#I’m no expert on meditation-mindfulness don’t get me wrong I don’t know a thing

[mutalune]

one of the funniest things about star wars fic is that you can very clearly tell when an author has no clue what meditation actually is

[moemoemammon]

The other brothers laugh at mammon for getting beaten up/hurt until they see MC nursing him back to health are like "Wait a minute...."

Mammon, You Bastard-!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Per usual, Mammon had the audacity to think he could get away with stealing a record from Lucifer's room to be sold. And per usual, he got his ass beat for it.

But what wasn't expected was what happened after. It's not unheard of for Mammon to go crawling off to the closest person to sympathize with him, and that's usually you.

You today.... Mammon was ACTUALLY getting spoiled. Lucifer had the misfortune of watching you gently dab at all of the new scrapes and bruises, all while Mammon acted like an overgrown child.

It isn't like he'd stoop so low that he’d want to be coddled in that way, but something about that smug look on Mammon's face made him wanna shake him around like a rag doll.... So instead, he'll just abuse his authority for a bit.

"Mammon, come with me. It seems you haven't learned your lesson, judging from that look on your face. The garden could use some tending to, the tub needs to be scrubbed, and there's a recent test score of yours I'd like to discuss."

Mammon

MC, you've gotta hear him out! See, he wasn't doing anything really bad per se... He just wanted to dust off that particular record of Lucifer's! And now he's all beaten up for it, so comfort him 🥺

Somehow you buy into his baby act (to his surprise), and now he's got his head on your lap while you comb your fingers through his hair. If this is what getting beat up gets him, he's gotta do it more often!

He's actually feeling a little guilty for having you wrapped around his finger like this, but... it feels too damned good to be spoiled! He deserves nice things too, damn it!

What makes the reward even sweeter is the look of irritation on the other brothers' faces when they see this special treatment he's receiving. He can't help but flash them a smug grin every time you respond to his ouch's and whimpers.

"O-Ow! Be a little gentler, will ya?! ...Sorry, I didn't mean it. But I'm really banged up, ya know? Lucifer didn't hold anything back, so I'll probably need EXTRA treatment...maybe a kiss or two, too..."

Levi

Oi. Shitty second-born.

That lap may be a forbidden land that Levi doesn't dare to touch, but there's no way he's letting it be soiled by trash! Why was Mammon of all people the one that got to live out such an amazing fantasy?!

You wanna see envy? Yeah, Levi is plotting Mammon's murder. He'll get someone he owes money to, right? Then he'll make it look like an accident when he-

No... He'll reveal every bad things he's ever done that's been kept a secret! He'll blackmail him! He's telling Lucifer everything about the time his D.D.D. was thrown in the trash! Who cares if it's petty?! This is WAR!!

"Mammon you SCUM! This is UNFORGIVABLE!! That secret stash of mocha devil pudding you've been hiding?! I'm gonna tell Beel all about it so he'll eat it! And when I'm done with that, I'm gonna show Lucifer what happened to his you-know-what!! And, and-!"

Satan

Satan is an expert at controlling his emotions. There's nothing that can break his facade of endless calm. He's a pillar of relaxation, he's a master of meditation, he's the epitome of a sound mind, he's-

Hey. Did Mammon grin just now? That was a grin, wasn't it?

Mammon's gonna need more than MC therapy after this, because Satan is already grabbing him by the head. There's no need for a older brother who can't even tend to his own wounds, right?

So it should be fine if he vanishes under mysterious circumstances! His brothers (minus Lucifer) seem to agree, and that's a majority consensus.

"Hm, you seem awfully lively for someone who was 'nearly killed back there', like you said. It's almost as if you're not hurt at all. Why don't you put this head of yours to better use and think up a way to stop being a nuisance?"

Asmo

Hey! The only one that's allowed to be dramatic in order to win the affection and adoration of others is HIM. Not gross Mammon!

Asmo's not going to let a guy like that get over on him! Not in a million years! No one can beat Asmo at his own game!

So what does he do? He hides around the corner to get into character, then the next thing you know he's running toward you at full speed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He literally smacks Mammon out of your lap and buries his face into it instead, arms folded over while he sobs as if his lover had gone off and died in the war.

"MC, my darling MC! It's terrible! Completely AWFUL! I don't think even I can recover from this..! Why do such terrible things happen to beautiful, adorable, wonderful Asmo?? Boo hoo.... you have to come to my room right away so I can tell you what happened!" (Plot twist: he 'forgets' what happened as soon as he gets you in his room.)

Beel

Beel didn't really think anything was out of the ordinary at first. Mammon always runs to you when something's wrong. He's kind of a crybaby in that way.

So it takes his other brothers pointing it out for him to realize..... Hey, something's going on-

That look on Mammon's face starts looking less like a pained grimace, and more like a wide, smug grin. Beel understands now.... he's taking advantage of MC!

You're so kind so it's obvious Mammon would try to prey on that! And he's getting his snot and tears all over your legs, too.

It's annoying.

"Levi, you said something about mocha devil pudding, right? Show me where it is. I'm going to eat it right away, and whatever else he's hiding."

Belphie

Hey... who the hell does Mammon think he is? That lap is Belphie's designated nap spot. Everyone knows that.

Now it's being tainted by his gross older brother germs, and that's absolutely unforgivable. And the fact that he's being a bastard about it makes it even more annoying.

Belphegor won't admit that he's jealous of course, so he's going to be a gremlin instead. He's got more subtlety than his brothers.

When Mammon goes to find Goldie and doesn't know where it is? That'll be Belphie's doing. When his bed is covered in the stickiest royal jelly in the Devildom? Belphie. When he wakes up to find himself all tied up next to Cerberus? Belphie.

"Hm? Mammon hasn't come to take you shopping yet? I don't know anything about that. Why don't you and I go together? There's something I want to buy at Majolish. And we can take a nap afterward, okay?"

