapas were always replenished.  It was intense work, especially when stacked on top of all her other duties, but she welcomed the challenge.  The fact that Snap always split a portion of his tips with her was a nice little bonus as well.  Maybe chopping fish for ceviche and slicing vegetables to ribbons was just the outlet she needed.  If she decided to take his offer then maybe she’d be less inclined to pull a knife on him the first time his ego manifested.

But she made herself no promises.

Katy Perry’s “Roar” was reverberating off the steam-streaked bathroom walls when Rey suddenly realized why Ren’s email hit such a nerve.

Rey quickly finished rinsing out her hair, shut the water off and made a mad dash out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing more than her towel.  Finn and Poe jumped up from their reclined positions on the couch at her sudden and partially-clothed appearance, hair still dripping as she grabbed up her laptop from where it was charging on the end table.

“Jesus, Rey, are you okay?” Finn asked, pausing their current episode of Orange is the New Black.  “The last time I saw you move that fast was the Shrimp Incident.”

Rey pulled a face.  The now-famous “Shrimp Incident” that originated when a line chef dropped a partially-thawed prawn down Rey’s back and she chased him around the kitchen with a meat tenderizer was now a favorite story among the Village chefs.  Even her friends enjoyed bringing it up whenever they could.  “It was cold and disgusting and Tio got exactly what he deserved for it.”

“Is everything okay?” Poe asked.

“Yes, fine.  This clothing store I like is having an online firesale and I forgot today was the last day.”

“Must be a damn good sale then,” Finn said as he lay back on the couch, pulling Poe down to recline against his chest as they resumed watching their show.  Breathing a silent sigh of relief that they bought her story, Rey unplugged her laptop from its charger and took it to her room.

Perched on the end of her bed, Rey opened her laptop, clicked on her email server icon and read Ren’s email again, scrutinizing each sentence as she went.  A second read-through confirmed that she wasn’t imagining things: Kylo Ren was challenging her.  Each snide comment, each insinuation that she would somehow fail to meet his standards had garnered the exact reaction she was sure he was aiming for: a sudden burning desire to prove him wrong.  She knew she should have been outraged that he managed to play her like that, but the emotion would not manifest.

Now the question was, where did she go from here?

Poe said she had the potential to become a great chef in her own right.  Wouldn’t that mean taking advantage of whatever means were available to her to achieve it?  But before that was to happen, though, she felt it was within her rights to lay down a few ground rules of her own…

Before she lost her nerve, Rey hit the “reply” button and began to type.

Rey pushed the cloud of foam topping her hazelnut latte to one side of her mug with her spoon, then back to the other, turning the creamy fluff into a muddy slurry.  Her hand twitched toward her phone, but she quickly pulled it back to tug at the bill of her baseball cap instead.  She knew she was must have looked ridiculous, sitting in this seedy little coffee shop in one of Finn’s old jackets and a well-worn Mets hat like she was some undercover agent about to turn over viable information to enemy hands.  In a way, that was exactly what she felt like she was getting ready to do.

Her email back to Kylo Ren had been painstakingly composed, each word carefully chosen as to not betray how much turmoil he caused her, as well as to not give him any more fodder to use in his favor.  Simply stated, Rey told him that there would be no first lesson until he heard and accepted her own term of conditions, which would take place face-to-face at a third party location well away from both the Village and the First Order headquarters.

His answer was waiting for her when her shift ended that night.  She expected a brusque “my way or the highway” kind of response, that there was no reason to move forward if she did not agree to his terms right then and there.  Instead, Ren provided a short list of dates and times he was available and asked her to choose which one worked best for her.  The only thing he requested was that he be the one to choose the place of their meeting, though he assured her it would be well away from both their places of employment.  Caught off guard by the polite tone of his email and this unexpected turn of events, Rey selected the following Monday at eleven AM.

