#i would let her fuck me with a racket. and she did! bc tennis was the whole Thing

[nicollekidman]

if your central throuple isnt so enmeshed as to functionally be One Being and you’re gonna talk about teams get OUT of my face

[zweiginator]

do u tbink reader and bsf!patrick would ever start hooking up but in like a fwb way? bc imagine….and wildly enough it’s HER who’s like ‘cant get attached’ blah blah blah. like it’s her being the one to make it clear that this doesn’t change anything, she’s completely platonic outside of it (well ok not really), she won’t think of them as dating even tho they practically are.

and it’s so obvious she thinks he’s not taking it seriously. assumes he’s going on dates. tries to not think ab it.

n eventually he just like loses it. points out how "it’s not fucking fair. you do all this shit to me, with me, and now you’re acting like i’m the crazy one for thinking we’re more than just fuck buddies? that’s all you wanna be? fuck off" and angry sex…..

NOT SURE JUST SOME THOUGHTS…

yes. youve seen patrick's ex girlfriends, how obsessed they still are with him. there is something so egregiously intoxicating about him--it scares you. truly knocks the wind out of you.

you didn't get it before you became friends with benefits. before you leapt over that line in the sand that had been toed over for year and years.

but that one night in september when patrick had just broken up with a girl, and you were feeling upset after yet another horrible date--you got it.

patrick comforted you that night. it felt selfish; you were upset about a guy you met maybe twice. he had just dumped a girl he thought he truly loved.

you brought up the idea.

"let's just be friends with benefits." you plead. the truth was that you were so curious about him. as he grew more and more and became a man instead of an immature little boy--you wanted to feel him.

"what are you talking about?" he didn't want to ruin your friendship. but thee truth was that he had broken up with his girlfriend because of a petty little disagreement. it was trivial, really. he told himself it was just pure incompatibility. but in reality, he resented her for not being more like you. nobody could be you--except for you.

patrick knew it would be complicated. for some reason, you figured it wouldn't be. patrick was always hooking up with and talking to new girls. it seemed like he had the no strings attached thing down pat.

patrick made love to you that night. that was the only way to describe it. slow, meaningful, deep thrusts, your legs wrapped around his waist. desparate for him to be closer.

his words were filthy. he spread your cunt open and cooed about how pretty it was. how it opened up just for him. how wet he had made you. so pretty. so perfect.

it made you cum. it made your nails dig and dig and dig into his back.

you understood how his exes turned obsessive. maybe not even turned.

so you vowed to never get too attached. to never ruin your friendship.

you never slept over at his place, and you never allowed him to stay the night at yours. no pillow talk or sweet nothings. no dates.

of course, these stipulations had loose definitions. and as best friends, it was inevitable to show appreciation to each other, to go out to an occasional nice dinner or impromptu lunch.

patrick was becoming more and more livid with you. you didn't know what had changed. he was more bossy in bed; he went from slow sessions of eating your pussy to slapping his cock on your tongue and commanding you: fucking suck on it.

of course, you liked it. you loved anything he did to you. but maybe you missed how sweet he used to be. you wouldn't admit to yourself why that was.

valentine's day was soon. and maybe patrick had assumed that you would be his date. he made reservations for you.

"patrick, what are you talking about? no, i'm not gonna be your valentine." you shake your head, taking his tennis rackets from him to shove in the backseat.

"what the fuck do you mean 'what am i talking about?'" patrick lowers his voice. "we've been fucking for like 6 months why are you acting like this?"

"exactly," you say. "we've been fucking. we haven't been dating. i told you this would be purely platonic when we started."

patrick scoffs, slamming the door. he's yelling at you now. "so you're just gonna act like i'm fucking crazy for thinking this is more than platonic when it is definitely more than platonic?" he forces the car into reverse, driving away angrily.

"you're mad because i'm keeping my word--no, our word."

"whatever." patrick spat. "you're full of fucking shit. acting like this hasn't been dating this whole fucking time. making me seem like a fucking idiot for thinking you liked me."

"i do like you-"

patrick seethes; the vein in his neck pulses as he parks the car. he's dropping you off at your apartment.