[hungerpunch]

on this day in 2020, i was making preparations to finally risk the onslaught of COVID to visit my dad, who had only recently told us of his cancer diagnosis despite going through treatments in secret for almost eight months. so yeah i was packing my shit up and getting so excited to see him. and then the next morning my mom called and told me he was dead.

here are things that i have learned about grief, death, the loss of a close parent who you love

everyone knows the stages of grief. the truth is that they don’t necessarily happen linearly or terminally. you do not experience a stage just once, then move on never to return to it. the stages can happen in any order, at any intensity, and you can return at any time–often without notice. you can always return to a stage, no matter how long it’s been, no matter how healed you feel. yes, even denial. think of the stages of grief less like a tidy and predictable progression and more like the worst game of roulette.

shock. you’re in shock. you’re not even in denial yet, you’re in fucking shock. shock can last for weeks. shock is a physical condition. you are not breathing enough. your body is not sending the right signals for its needs. your muscles are catching all your trauma and holding it tight, tight, so tight in your body. expect your physical self to fall apart. i don’t mean like fainting or throwing up right away, which is common, but in the weeks that follow. you won’t eat right. you probably won’t hydrate right. you are not breathing enough. you are not breathing enough. you literally are not breathing enough.

speaking of breathing, it’s easy to do it wrong! when you are taking in deep breaths, you need to pause and hold it for 2-3 beats before you exhale. if you rapidly breathe in and out deeply, you’re just going to hyperventilate, and if you hyperventilate long enough, you just faint. pause after the inhale.

your body will hurt, once the shock starts to wear off. it will hold and hold and not fucking release. if you are able to, seek professional help with this. it’s important to seek therapy for your mind if you can, but people don’t think about the body. i’m talking physical therapy. i’m talking massage therapy. i’m talking guided yoga and meditation. tai chi. reiki. dance therapy. anything. find a somatic expert and entrust them with your pain and let them help your body.

but on that topic, if you are able, please also seek talk therapy. you need to cry to a stranger. you need to weep and cough and collapse and talk to someone you have no other social history with. you need to be able to say the worst shit. you need to be able to say shit about your loved ones. you need to be able to talk about the agonizing process of navigating the world with friends who can’t fucking relate to what you’re going through. 

no one warns you about all the administrative shit you have to do when a parent dies. there are dwellings to clean out and there are accounts to close and funeral arrangements to plan, yes, but also: there is so much business with the state. reports must be filed. certificates must be gotten. proof of death needs to be provided to this agency and that bureau and it just feels endless, and it all costs money. 

so much about death is about money. money money money. i never knew i needed a savings account explicitly for the death of a parent but my god i wish i’d been socking away money in one. 

every copy of a death certificate costs $20 + postage, and you’ll need many copies because none of these assholes will take a scan or fax. 

obituaries ain’t a given and they aren’t free and they aren’t even cheap. 3 lines of column-width text cost $150 in the local paper of my hometown. just enough to say my dad’s name, birthdate, and the address of his memorial service. i didn’t realize this and the first draft i wrote and submitted was going to cost $1200. the paper editor called me to ask me if i knew what i was doing. of course i didn’t know what i was doing. they don’t teach newspaper print obits in school.

everything happens very fast, once the death has occurred. it’s brutal and morbid but my advice would be to research funeral homes or funeral services well in advance of your loved one’s passing, because once they pass, you only have a matter of business days to get it all pulled together. figure out a place you like and what their packages cost. many of the places i called around to cost $5,000+ for their starting package. funeral directors and sales reps told me those price points over the phone as i was crying without even a remorseful note in their voice. i was able to find a small company willing to work with my family for the price of $1,350. that was the cheapest i could find. i called so many places. 

don’t even talk to me about the cost of trying to get anything (a plot, niche, a plaque) in a cemetery. it makes me ill and it will make you ill, too.

(sub-point: if your parents are still together, or apart but still have love for each other, a cute and fun part of this is looking at your surviving parent and asking them whether they want to be buried/remembered next to the recently deceased one. that’s right. hey, person freshly grieving their longtime partner, contemplate your own mortality and also figure out if you want an adjoining plot. because if you do, we gotta buy that right now. there are no courtesy holdings, sorry.)

that’s because death and dying is a business. it’s an industry. and baby, they will rob you for every penny they think that they can get from you in your time of grief. plan in advance.

you’re not gonna remember shit. it’s all gonna blur together, or feel so surreal that you will want someone to tell it back to you, later, just to understand what happened. this is why i recommend journaling, if you can, or recording voice notes, or asking a friend or family member to just bear witness with you through that first week or two. so they can tell you later on what happened.

there is more power in creating your own personal rituals to say goodbye to your loved one than there is in the socially expected ceremony via the state. you don’t have to rush these or do them on anyone’s timeline. i didn’t say goodbye to my dad until almost a year after he passed, in a private ritual i constructed in my own home.

 your friends aren’t gonna know what to say. and you’ll understand, because you won’t either. this is my advice to friends out there who don’t know what to say: share memories. share memories, please. i appreciated all the “i’m so sorry, lo”s i got, i did, but it was a hundred times more healing when people (even strangers!) shared a memory about my dad with me. even something tiny, so tiny, such as seeing him drop me off at school. this tells your friend: they’re in my heart, too. you don’t have to be responsible for keeping them alive via memory all on your own. i will remember them with you. i will help you keep them alive. 

save shit. save shit from your loved ones. i don’t mean trinkets, necessarily, but essences of them: voice mails, texts, written letters, photographs. you’ll want it. trust me. you may not ever be able to handle listening to a voice mail, but you’ll be happy that you have it. when i found a letter that my dad wrote me for my high school graduation, i felt a profound and visceral sense that he was with me. a greater connection, a sense of presence, than any other little memento or picture i had. it was such a relief. if you do not have these things, ask for these things. ask your loved one: can you write me a card? can you write me a letter? can you sign it love, mom? can we take a picture together? can i take a picture of you smiling? even if it’s awkward to ask, it will be worth it.

write long and meandering posts that you may or may not share on tumblr lol. start writing it and forget your original point. share it anyway.

because if you don’t share your pain, you can’t have real community. an awful but true fact that i have learned. if you do not share, if you do not invite people into your process, nobody can connect to you. and you need people to connect to you. even if you wish you could just be a island. you can’t be. life doesn’t work that way.

[swordgayist]

cultural appropriation in ATLA (hinduism edition)

i’m sure there’s already a ton of posts about this, but whatever, i’m still making one idc. 