Rey was even more surprised by the location.  She was certain he would have chosen some ritzy bistro in SoHo or TriBeCa, but at 10:45 she found herself standing in front of an unassuming coffee shop in a neighborhood well removed from the beaten tourist path.  The interior was in desperate need of an update: the sea-green formica countertops clashed with the faded and warped laminate floors, and no two tables and set of chairs were the same.  The corner of the pastry case was bisected by a nasty crack.  Rey personally loved places like this.  It had a well-established, homey feel, and the scent of fresh-ground coffee warming the air made it all the more inviting.  It was also the kind of place she assumed Kylo Ren wouldn’t be caught dead in, and she had to double-check his last email to make sure she got the address right.

All at once her previous misgivings began to well up again.  Was she being set up for some kind of sick joke?  She quickly pushed the thought aside.  Ren may have been a lot of things, but she couldn’t imagine him stooping to that level.  Instead, Rey ordered a latte and settled into a cracked vinyl booth to wait.

Eleven o’clock came and went.  At first Rey was not too put-off - punctuality in the City was a hard thing to come by, especially on a Monday morning - but when the clock hit 11:15 she was starting to get antsy.  She didn’t have any new emails from him saying he was running late or he needed to cancel; their brief email exchange gave her the impression that he wouldn’t just stand her up.  That did not stop her from constantly checking her phone and growing increasingly annoyed when she saw only a few minutes passed since she last looked at the time.  She decided to give him until 11:30, and if he didn’t show then she’s put this whole thing behind her and move on with her life.  At least that way she could stop imagining the looks of shock and betrayal on Finn and Poe’s face if they ever found out what she tried to do.

“Though I understand your desire for discretion, I think you might be taking it a little over the top.”

Milk and espresso sloshed over the side of Rey’s mug as she jumped, then cursed at the resulting mess that spread across the table.  “You need to start wearing a goddamn bell or something,” she grumbled, attempting to wipe up the remains of her latte with a wad of napkins.

Ren chuckled, a sound that originated deep within his chest as he set down his own mug and a plate well away from the spill.  “My apologies.  Just a moment,” he said before walking away again.  Rey was swiping the soiled napkins into the trash when Ren reappeared with a damp washcloth.  Rey expected him to hand it to her, but instead he cleaned up the remaining coffee himself.

“Some habits die hard,” he said by way of explanation.  With the mess efficiently taken care of, Rey returned to her seat, Ren sitting opposite of her.  She declined his offer for a replacement drink; evidently she already had enough caffeine today.

“As I was saying,” Ren continued as though nothing had happened, “you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you here with me.  Celebrity chefs don’t have the same paparazzi draw as actors and musicians.  Besides, I’ve been coming here long before Vader opened and no one but the locals ever come here.  And if someone does happen to come up to bother us, Heather will chase them away, so you can relax.”

“I...appreciate that,” Rey said slowly, glancing at her surroundings again.

Ren must have read the skepticism on her face because he cocked an eyebrow at her.  “I’m assuming you thought you were at the wrong location because a place like this would be too far below me?”

The back of Rey’s neck became uncomfortably hot beneath the thick collar of Finn’s jacket.  She tried to convince herself it was because she was embarrassed that he called her out on her shallow assumption, and not because of the fleeting twinkle in his dark eyes or the slight upward curve of his full lips.  “Seems like something a five-star chef might think,” she responded, and instantly regretted it.  So far he had been nothing but civil to her, which she was admittedly not been prepared for, so of course she had to open her mouth and muck it up.

“That’s to be expected, I suppose,” Ren said, pulling his plate toward him.  “And it might be true if Heather didn’t make the best croissants in the City.”

For for first time since he arrived at her table Rey noticed the fat, golden brown croissant sitting on his plate, accompanied by a small ramekin of whipped butter.  Rey watched, entranced, as he tore off one end of the croissant with his long fingers, exposing fluffy layers of pastry still steaming from the oven.  Ren smeared a pat of butter over it, then, to her astonishment, proffered it to her.  “My first piece of advice: keep all your favorite places to yourself.  Otherwise the self-proclaimed foodies -” he said the word as though it was an insult - “will overrun it and you’ll never get close again.”