"get the fuck out. go home. this is over--all of it is."

you gather your things and get out of patrick's car. you have barely shut the door when he skids away. your breath is visible in the cold february air, but your body is hot, and stiff with anger and confusion.

you think he will break and call you first. but one week passes, and then valentine's day. and soon it's march and you haven't so much as seen patrick for almost a month.

it's stupid. you go to patrick's apartment. you look like a lost puppy dog.

he doesn't answer the door. you know he's home. his car is in the driveway, you hear music in his living room. maybe he's with another girl. maybe he really did move on.

you don't leave. it's freezing, and your jacket is light--it's not made for the dry cold that hurts at the end of winter.

patrick opens the door.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

your lip wobbles.

"it's freezing out here what's your problem?"

patrick bullies you. he pulls you inside and wraps you in a blanket but sits on the opposite side of the couch. doesn't say a word.

you speak up; he cuts you off.

"i have nothing to say to you."

now you're begging. you're crying and the tears are stinging and you're on patrick's lap trying to get him to notice you.

"please pat, p-please. i miss you."

patrick grabs your jaw. he's stern. "this isn't how platonic friends act. this isn't how you fucking cry when you're just friends."

he's right.

you pull at his shirt. "please, i need you, i'll do anything. want you to be mine. i was so--stupid."

patrick is hard beneath you. he likes this.

"you're so fucking pathetic." he spits.

you get down on your knees in front of him.

"i'm so stupid."

"show me how much you want me." he pushes his sweatpants off; he's wearing no underwear. and his cock looks bigger. just as angry as he is.

you grab him into your hands and spit on his cock, moaning as you kiss it all over. lick him from his balls to the weeping head of his cock. suckling on him and hallowing your cheeks. saying im sorry im sorry im sorry.

he slaps his cock on your face. tells you you should be.

you feel how he pulses in your mouth; he groans as he pushes your face into his balls. you suck them into your mouth. your eyes water and your pussy drools for him.

patrick pulls you up. puts you on top of him. pushes your cunt onto his throbbing cock until you're gasping. god he's big and he's fucking relentless. you're not even moving and he's fucking up into you so hard you feel like you have whiplash.

but god, it feels so good. patrick pulls your hair, palms your ass, slaps your face. he rubs your clit and laughs at you. laughs at how much you're moaning. how easy you are.

"are you fucking sorry?" he asks. his balls slap against your ass.

you can barely get a word out.

"yes--i'm so sorry."

"tell me you love me." he wipes a tear from your eye. "tell me you fucking love me."

you nod, cumming right then. coating his cock in your slick, milking him.

"i love you patrick. love you so much. i'll never leave you again."

patrick cums too.

[killjoyer]

hns ep 9 rant!

ok!! lots to talk about!! this episode took my heart and proceeded to squeeze it until it shattered!! but whatever!!

first of all! shingo and his (half? step?)sister are rlly cute :((

and then his step mom comes and ruins it, thanks m o m

nao :( i really hate to see him so sad and distant,,, also his mother hates lefties? i think i heard somewhere that japan just don’t like ppl who are left-handed??

also why the heck can’t she let nao be happy?? she’s literally gonna make him quit?? will tacky allow that?

also ngl i actually thought he was gonna slap her or like,, throw the chopsticks at her

also the difference in the dinners(breakfasts???) between shingo’s family and nao’s,,, that hurt

but an is so supportive and cute and lovely!! all which nao’s mom isn’t!! (sorry i just,, really hate her)

shingo’s dad joins the club of “only good parents allowed”!! he’s the 4th (and HOPEFULLY not the last member)

maki’s mom!! i love her :(( she’s so nice and im glad she’s ok with maki playing tennis

ALSO WHEN I FIRST SAW THE PREVIEWS I THOUGHT: “i’d love to see the soft tennis team meet shingo’s sis 💕💕 imagine how cute they’d all be”

AND WE GOT IT?? THANK YOU HOSHIAI

also total sidenote but uhh,, yuu?? we had nothing with them?? maybe it’ll come later but i was rlly scared on how they’d continue from last ep

nao is rlly gonna snap soon and tbh can’t blame him? i wish maki would have said or say something to him

nearly screamed at my screen when an decided to explore,, like chiLD WHERE ARE YOU G O I N G??