ATLA’s cultural appropriation, everyone knows about it, the white people don’t speak about it, and the asian and indigenous people get ignored. we know the cycle. but i wanted to come here and highlight some of the most prominent examples of ATLA abusing hinduism, as i am kinda sorta hindu (i was raised in a hindu household, i go to chinmaya mission, that kinda shit). i might forget some things so keep that in mind.

this is gonna be divided into 3 main sections, since there are different ways that they disrespect hinduism that i don’t wanna lump together.

and i’d say i know a lot about hinduism but that doesn’t make me an expert, obviously, so if other hindus have anything to add and/or correct then please do !! and if anyone else wants to share how their cultures were appropriated then please do that as well !!

so let’s get started shall we?

appropriating hinduism

1) the avatar

we’ll start with the most obvious example: the avatar itself

i know that there are parts of the avatar mythos that are taken from other cultures as well but the idea of the avatar itself is primarily from hinduism.

basically in hinduism, the term dashavatara refers to the 10 reincarnations of lord vishnu (the god of preservation), with avatar(a) meaning form or incarnation in sanskrit, and das(a) meaning ten. it was said that whenever the world was out of balance, lord vishnu would come down to earth in a certain form to restore balance. Each reincarnation is considered a different life with a different story. the avatars of lord vishnu are often considered the saviors of the world.

so basically, the central idea of the show and the actual name of the show is largely based on hinduism.

2) chakras

many different indian religions have a concept of chakras (chakra meaning wheel or circle in sanskrit), but hinduism is the one that primarily preaches the system of seven chakras, the version used in ATLA.

chakras connect the physical body to the ‘subtle’ body (referring more to the spirit and the psyche) by connecting parts of the body to aspects of the mind. the idea is that through different forms of steady meditation you can manipulate the different chakras and allow the pure flow of energy through the body.

the whole idea of chakras on ATLA is that aang has to unblock them all to let the cosmic energy flow through him so that he can go into the avatar state at will. so yeah, pretty much that whole idea was taken from hinduism.

3) terminologies

these are just a few terms that were taken from hinduism. i’m pretty sure there are more that i can’t think of right now but yeah.

“agni” kai 

i’ll be honest i don’t know where the ‘kai’ part is from, i don’t think it’s from hinduism but if it is well fuck me i guess.  ‘agni’ in hinduism is the god of fire, so the creators used it in ‘agni kai’, the name for a firebending duel.

“bumi”

this is in reference to the hindu word for ‘earth’, which is bhoomi. this is also in reference to our goddess of earth, bhoomi devi. also this doesn’t really bother me but i wonder if the creators knew that bhoomi is a name typically used for women (as are most hindi names ending in ‘i’/‘ee’).

in general, concepts like having multiple complex gods (the spirits) who are capable of good and evil and the reincarnation cycle are prominent in a lot of asian cultures, including (and arguably primarily) hinduism.

mocking hinduism

now we get into the mockery of hinduism in ATLA, because it is very much there.

1) whoever the fuck that baboon guy in the spirit world was

now what the fuck was this.

i mean i wouldn’t say this is the most egregious example of them making fun of brown people but lord why did this even need to be there? this random guy from the spirit world has an indian accent ? and is fervently chanting ‘om’ for some reason, and it’s clearly meant to be seen as comical. also portraying brown people as monkeys....... really.

2) combustion man/sparky sparky boom man

when rewatching ATLA in 2019 i actually had no idea that this was a thing, because the last time i had watched it was as a kid and i didn’t finish it.

so lord was i in for a surprise when i saw...

now... now what.

if you didn’t know, combustion man’s ‘third eye’ is designed to replicate the hindu god of destruction, lord shiva. right down to the vibhuti on his forehead (referring to the three line markings around the third eye).

in hinduism, lord shiva’s third eye is used to reduce people to ashes, though as far as i can recall, not very frequently. the primary significance of the third eye is that it represents the ability of higher spiritual thought and higher consciousness.

the ATLA writers take the ACTUAL significance of the third eye, throw it out the window, and then take its destructive abilities to make a super duper cool and dangerous new firebending technique.

and if that wasn’t bad enough, the actual person who uses this technique, and is meant to emulate a GOD who is PRAISED, is a scary, burly, half metal man who is a villain and an assassin. not to mention the design of his facial hair replicates that super duper scary “terrorist” depiction of brown people, particularly of muslims, that white people are so thoroughly terrified of for no reason. 

this is a parody of a god, and they portrayed him as this terrifying, maniacal fucking assassin who, along with p’li, the combustion bender from LOK, is constantly referred to as a “third-eyed freak”. i’ve made this analogy before and i’ll do it again, this is like making jesus into a hitman.

now onto my favorite example...

3) guru pathik

ah, this motherfucker.

i don’t really have any problems with him as a character, i mean hell, must’ve taken a fuck ton of patience to handle aang’s “why would choose cosmic energy over katara” bullshit.

but we all know it, we see it plain as day, don’t even try to deny it.

“guru” literally just means teacher or guide, so i don’t really know why pathik needed to be referred to as “guru” so distinctively from aang’s other teachers and guides, but that’s just extremely trivial compared to all the other issues with this character.

first of all what is this character design? what is he even wearing? if they’re trying to replicate the clothes of swamis and priests and stuff this is already wrong, realized people don’t dress like this. and why the fuck does he have an indian accent? and why was this indian accent done by a non indian (brian george)?

once again, the poor but extremely heavy indian accent is clearly meant to be mocking, if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t’ve gone out of their way to get a non indian person to DO an indian accent, and instead they would’ve just gotten an actual indian person to play the role. 

and oh yeah, the onion and banana juice. because hindus just eat weird shit right.

whether it’s actually weird or not, the show certainly portrays it as weird. and as far as i know no hindu actually fucking drinks onion and banana juice.

ironic because brown people can absolutely destroy white people in cooking. but i digress.

i know what you’re all waiting for. because the guru apparently didn’t have enough fun with guru pathik, so they just had to come back to him in book 3:

where do i begin.

so this is obviously john o’bryan’s super funny and hilarious depiction of pathik as a hindu god.