Rey plucked the piece of croissant out of his fingers and popped it into her mouth.  The pastry immediately melted over her tongue, its texture delicate but unbelievably butter-rich, its interior almost creamy.  Rey’s eyes involuntarily rolled back, a reaction that felt downright vulgar with Ren watching her.  She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, hoping to hide the way she could feel her face flushing under his gaze.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d agree to meet at all,” she said, hoping to divert his attention.  “Your first email made everything sound pretty final.”

“Anything can be adjusted until the moment a plate leaves the kitchen,” Ren replied, applying more butter to his pastry.

Rey smirked.  “Are you going to talk only in food metaphors this whole time?”

“Call it a side effect of my childhood.  Food columnist and critic for a mother, traveling TV personality for a father, eccentric yet revolutionary chef for an uncle.  My mother always said I may as well have been born with a chef’s knife in my hand.”

Rey winced.  “Good thing you weren’t.  Your poor mother.”

So Kylo Ren wasn’t just a talented chef: he was a goddamn child prodigy.  Rey itched to ask him more about his family, but his eyes suddenly hardened, like ice forming over dark pools of water.  Even though he was the one who brought them up, Rey decided it was best to let the subject drop.  That was not why they were here, anyway.

“Just so we’re clear, me being here does not mean I’m agreeing to your offer.”  Rey kept her tone neutral, maintaining a fine line between holding her ground while not sounding overly assertive.

“And just because I said I’d hear your conditions doesn’t mean that I will agree to them,” Ren said cooly.

“Okay, then.”  Rey took a deep breath.  “First and foremost, I want this to be completely off the books.   Especially from Snoke.”

“Like I said before, Snoke only noticed those worthy of his attention.”

“But I got your attention, didn’t I?  You said yourself that you’ve refused to tutor chefs with James Beard credentials.  Your restaurant is located at the epicenter of Snoke’s business empire.  So if you noticed me, he’ll notice, and I’m telling you now: I don’t want to be noticed, by Snoke or anyone else.”

“That’s not unreasonable.”  Ren’s tone implied he had expected that particular request.

“Second: my job at BB8 comes first.  I’m typically off Mondays and Tuesdays, so whatever you have in mind is going to have to revolve around that.  So if you suddenly get a wild hair and decide that I need to learn how to make a duck liver terrine or some other fancy French dish on a Friday night I won’t even dignify you with a response.  The same goes for Finn and Poe.  They’re my best friends, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Again, that’s to be expected,” Ren said, taking a bite if his croissant (Rey had to remind herself not to stare).  “But now I get to present an ultimatum of my own.”

Rey blinked, her heart doing a weird little skip behind her ribs, her anxiety spiking in her chest before she reminded herself that she was still not obligated to agree to any of this.  It actually disappointed her a little that this might be the deal breaker, especially how unexpectedly well their meeting was going so far.  “Okay.  I mean, that’s only fair.”

“The lessons are to take place at my penthouse.”

If Rey’s heart skipped before, now it tripped and landed flat on its face.  “What?”

“It’s the only logical location.” Ren said, thankfully not reacting to the way the color must have drained from her face.  “I could swear my staff to secrecy in order to use Vader’s kitchen, but I’m not keen on the prospect of wasting my time while you’re constantly looking over your shoulder.  Asking another chef to use their kitchen is out of the question, and I’m sure you don’t want anyone in your building curious about me making regular visits to your apartment.”