taiyo,, bby u had one job,, like i understand buT STILL

mitsue frantically searching for an was rlly cute too :((

when nao locked the door, i rlly thought he had just killed her or smth and my ass was screaming at his for a whole 2 min

maki good boy, thanks for coming to my tedtalk

nao :(( pls don’t cry :( i rlly have a small feeling he’s gonna become (if not already) suicidal, i mean with the whole “i don’t belong here” i just got those vibes

wow

thanks for the 20 sec match hoshiai hfjkfkldd

no but srsly, the boys have improved a lot since ep 1! man i love character development

i kinda guessed that nao used his fairytales to escape reality but damn ://

pathological lying? i’ll make sure to look that up later, i want to understand more about it

tsubasa’s brothers!! they’re really cute and one of them is really tall jesus

oh no, another parent,,, coming to ruin the happy times

my actual reaction to the scene where tsubasa and his dad argue was just,,, [INTERNAL SCREAMING]

and his dad fucking sLAPS HIM?? BECAUSE OF WHAT??

AND TSUBASA F A LLS??

[INTERNAL SCREAMING INTENSIFIES]

like

and

he lands on his wrist, and that freaking c r u n c h

frEakin BITCH OF A FATHER

and i hate to announce we have another member joining the “shit parents eat shit” club!!

and tsubasa?? just runs?

like im glad he got away from his dad, who knows what else could’ve happened (even tho his dad didn’t look like he wanted that to happen, STILL, WHAT DOES HE EXPECT WHEN HE SLAPS HIS SON HARD ON THE STAIRS??)

but like, baby,, you ain’t gonna get to the hospital on foot

but?? it kinda all clicked when he stood in front of shingo’s house and i was like “oH OK GIVE ME SOME HURT/COMFORT THEN”

thank u shingo ily

“it’s no big deal” ???

BITCH ITS TURNING MORE BLUE THAN YOUR FUCKING HAIR???

thank u shingo’s dad for not only being a good father but also just a good man

why do they all lie,, wdym u fell down the stairs bc u were clumsy

anyways there is no way that doctor believed him

his entire face says it all

anD NOW HE CANT HOLD A RACKET FOR TWO MONTHS??

WHAT ABOUT THE TOURNAMENT??

HHHH???

also that credits scene, ouch

so tsubasa’s dad wants tsubasa to play soccer bc he did?? fuck u play soccer urself u old man before i break ur kneecaps

and that final sentence,, not ok

“i wanna play... in our match...!”

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he��d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[totallypathet]

Hoo boy do I have problems with PE teachers! The PE teachers at my high school made us run the 1500m once a year, without ever letting us build up to it, or teaching us proper running techniques. We also had to run in it in the height of summer. They never actually taught us anything about what we were doing - sure they taught us the rules of tennis, but they didn't teach us anything about stance, or racket techniques or any of that stuff.

I was a pretty angry kid, I was also a very fat kid. One day I got so sick of being assessed on stuff I didn't know how to do - and that no-one wanted to help me do - I just flat out refused. I fully walked away, I went back to the changing rooms, and I was so angry I broke the little compact mirror I used to carry around with me (I was angry, but I was too much of a nerd to actually damage school property). I got in so much trouble. They called my mum, the head of year (who was also a PE teacher) got involved, they all said I had anger problems and it was unacceptable to leave a lesson like that. Not once did any if them ask why I was angry. They never asked why I had walked out, and when I tried to tell them I got shut down for "making excuses".

That was the moment I decided I couldn't trust PE teachers, that they didn't give a shit about the kids who weren't naturally good at sport, and that I was too fat and too bad at anything to bother trying. So I stopped trying. I learned how to put as little effort in as possible without looking like it. I bonded with the other kids who were terrible at PE; the fat kids, the asthmatic kids, and the disillusioned kids. We formed alliances, and we did what we could to get each other through. We started 'The Baywatch Run'. We figured out that as long as we moved as a pack and acted like we were trying, we could move as slow as we wanted. One time we were so slow that the PE teacher had to stop us bc the lesson was over. She was so mad, but what could she do? We were trying our best, we said, afronted at the mere suggestion we weren't taking it seriously.