usually when a god has multiple arms it’s to carry an array of things, from flowers to weapons to instruments, and one hand is typically free to bless devotees (ie. goddess durga and lord vishnu respectively):

but of course white people see this as weird and so they make fun of it, hence guru pathik having multiple arms just flailing about aimlessly (save for the two that are being used to carry the aforementioned onion and banana juice).

then there’s the whole light behind pathik’s head which is usually depicted in drawings of hindu gods to show that they are celestial.

also what the fuck is he holding? is that supposed to be a veena? because this is what a veena looks like:

and i assume the reason this was added was to mock the design of goddess saraswathi, who carries a veena:

but that right there in the picture of pathik looks more like a tambura than a veena. 

and it also just kinda looks like a banjo?

but i guess the animators just searched up “long indian instrument” and slapped it on there. actually no, that’s giving them too much credit, they probably didn’t search it up at all. 

and then the actual scene is pathik singing crazily about chakras tasting good or something while playing the non-veena and it’s all supposed to be some funky crazy hallucination that aang is having due to sleep deprivation. just some crazy dream, just as crazy as talking appa and momo sparring with swords or tree-ozai coming to life.

our gurus and swamis and sadhus and generally realized people are very respected in hinduism, they’re people we look up to and honor very much. and our GODS are beings that we literally worship. and the writers just take both and make caricatures out of them for other white people to laugh at.

4) other shit

before we move to the next portion i just wanna mention there are also smaller backhanded jabs that i can’t really remember now, but one example was when zuko was all “we’ll be sure to remember that, guru goody goody”. or when a character would meditate and say “om” only when the meditation is supposed to be portrayed as comical or pointless. or in bitter work when sokka was rambling on about karma. small things like that. but moving on.

south asian representation, or lack thereof

now i finally get to the “losing” hinduism part. by this i mean the lack of actual representation there is of south asians (the region where hinduism is primarily practiced) despite the fact that hinduism plays such a big role in the show’s world design.

i think it’s safe to say that broadly the main cast consists of aang, katara, sokka, zuko, toph, azula, iroh, mai, ty lee, and suki. 

a grand total of none of these characters are south asian. the writers don’t even attempt to add any south asian main characters. 

there are characters with dark skin, like haru and jet, but a) they’re not confirmed to be south asian and don’t have any south asian features or south asian names, b) they’re side characters, so they don’t count as representation, and c) even if they were south asian and main characters, jet wouldn’t even count because he’s portrayed as a terrorist.

the ONLY truly south asian character we get is fucking guru pathik. so yeah. not representation.

i don’t get how the creators of this show rip off of hinduism (among many other south asian cultures they rip off of), mock indians, and then don’t even have the decency to HAVE a main character who is south asian.

i’ve never gotten a chance to compile all this, and this definitely isn’t all the creators have done, but i hope this was somewhat informative.

[iamsuchi]

First off hi! Adore and appreciate your existence and help to others

Looking for tips of manifestation of letting go of a long toxic love

I spent years trying to manifest our union in the most loving way possibly but I think I’ve hit my wall and am very very tired of suffering and want to feel free happy and attract the love I deserve and need for my best self

⚠️ WARNING.... EXTREMELY LOOOOOOOONG RESPONSE AHEAD!‼️‼️‼️‼️

⊹ ੈ♡ — — — — — — — — — — — — — ₊˚ ‧₊ ๑ ˎˊ˗  

Hi Anon and your compliment has made my entire existence better thank you so much from the bottom of my heart!🥺❤️❤️❤️

This one is a first for me I've never had an ask trying to get out of a relationship but I will try my best to come up with some tips and hopefully, it helps (⚠️ please note I Am not an expert here - I can only offer advice based on my personal opinion so please bear that in mind, none the less I will try to help)

First things first I am so sorry you’re going through a toxic relationship no one deserves that everyone deserves a relationship that makes them feel safe, loved, secured, cared for, etc. No one deserves toxicity in there life especially from their spouse or significant other, I’m glad you recognized the signs of the relationship being toxic and you’ve decided to end it now before matters gotten worse. 

⊹ ੈ♡ — — — — — — — — — — — — — ₊˚ ‧₊ ๑ ˎˊ˗  

My Tips (⚠️please remember this is only my personal opinion‼️):

1. I’d say detach as soon as possible from this current partner - This person could be a source of negative energy to you and this person could be an energy vampire (meaning their presences literally drains your energy which lowers your vibration).  A better definition of an Energy Vampire: “ Energy vampires are people who — sometimes intentionally — drain your emotional energy. They feed on your willingness to listen and care for them, leaving you exhausted and overwhelmed. Energy vampires can be anywhere and anyone. They can be your spouse or your best friend.” SOURCE:  How to Recognize and Respond to Energy Vampires at Home, Work, and More I recommend giving that a read it might help out with your situation.

2. Once you’ve let that person go take sometime for yourself - Take some time to rejuvenate your mind and body. Toxicity can do a lot to both our physical and mental health. “ Toxic relationships cause feelings of low self-worth, helplessness, fear, anxiety, depression, insecurity, paranoia, and even narcissism. “Toxic relationships are dangerous to your health; they will literally kill you. Stress shortens your lifespan. “ SOURCE:  Toxic Relationships: A Serious Threat To Mental Health. You’ve already mention how you’re tired of suffering so I definitely would say once you’re out of this take some time to be with you. Seek therapy if you have to, reach out to friends and family, do stuff that brings you joy, have self care days, Meditate, do breath work, etc. 