Rey blanched.  Never mind the neighbors, what would it look like to Finn, coming home one day to find Kylo Ren standing in his kitchen?  The thought alone was enough to make her feel sick.  She racked her brains for reasons to refuse, for her instincts to scream what a bad idea this was at her, but surprisingly she came up with nothing.  She had more than enough self-defense knowledge and street smarts to look out for herself, so unless Ren turned out to be a real life Hannibal Lecter she shouldn’t have to a reason to worry.  But to be alone with Kylo Ren in his home… The thought gave her a thrill of nervous anticipation without an accompanying feeling of dread.  Considering that it was trusting her instincts that got her this far in life, it would be dumb to ignore them now.

“Okay.  Your place it is.”

“That’s all I had to add.  Do you have anything else?”

Again, Rey took a moment to go over her mental checklist to make sure all her bases were covered.  Other than the unforeseen arrangement of the lessons’ location, everything worked out in her favor, which was certainly not the outcome she was expecting today.  There was, however, one final detail she needed to address before they reached an accord.  Although Ren had been civil during their meeting, she had not forgotten the condescending tone that laced that first email and ultimately spurred her into action.  Even now the memory of it gave her a surge of boldness.

“Just one last thing.  Don’t ever underestimate me.”

Kylo Ren smirked, the expression sending an electric tingle down her spine.  “I wouldn’t dare even for a moment, Miss Jakken.”

[luna-verse]

Chem Trails (My 'Howl')