The one thing that really got me though, and I will never forget this, happened when I was 14. I was very mouthy at that age, and I Did Not Care for anything I felt was unjust. We were running our annual 1500 metres (and by this time it was cemented for me that I was always going to be fat and that I hated exercise), one morning in summer. It was about 10am, and it was already super hot. I was sweating just standing in the sun, and I was dreading running. I could see all my fat friends were also dreading it, so we all looked at each other reassuringly, and silently agreed on the Baywatch technique. The teachers always separated us into groups for the starting line; fast runners, medium runners, slow runners. That's what they told us, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that they just ordered us by weight, and stuck the kids they didn't like in with us fatties. So we 'slow runners' start, and we fall into formation baywatching the hell out of it. We're all silent, heads down, looking like we're exerting more effort than we are. We get about halfway round, and the girl in front of me suddenly stops, takes one deep, gasping breath, and collapses.

Now, I am 24. I'm first aid trained. If someone collapsed in front of me in the street, I know exactly what to do. It would still shake me up. At 14, I had none of that knowledge.

I freak the fuck out, and so do the girls around me. We're yelling, we're shaking her, we're trying to check she's still breathing. She's only out for a few seconds, but it felt like an age. She opens her eye, but she can only take very shallow breaths, and she can't speak. She just about managed to say "inhaler" and that was it. We look around, and the PE teacher hasn't even noticed. She's chatting away to one of the fit girls who's already finished. So three of us pick up our friend and all but carry her over to this teacher, who has her inhaler. My friend is like a pale blue at this point. We get her over there, and this teacher is furious. She's like "what's going on here?!" And the three of us look at each other in shock. This girl is clearly having an asthma attack. She's audibly wheezing, she can barely stand by herself and her eyes are glassy and unfocused. This teacher yells at us for stopping, and tells my friend to stop being so dramatic. We're all so shocked we're speechless. Finally she stops yelling, starts disapprovingly shaking her head and gives my friend her inhaler. She's so out of it at this point that someone else had to hold it for her.

By the time the whole debacle was over, it was time to go get changed again. We packed up my friends stuff and sent her to the nurse with another girl who was already changed. We're still speechless.

When we're changed, the PE teacher calls us into the office and tells us we have detention for stopping in the middle if the run for no reason. The other two are shocked, and still speechless. I'd had enough. I threw an absolute fit. I screamed at this teacher, how dare she ignore my friend during an asthma attack, and then have the gall to give us detention for trying to make sure she didn't die (I'll admit that was overdramatic, but I was 14 and I'd never witnessed an asthma attack before). By the time I was done I was shaking and crying. This teacher smirked at me, and told me I had 2 days lunchtime detention.

We went back to the office at lunchtime, all silently raging. My PE teacher head of year was there, and he told us to get changed, because we were running the 1500 again. At noon, in high summer, at lunchtime, when the track was surrounded by kids on their break. If that's not public humiliation idk what is. I was really done at that point, it couldn't get any worse so I said exactly what I thought about the whole situation. I told him he hadn't listened to our side of the story, how we'd stopped to help my friend who was having an asthma attack, how the teacher had yelled at us before giving her her lifesaving inhaler. My head of year acted all sympathetic and acted like his hands were tied here. I sneered at him in his face and told him he was her boss, and if he cared about being fair he wouldn't be doing this. We got changed, we went out to the track with him, I didn't once stop glaring at him. He lined us up at the start, blew the whistle, and I stood there for a full 10 seconds staring him down, and then I started walking, at a very slow pace, around the track. He was looking pretty sheepish at this point, and he didn't say anything about it. The girls ahead of me cottoned on and we walked around the track until he felt guilty enough to stop us.

I have never forgotten that day. I have never forgiven that silly bitch for the way she behaved, and every time I see her in public (we live in a small town) I go up to her and I stand there talking to her for as long as possible, being all nice and kind and smiley, just so I waste her time the same way she wasted ours.

I can't stand PE teachers.

the older i get the weirder it is that not a single p.e. teacher in my entire school career was able to recognize the difference between “a child who doesn’t get enough exercise” and “a child with serious health problems impeding their ability to exercise in this particular way”