3. Set boundaries - Learn from your past relationship. The Universe loves to teach us life lessons especially through the use of other people. Reflect on your past relationship; assess what went wrong, what you allowed, what you liked and disliked about the relationship, what you wished could have went better, etc. Just spend some time reflecting and set some boundaries for how you want to be treated. If you don’t know how to set boundaries here a link to this article.  How to Set Boundaries in Your Relationships. Also see this article for some examples:  21 Examples Of Healthy Boundaries In Relationships

4. You may wanna do some shadow work before jumping back into relationships - What is shadow work? - Firstly we need to find out what is the shadow. “ The “shadow” is a concept first coined by Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung that describes those aspects of the personality that we choose to reject and repress. For one reason or another, we all have parts of ourselves that we don’t like—or that we think society won’t like—so we push those parts down into our unconscious psyches. It is this collection of repressed aspects of our identity that Jung referred to as our shadow self. “ SOURCE:  Carl Jung and the Shadow: The Ultimate Guide to the Human Dark Side. So Shadow work is basically confronting those parts of your repressed part of our identities and getting to know them. Shadow work is basically journaling about these repressed parts, bring them to the surface an confronting them (in a sense a form of scripting but you’re writing about stuff you normally wouldn’t tell anyone else - its highly personally. You’ll be surprised how much you can learn about yourself from this.) I’ve personally done shadow work and it has helped me a lot with getting to know my true self and healing some of my past traumas.  I recommend watching these two videos - they’re ones I’ve personally watched when I discovered shadow work and they helped me a lot in the beginning. 

💻  shadow work: how to start 🧚🏾‍♀️✨

💻 i did shadow work for 16 days, here’s what happened

I believe doing some shadow work will really help you both to learn more about yourself, aid with your trauma and even help with setting your boundaries and other aspects of your life. If you need Prompts (these are basically questions that you’ll journal about when doing your shadow work - you can simply make up your own or search for ‘shadow work prompts’ on Pinterest or google.)

5. Do it like Neville would - After you’ve detached from this person, done your self care and reflection. Do it like Neville would - Assume it into fact. Imagine yourself in your ideal relationship, imagine your ideal partner, imagine your perfect romance, give it all the feelings of reality. Imagine it and assume that relationship to be true with your new partner, believe it is true, feel it to be true, have faith that it is true. Then go on about your life. Relive your imaginal act as much as possible and get into the state of the wish fulfilled (believing that it is already done for you) then just go on about your day/life. Live in the end and persist in that assumption. If you can’t visualize or imagine it no worries, just make that assumption - make the assumption that you are now in your ideal relationship with your ideal partner, the same rules apply, believe in that assumption, have faith in it and feel that that assumption is already done for you, persist in that assumption. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THE ‘HOW’, DO NOT WORRY ABOUT WHEN OR HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE OR IF ITS POSSIBLE, ETC. REMEMBER THE LAW ONLY WORKS IF YOU BELIEVE IT WORKS - SIMPLY BELIEVE YOUR IDEAL RELATIONSHIP INTO EXISTING. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT HOW LONG “EVERY SEED HAS ITS APPOINTED HOUR” - IT MAY HAPPEN TOMORROW OR IT MAY HAPPY NEXT YEAR, WHEN IT WILL COME NOBODY KNOWS, BUT “AN ASSUMPTIONS  IF PERSISTED IN LONG ENOUGH WILL HARDEN INTO FACT” - Neville Goddard. All the law asks of you is to have FAITH and BELIVE in it. Your desire is yours for a reason - you already have it just believe you do! You may say oh what about my circumstances?? - Ignore the 3D. I will link this post HERE about a video a watched that really opened my eyes to ignoring the 3D hopefully it helps you.  If you don’t know how to make an assumption or what it is see this ask HERE for more info on that. 

6. Along with your new assumption you may use different manifesting techniques to help you (see my pinned post on this) - Now, you might use one technique or you can use as many as you want - its all up to you. Do what you’re comfortable with and do what feels right to you. 

✨ Affirmations: You can affirm that you’re in your ideal relationship. Example: “I am deeply in love with the man/woman/etc. of my dreams right now.” “I am in the most wonderful, perfect, loving relationship right now, I am so grateful for my relationship.”, “My new partner treats me with the most respect and loves me so, I am grateful for my new partner.” Say them only when you feel the need to, I’d recommend saying them with meaning as well (say them as if your in that ideal relationship). Here’s why (⚠️and I do plan to make a more in depth post about this once I complete my research on it‼️) but basically the subconscious mind is the mind of FEELINGS. To make impressions on our subconscious mind we must do it with feeling. This is why you’ll always see people saying “FEELING IS THE SECRET”. Notice that when you’re sad/depressed (for example) and you say something like “ this is always happening to me” more bad things happen... this is because the subconscious mind pick up on that feeling of sadness/depression because its your dominant mood and your conscious mind is mostly focused on negative stuff. The subconscious mind will only out put what you’re mostly focused on and that will manifest.  I know you wont be in a happy/positive mood 24/7 your human, I am human we have different emotions but when you’re in those moods try hard to make the new impression on your subconscious mind (Believe and feel those assumptions and affirmations into fact).  ⚠️‼️‼️ IMPORTANT NOTE: this does not mean you can't affirm when you are down, sad or in neutral mood, you can. Affirm in any mood until it feels natural to you then you wont feel like you’re lying to yourself or being fake, etc. Also do not affirm 24/7 do it when you feel the need to - DO NOT FORCE IT!

‼️⚠️QUICK SIDE NOTE/ VERY IMPORTANT: when I say the subconscious mind is the mind of FEELINGS. I don’t mean feelings in the sense of that the subconscious mind knows what our mortal moods and feelings are (example: happy, sad, angry, etc - the subconscious mind can’t tell these things). What I mean is that the subconscious mind works with the ENERGY/VIBRATIONS/FREQUENCY FROM YOUR MORTAL FEELINGS/MOODS. If you’re giving off a consistent (negative) energy when you’re sad - another thing is the subconscious mind also loves repetition so when you consistently persist in negative energy, negativity will manifest (for example). This is so because you’re thought create your reality and whatever you focus on good or bad will manifest if those thoughts are persisted in with FEELING (your energy/vibration/frequency). ‼️⚠️

📝 Scripting: You can write down or imaginal acts or write down your affirmations in a journal. Write down exactly what you want, how you’d want it to play out in your ideal relationship and just like making an assumption, leave it alone - believe your script is true, have faith that what you written down will manifest into your world and it shall. 

🎧 Subliminals - See this post HERE and HERE for brief explanations on what Subs are.  They’re a ton of relationship subs on YouTube. Some will help you get over trauma, others will help you manifest your desired relationship, attract guys/girls/etc., attract your specific person. You just need to know what you’re looking for and do your research on subs and the sub maker you’re going to be using - see the posts I’ve link for more info. 