I. It started in Middle England with stagnant thoughts and incestual friendships- It was bleak wet skies that smelt of burning rubber, rotten souls and home- It was busy stale beer pubs full of laughter and cocaine and Irish accents and men are always too drunk to go home and see their kids- It was houses joined on to houses joined on to houses joined on to houses joined on to corner shops where the immigrants were forced to live and work and die- It was backyard grass forcing it's way through concrete slabs to meet the summer parties and twenty degree barbeque excitement- It was once your feet got cold they were cold for six months unless you were lucky enough to have someone in your bed to warm them up against- It was one cold muddy festival a year for screaming at rock bands you list interest in ten years ago and drowning in the weather and rum and Carling- It was small business pubs with gone off ale for one pound a pint and drowning in odd company and rum and Carling- It was Wetherspoons and ecstasy and treats and dreams and walking everywhere cause everyone was too poor and too drunk to drive- It was Sunday family beef pork lamb Yorkshire pudding roast potato grandma's hugs and sleeping grandad, hungover naps on the sofa and red red wine- It was everyone's parents splitting up except yours cause you were adopted and went to private school- It was White Lightning big bottle pills poker and coats in the park to the tune of skateboards and fist fights- It was art degree false friendships smashing plates, juxtaposing mattress forts, white wine and Smallville- It was selfish political statements badly represented by still performance and pornography and skipping lectures to sleep and play Pathfinder- It was Nottingham and Coventry and Birmingham and punks and gigs and fake hair and not going home- It was falling in love in hammocks and getting your heart broken in portaloos It was MySpace and Facebook and FOMO and anime conventions- It was jealousy over boys and girls and perfect snippets of their perfect lives abroad and fear of being trapped in this dry concrete for the rest of your life- It was part time jobs in pubs which dominated your social life and every penny you earnt went straight back into that till, serve one, drink one, serve one, drink one, can't pay the rent- It was memories and friends and cocaine addictions and alcoholism, lovely souls with sad eyes, kinky sex, cups of tea, sweet smiles and deep hugs- It was tearful goodbyes and googly eye stickers and hope and fear and need- It was not being capable of being happy in the cold, seasonal affective, drunk, smells like coke, smells like rain, smells like envy- It was all this that pushed me away yet pulls me back, push me away, trap me back, can't ever leave a good home, get lost.- II. So I left. - I left for the hot sand blue sky sunset Seaford forty degrees beach just across the road and the road is ninety one kilometres long- I left for the mattress on the floor share a room share a bed share my secrets money doesn't last long here- I left for the hottest Christmas of my life followed by selling my body on Boxing Day I left for Deck bar cocktail oyster Australian accent still got a drinking problem but now it costs more- I left for not having access to Cocaine anymore thank God, but do you want to buy Meth instead?- I left for lingerie high heels, secrets and lies, hundreds of dollars, no dollars, star signs, starry skies, stars in my eyes, can't keep secrets, gotta tell someone, don't fuck it up- I left for an hour and a half on the train and forty five minutes on the tram and a ten minute walk to work- I left for five am possum attack man attack park, kookaborough screaming dawn, parrot party in a tree all night, shit all over the cars- I left for inner city whorehouse sweat hair waiting room chair pizza crackheads WWE TV, girlfriend experience porn star extra thirty, no natural don't you know that's legally rape?- I left for Munchkin Azul Catan chessboard Scorpio rivalry comedy nang don't give me that spiritual crap!- I left for Somersby sunny day vegan scrambles Mercedes Champagne, broken glass laugh, piano washing up - never alone- I left for not having my own bedroom but being welcome in everyone's bed - I left for queer identity if you want one, choose a gender, choose a partner, want two? Want what you can't have, never want again- I left for best friend wedding VISA, do you want to stay forever? Marry me, emerald glee, indecision but love forever- I left for crack secrets, stay hydrated, look after yourself, dopamine shortage, Vitamin C, taco burger cider beer mdma ketamine acid- I left for bush doof LSD lose your mind, every time's a silly time, tell your friends, will this trip ever end?- I left for van life, pattern curtain, three in a bed, winter beach, sandal tree, never in your life have you felt this free- I left for more self esteem and a harder shell against the harsh insults of the world- I left for hard smashing my box twenty rubber dicks lights on peep show early morning thrush for minimum wage- I left for toothaches broken collarbones sliced fingers ripped breasts urine infections, please expand the NHS, I can't afford to get out of bed- I left for salty sea rainy season Pad Thai hundred kilometres per hour scooter no licence, can't see, get in the sea, Arrhoy Makh Mah island life paradise is cheap but doesn't last forever- I left for forced holidays VISA runs plane food sim card swimming tuktuk airport homelessness freedom and not being able to afford my safety but I can always afford a beer - I left for choice and freedom- I left cause the good outweighs the bad, and while the bad is much worse, for lack of pubs to drown in and doctors for the poor, the good will be my Paradise.- III. OH acid you opened my eyes- OH Emerald you opened my heart- OH Katie you gave me the world- OH Lachlan you helped me keep it- OH Thailand you set me free- OH England you patch me up for free- OH Great Prostitute in the Sky, you shower me with riches - OH Great Alcoholic in the Gutter, you keep me in poverty, you humble me. - OH to the Great Avocado, the humble noodle, the sacrificial egg. - OH to never being alone, to always being home- OH to every great home, to Coventry, to Nottingham, to Frankston, to Melbourne, to Koh Phangan, to Wellington, to Pai, to all these noble strongholds of my life. - OH to every choice I've made, without one I would never be here as I am today And OH to knowing this long poem will never truly end.

[newstfionline]

On Campus, Failure Is on the Syllabus

By Jessica Bennett, NY Times, June 24, 2017

NORTHAMPTON, Mass.--Last year, during fall orientation at Smith College, and then again recently at final-exam time, students who wandered into the campus hub were faced with an unfamiliar situation: the worst failures of their peers projected onto a large screen.

“I failed my first college writing exam,” one student revealed.

The faculty, too, contributed stories of screwing up.

“I failed out of college,” a popular English professor wrote. “Sophomore year. Flat-out, whole semester of F’s on the transcript, bombed out, washed out, flunked out.”

“I drafted a poem entitled ‘Chocolate Caramels,’ “ said a literature and American studies scholar, who noted that it “has been rejected by 21 journals … so far.”

This was not a hazing ritual, but part of a formalized program at the women’s college in which participants more accustomed to high test scores and perhaps a varsity letter consent to having their worst setbacks put on wide display.