They’re other methods so you can look up manifesting methods to find something that your comfortable with. 

⊹ ੈ♡ — — — — — — — — — — — — — ₊˚ ‧₊ ๑ ˎˊ˗  

Well that's it for me, I was heading to bed when I saw this and I had to respond immediately. Again I hope this helped - this is info that I thought off the top of my head just need so if I missed anything I’m sorry (its late and I am tired but I really wanted to repond before bed on this one). Remember this is all just my personal opinions, feel free to reach out again if you have any further questions or anything. Remeber you can always seek out another opinion if you didn’t find my response to be useful. I highly recommended seeking professional help on this one though, especially if this relationship has left you with mental and/or physical scars and trauma. Take care hun - I wish that you discover the most beautiful and purest love in the world and things get better for you soon. Thanks for reaching out and thank you for your compliment again, I hope I helped you in some way. Happy manifesting 💓💓💓

[stolen-pen-name23]

Hey, I love your writing! How about "please talk to me" or "why don't you care?" with Obi-Wan and Anakin for the prompts?

Ahhh thank you so much!!! You're too sweet!

"Please talk to me" and "why don't you care" from these angst prompts. Note: I'm not going to close my inbox, but I'm going to be traveling for a few weeks so if you send me a request, I won't be able to get to it for a while. Plus, there are still quite a few prompts in my inbox I'm working on.

Anyway, here ya go!

---

Anakin hated it when Obi-Wan got like this.

Quiet.

He was never quiet, save in sleep or meditation — two thing he hadn’t been partaking in as much anymore. Any other time, he always had some observation or quippy remark to make. But not now. Now, he sat silently at the kitchen table, staring at his tea, lost in one thought or another.

Anakin knew that when Obi-Wan got quiet, something was wrong. Not that his stubborn old Master would ever express that outwardly. It drove Anakin mad.

Anakin slid into the chair across from Obi-Wan. “They’re going to ship us out again soon,” Anakin started.

Obi-Wan hummed.

“It feels like we just got back home.”

“I suppose it does.”

Anakin frowned. His attempts at conversation were not going well.

“Is something bothering you?” Anakin asked.

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

Anakin could feel frustration swelling up in his chest. What was bothering Obi-Wan? Was it something he did? Surely Obi-Wan would have told him if he did something to upset him. He had had no problem doing that in the past, but now… now tensions between them had become more taught. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was the problem.

“Are you mad at me?” Anakin asked tentatively, feeling like a youngling at the question.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Just drop it, Anakin.”

“Please,” Anakin said. “Just talk to me, Obi-Wan. You know you can talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” Obi-Wan said, lifting his gaze from the steaming mug in his hand to Anakin.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” Obi-Wan relented.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“You can believe whatever you want to believe Anakin.”

“I believe something is wrong.”

“And you are free to do so.”

Anakin huffed. “Stop avoiding the question.”

“Stop asking,” Obi-Wan challenged.

Obi-Wan sipped at his tea and remained passive — the mask of indifference proving to Anakin that he felt anything but. Anakin’s pulse quickened and he felt heat crawling up his neck, reddening his skin.

“Stop trivializing this, Obi-Wan!” Anakin snapped.

“I’m not trivializing anything. There’s nothing to trivialize!”

“Force, why can’t you even pretend like you care about something for once? Do you just not care about anything? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan looked like he had been slapped across the face.

It was in that moment that Anakin realized that maybe he had gone too far this time – pushed a little too hard in an attempt to get a rise out of him.

“How could you say that? How could you think that of me?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, almost threatening.

“Master I-”

“You presume that I do not feel things because I do not react the way you do to every tragedy that befalls me? You think I am but an emotionless droid wandering around the galaxy? You believe I feel nothing after… after everything? Do you truly believe this?”

“No, Master, I don’t believe that. I didn’t mean–”

Obi-Wan raised his hands. “Stop Anakin. I don’t want to hear it right now. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Obi-Wan promptly stood up and retreated to his room without even a parting glance Anakin’s way.

Anakin would not be going to bed. At least not here. Why stay in a cramped apartment with his broody former Master when there was a senatorial apartment with a warm bed and someone who was definitely not broody lying in it?

“I’m headed to your place,” Anakin said into his comm.

“I thought you were staying at the temple tonight, Ani?” Padme replied.

“I changed my mind. I’d rather stay with you.”

“Alright,” Padme said softly. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Anakin replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just want to see you.”

“Alright, Ani. I’ll see you soon then.”

Anakin grabbed his robe and tore through the halls of the temple until he was spilling into the streets of Coruscant. Cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t care. His annoyance, his anger, kept him feeling warm.

He should probably take a speeder. It would be faster. But he needed to burn off some energy and a brisk walk through the smog-soaked streets promised some reprieve from the worst of his rage.

The sights, the sounds, the smells of Coruscant all flooded his senses. He did his best to filter it out and focus on his destination, but a storefront was playing the nightly news and the headline passed through his unstable filters.

“Next up on evening news: A planet in distress. It has been one year since the assassination of Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.”

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately backtracked and stood in front of the holo, unable to look away and unable to hear anything else but this.

“With the Death Watch regime now in power, will Mandalore finally take a side in the Clone War? Tune in tonight for predictions from our expert analyst.”

Anakin’s thoughts raced back to the argument he had with Obi-Wan not even an hour ago.

Every tragedy that befalls me.

One year.

Oh yeah, Anakin messed up.

He fumbled around for his comm and flipped it open. “Padme, I’m so sorry, I can’t come by anymore. I need to go home.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Padme asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. I just need to clear something up with Obi-Wan. That’s all.”

“What did you do this time?” she groaned.

“I’ll tell you about it later, I need to go.”

“Alright, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Anakin turned off his comm, turned on his heels, and ran.

He tore through the temple just as he had torn out of it. He ignored sideways glances and zeroed in on the pathway to their quarters. The door slid open at his command and he bounded over their threshold. Despite just covering a great distance to get here, the distance from the threshold to Obi-Wan’s room felt greater still. Still, he willed his legs, now tired from his sprint through Coruscant, to carry him to Obi-Wan’s room.

He did not bother knocking. If he did, Obi-Wan would refuse to see him and he needed to see him.