“It was almost jarring,” said Carrie Lee Lancaster, 20, a rising junior. “On our campus, everything can feel like such a competition, I think we get caught up in this idea of presenting an image of perfection. So to see these failures being talked about openly, for me I sort of felt like, ‘O.K., this is O.K., everyone struggles.’”

The presentation is part of a new initiative at Smith, “Failing Well,” that aims to “destigmatize failure.” With workshops on impostor syndrome, discussions on perfectionism, as well as a campaign to remind students that 64 percent of their peers will get (gasp) a B-minus or lower, the program is part of a campuswide effort to foster student “resilience,” to use a buzzword of the moment.

“What we’re trying to teach is that failure is not a bug of learning, it’s the feature,” said Rachel Simmons, a leadership development specialist in Smith’s Wurtele Center for Work and Life and a kind of unofficial “failure czar” on campus. “It’s not something that should be locked out of the learning experience. For many of our students--those who have had to be almost perfect to get accepted into a school like Smith--failure can be an unfamiliar experience. So when it happens, it can be crippling.”

Ms. Simmons would know. She hid her own failure (dropping out of a prestigious scholarship program in her early 20s; told by her college president that she had embarrassed her school) for close to a decade. “For years, I thought it would ruin me,” she said.

Which is why, when students enroll in her program, they receive a certificate of failure upon entry, a kind of permission slip to fail. It reads: “You are hereby authorized to screw up, bomb or fail at one or more relationships, hookups, friendships, texts, exams, extracurriculars or any other choices associated with college … and still be a totally worthy, utterly excellent human.”

A number of students proudly hang it from their dormitory walls.

Preoccupied in the 1980s with success at any cost (think Gordon Gekko), the American business world now fetishizes failure, thanks to technology experimentalist heroes like Steve Jobs. But while the idea of “failing upward” has become a badge of honor in the start-up world--with blog posts, TED talks, even industry conferences--students are still focused on conventional metrics of achievement, campus administrators say.

Nearly perfect on paper, with résumés packed full of extracurricular activities, they seemed increasingly unable to cope with basic setbacks that come with college life: not getting a room assignment they wanted, getting wait-listed for a class or being rejected by clubs.

“We’re not talking about flunking out of pre-med or getting kicked out of college,” Ms. Simmons said. “We’re talking about students showing up in residential life offices distraught and inconsolable when they score less than an A-minus. Ending up in the counseling center after being rejected from a club. Students who are unable to ask for help when they need it, or so fearful of failing that they will avoid taking risks at all.”

Almost a decade ago, faculty at Stanford and Harvard coined the term “failure deprived” to describe what they were observing: the idea that, even as they were ever more outstanding on paper, students seemed unable to cope with simple struggles. “Many of our students just seemed stuck,” said Julie Lythcott-Haims, the former dean of freshmen at Stanford and the author of “How to Raise an Adult.”

They soon began connecting the dots: between what they were seeing anecdotally--the lack of coping skills--and what mental health data had shown for some time, including, according to the American College Health Association, an increase in depression and anxiety, overwhelming rates of stress and more demand for counseling services than campuses can keep up with.

It was Cornell that, in 2010 after a wave of student suicides, declared that it would be an “obligation of the university” to help students learn life skills. Not long after, Stanford started an initiative called the Resilience Project, in which prominent alumni recounted academic setbacks, recording them on video. “It was an attempt to normalize struggle,” Ms. Lythcott-Haims said.

A consortium of academics soon formed to share resources, and programs have quietly proliferated since then: the Success-Failure Project at Harvard, which features stories of rejection; the Princeton Perspective Project, encouraging conversation about setbacks and struggles; Penn Faces at the University of Pennsylvania, a play on the term used by students to describe those who have mastered the art of appearing happy even when struggling.