The room was cloaked in darkness, but city lights cascaded on Obi-Wan’s body through the window like artificial moonbeams. He was still as if in sleep, but his breathing was hitched and ragged and anything but restful.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked cautiously.

“Not now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan muttered softly.

“No, I–” Anakin faltered. “You don’t have to talk to me. I came to apologize.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

Anakin turned on a lamp and Obi-Wan squinted at the warm glow. His eyes, Anakin noticed, were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hair was a mused and greasy mess.

“May I sit?” Anakin asked.

“If I tell you no, you will just sit anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that more than anyone.”

“So can I sit?” Anakin asked, trying not to let impatience creep back in.

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You may sit.”

Obi-Wan pulled himself up into a sitting position and moved sideways, allowing Anakin to sit beside him.

“Anakin stop,” Obi-Wan said quickly before Anakin could get all the way on his bed.

“What?” Anakin asked worried Obi-Wan had suddenly changed his mind.

“Take your muddy boots off before you get in my bed. Force who raised you?”

Anakin let out a sharp laugh. He relaxed. If Obi-Wan could scold him like that, then what existed between them was not entirely broken.

“I hate to break it to you, Master,” Anakin said. “But you had a significant hand in my upbringing.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Obi-Wan said, his half-smile an olive branch.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Anakin said. He pulled off his boots and settled in next to Obi-Wan. “You did okay.”

Obi-Wan’s half-smile lingered for a moment longer before fading away.

“Master, I–” Anakin started. He made himself gentler, softer, smaller — everything Obi-Wan needed him to be — everything he was not. “Master, I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed you and I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Obi-Wan averted his gaze and remained silent.

“I know you care,” Anakin said earnestly. “I know you care about the Order. The war. Your men. I know you care about,” now Anakin’s breath shook. “I know you care about Ahsoka even though she’s gone. I know you care about me and… and I know you care about her.”

Obi-Wan remained silent for a while and Anakin fought the urge to ask him to say something. That’s how they ended up here in the first place.

“It’s been a year,” Obi-Wan said.

“I know,” Anakin said. “Well, I didn’t know, but I saw it on the news, and I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been a year and we’re still in this bloody war and she’s dead and he’s still…” alive.

Obi-Wan didn’t need to finish the sentence for Anakin to know what he meant. He blinked back tears, stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

Anakin sighed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. The words felt lame and altogether too small to cover the true meaning behind them. But he was not Obi-Wan. He had no words of wisdom or comfort to offer — only apologies and quiet condolences.

“I know, Anakin.”

“Is there something I can do?” Anakin asked, feeling useless.

Obi-Wan finally turned to him, and Anakin could feel the loneliness, the sadness, the exhaustion rolling off of his former Master.

“You can stay.”

So he did.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Imagine what would have happened if NHS realized the JGY was poisoning his brother long before NMJ died? What do you think he would do?

It was meant to be a surprise.

Nie Huaisang would be the last person to deny that he was a lazy, useless good-for-nothing, but he prided himself on having a good heart, and a generous one; even his brother couldn’t deny that Nie Huaisang’s ability to give gifts tailored to the recipient’s wishes were second to none. There was a reason he’d managed the Nie sect’s social affairs ever since the age of eight.

And, of course, the person he put the most effort into finding just the right gift for was his da-ge – and that was also the person he found the hardest to please.

Sure, Nie Mingjue would probably be overjoyed by the promise (and fulfilment) of a solid month of effort in saber practice, but that would only raise Nie Mingjue’s expectations while ruining Nie Huaisang’s life for a month, and anyway Nie Huaisang had already given his brother that the year he was thirteen and he hated repeating gifts. Since that option was off the table, if Nie Huaisang wanted to give his brother something that would make him happy, he had to think hard as to what that might be.

Especially since that present a few years ago, which had gone so terribly wrong.

(He’d thought his brother would be happy that he’d killed a Wen lieutenant for him, using his saber the way he so rarely did – and it hadn’t been easy, that’s for sure – but Nie Mingjue’s hands had actually shaken when he’d found out that Nie Huaisang had left the security of the Unclean Realm and Nie Huaisang didn’t want to see that gutted expression on his brother’s face ever again. Luckily, the war ended soon after, and it wasn’t an issue any more – except for the worried look on Nie Mingjue’s face every time his birthday came around.)

He’d played it low-key for a few years – finding exotic animals for a hunt, a new whetstone for Baxia, practical things like that – but this year was the end of a decade, and he was determined to do better.

The Song of Clarity seemed like the perfect solution.

After all, if Nie Huaisang learned to play it, his da-ge could hear the calming music every day, and he wouldn’t feel guilty about interrupting their lives for his needs; Lan Xichen was of course busy with his duties as Sect Leader, and Jin Guangyao, though always willing to visit, had a weak golden core that made the distant travel unpleasant.

Naturally, he couldn’t just ask to learn it. He liked his da-ge’s sworn brothers very much, had adopted them immediately as his own, but Nie Huaisang knew perfectly well that anything he told to them would swiftly reach his brother’s ears – he didn’t mind; after all, they were Nie Mingjue’s sworn brothers, not his. But it did make it tricky when he wanted to plan a surprise.

Luckily, the Unclean Realm was full of secrets, and the chamber near his brother’s receiving room – used by one of their more unscrupulous ancestors to spy on suspicious guests – was the perfect one to solve his problem. Nie Huaisang flattered himself to think he was pretty good at music; if he sat in the stone chamber that Nie Mingjue had forcefully erased from his mind years before, and which even Jin Guangyao with all his tricks had never known of, to listen to the tune being played over and over again, he should be able to figure out how the sounds came together.

He’d even get to benefit from the calming and mind-sharpening effects of the music itself, which would surely help him learn the tune even faster.

It was a great plan.

So great, in fact, that he found himself coughing up blood after only a few weeks.

Nie Huaisang didn’t suspect the music at the beginning. Since he didn’t share his brother’s dislike of submitting himself to medical experts, he went to their family doctor at once.

The man had the strangest expression on his face.