“There is this kind of expectation on students at a lot of these schools to be succeeding on every level: academically, socially, romantically, in our family lives, in our friendships,” said Emily Hoeven, a recent graduate who helped start the project in her junior year. “And also sleep eight hours a night, look great, work out and post about it all on social media. We wanted to show that life is not that perfect.”

“For a long time, I think we assumed that this was the stuff that was automatically learned in childhood: that everyone struck out at the baseball diamond or lost the student council race,” said Donna Lisker, Smith’s dean of the college and vice president for student life. “The idea that an 18-year-old doesn’t know how to fail on the one hand sounds preposterous. But I think in many ways we’ve pulled kids away from those natural learning experiences.”

And so, universities are engaging in a kind of remedial education that involves talking, a lot, about what it means to fail.

“I think colleges are revamping what they believe it means to be well educated--that it’s not about your ability to write a thesis statement, but to bounce back when you’re told it doesn’t measure up,” said Ms. Simmons, the author of two books on girls’ self-esteem who is publishing a third, “Enough as She Is,” next year. “Especially now, with the current economy, students need tools to pivot between jobs, between careers, to work on short-term projects, to be self-employed. These are crucial life skills.”

If it all feels a bit like a “Portlandia” sketch, that’s because it actually was one: in which Fred and Carrie decide to hire a bully to teach grit to students, one who uses padded gym mats to make sure the children don’t actually get hurt.

Add “teaching failure” to nap pods (yes, those exist) and campus petting zoos (also common), and you’ve got to wonder, as a cover story in Psychology Today questioned last year: At what point do colleges end up more like mental health wards than institutions of higher learning?

“Look, I don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with trying to create experiences that are calming,” said Adam Grant, an organizational psychologist at Penn. “But I’d like to spend a bit more time figuring out what’s causing those stresses.”

Researchers say it’s a complicated interplay of child-rearing and culture: years of helicopter-parenting and micromanaging by anxious parents. “This is the generation that everyone gets a trophy,” said Rebecca Shaw, Smith’s director of residence life. College admissions mania, in which many middle- and upper-class students must navigate what Ms. Simmons calls a “‘Hunger Games’-like mentality” where the preparation starts early, the treadmill never stops and the stakes can feel impossibly high.

And there’s the adjustment, for many high-achieving students, of no longer being “the best and brightest” on campus, said Amy Jordan, the associate dean for undergraduate studies at Penn. Or what Smithies call “special snowflake syndrome.”

“We all came from high schools where we were all the exception to the rule--we were kind of special in some way, or people told us that,” said Cai Sherley, 20, seated in the campus cafe. Around her, Zoleka Mosiah, Ms. Simeon and Ms. Lancaster nodded in agreement. “So you get here and of course you want to recreate that,” Ms. Sherley said. “But here, everybody’s special. So nobody is special.”

Social media doesn’t help, because while students may know logically that no one goes through college or, let’s be honest, life without screw-ups, it can be pretty easy to convince yourself, by way of somebody else’s feed, “that everyone but you is a star,” said Jaycee Greeley, 19, a sophomore.

It is also a culture that has glorified being busy--or at the very least conflates those things with status. “There’s this idea that I’m not worthy if I’m not stressed and overwhelmed,” said Stacey Steinbach, a residential life coordinator at Smith. “And in some sense to not be stressed is a failing.”

It’s what Ms. Simmons calls “competitive stress”: the subject of her afternoon workshop on the campus lawn, to which she was luring students with ice cream and bingo.

When students arrived, the sundaes were there. But the bingo cards were a little different--filled with things like “I have 20 pages to write tonight,” “I’m too busy to eat” and “I’m so dead.” It was called “Stress Olympics.”

“It’s basically a play on competitive suffering,” said Casey Hecox, a 20-year-old junior. “It’s when we’re like, ‘I have three tests tomorrow.’ And then someone’s like, ‘I have five tests tomorrow, and all I’ve eaten is 5-hour Energy, and my dog is sick.’”