“Have you been practicing your saber too hard?” he asked, and if that wasn’t a suspicious question, Nie Huaisang didn’t know what was. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know anything about the saber spirits – his brother’s best attempts to keep him blissfully ignorant aside, it was pretty hard to learn their family’s history without knowing a little about how their sect became so powerful, and how their sect leaders tended to die – but it wasn’t usually very relevant to his life. He didn’t refuse to practice saber because he was afraid of the qi deviation that would probably kill him no matter how much or how little saber he practiced; he refused because he was lazy, and the family philosophy of ‘suppress evil wherever it appears’ seemed like an awful lot of work to put on his shoulders in exchange for, ugh, what, more exercise? No thanks.

“I have not,” he said.

“Nie-gongzi, if this is for your brother’s birthday –”

“It isn’t!” he protested at once, but that got him thinking: wasn’t he listening to the Song of Clarity every week, same as his brother? Even if Nie Huaisang did get it into his head to overdo things with his saber – not that that was likely to be possible at his age and cultivation level, his family’s lives were short only in comparison to other cultivators and even his brother, the prodigy, hadn’t had any signs of qi deviation so young – it shouldn’t have been able to affect him, not when his mind was being cleansed.

Not unless the Song of Clarity didn’t do what it was supposed to.

Nie Huaisang was alarmed by the thought. Not wanting to spoil a birthday surprise for his brother was one thing, but something that could harm his brother, however inadvertently? That was an emergency.

Obviously, the only thing to be done was to ask someone wiser for help.

After all, Nie Huaisang’s only a good-for-nothing; how could he deal with something of this magnitude? He made an excuse about needing to purchase something and went to Gusu at once.

After all, it had been Lan Xichen who suggested applying the song – if there was some fundamental clash between Lan and Gusu techniques, such that a technique meant to help in fact hurt, he would be the one to ask. Jin Guangyao might play it more often, but when in doubt, it was always better to go to the master.

“A clash?” Lan Xichen asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been listening to san-ge play it, every time he comes over,” Nie Huaisang explained. “I want to learn the chords.”

Lan Xichen smiled. “You could have asked –”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and you would have told him. No, don’t shake your head, you would have; you’d have put down the flag and drums the second he looked the slightest bit worried about it. You’re hopeless, er-ge, just admit it. Anyway, that isn’t the point – I’ve been teaching myself the chords by listening to it –”

“You always had a talent for music,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Huaisang beamed. “It must have come from your mother.”

Nie Huaisang giggled into his sleeve. “It’s not da-ge’s fault he’s halfway tone-deaf. Do you remember back when your uncle tried to teach him an instrument? Da-ge’s playing nearly made him start crying, and all the while da-ge kept insisting that what he was doing and what you were doing sounded exactly the same to him.”

Lan Xichen smiled outright at the memory.

“Anyway, I started coughing up blood the other day –”

“What?!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, smile disappearing from his face at once. “Huaisang! You should have started there!”

“I was getting to it. Don’t worry, I visited the family doctor and he said some extra time meditating would be enough to put me to rights –”

“You haven’t done it yet, have you.”

Ouch, Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to make it a question; was Nie Huaisang so predictable?

Probably yes.

“But I shouldn’t have been able to have that problem,” Nie Huaisang continued stubbornly. “Not if I’m listening to the Song of Clarity all the time the way da-ge is – not unless the song isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. You know me, er-ge; I’m not as prone towards qi deviations as my brother is! If the song was working, I shouldn’t have had one in a hundred years.”

Lan Xichen’s usual smile had been replaced by a frown. “You’re right. That is strange. You think there’s some clash between Nie cultivation and our traditions, such that the song is ineffective? It seemed as though it was working at the beginning…”

“What else could it be?” Nie Huaisang asked practically. “Plenty of things are effective in small doses and poisonous in large, er-ge; and you said yourself just the other month that it seemed as though da-ge’s temperament was getting worse rather than better.”

Lan Xichen was pale. “You’re right. If it’s hurting him, we have to put a stop to it at once and start over from the beginning.”

“It’s still just a theory,” Nie Huaisang said. “But getting proof shouldn’t be hard – after all, I may not be much of a cultivator, but I’m still a Nie. Here, why don’t you sit down? I’ll play what I’ve learned for you while you examine what it’s doing to my qi; that way we’ll be able to see what sort of effect it’s having.”

[littlelovelyspiderling]

The Competition

I’d say oops part 3 but these are so fun to write and bring me such joy that I’m gonna stop apologizing for it haha

The avatar gang competes to see who can get Zuko to laugh first. Adorableness ensues.

word count: 8116

__________________________

“Zuko doesn’t emote much, does he?”

Katara was staring at the young Fire Nation prince as she said it. He was lying against Appa, fully asleep even though the sun had only set an hour ago. She had noticed that, if circumstances permitted it, Zuko tended to rise and fall with the sun, waking at sunrise before anyone else to meditate in the soft morning glow, then nodding off quickly after the last whispers of light had vanished behind the horizon. Perhaps it had something to do with fire benders’ dependency on the sun: the way it fueled their strength and abilities, just as she drew power from the moon. 

Whatever the reason, it was amusing—the way he conked out like a baby polar leopard long before anyone else in the group had even considered turning in for the night. 

Sokka scoffed, tearing eagerly into a strip of salmon jerky. “Are you kidding me?” he said between bites. “The guy yells every other sentence that leaves his mouth. How is that not emotive?”

“He does have a bit of a temper,” Aang admitted, shooting an anxious glance in Zuko’s direction before continuing. “But it’s something he’s told me he’s working on. I think being angry is like his base temperature, so we should try to be patient with him.”

Aang grinned enthusiastically. Katara shook her head. 

“I know he’s good at expressing his anger. I guess I meant emoting in more...positive ways. He barely ever smiles, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before.” She stared at him sullenly. “Do you think he’s all right?”

The rest of the group followed her gaze to the slumbering teenager. The campfire in the center of their circle rose and fell with his steady breathing. 

“He does have a lot going on, what with the having to betray his nation and leave his home and help Aang defeat his dad and all,” Toph pointed out. “But I think you’re reading this wrong, Katara. Maybe Zuko just doesn’t express happiness the same way we do. Maybe it’s more subtle.” She popped a berry into her mouth. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying being here with us.”

Katara crossed her arms in thought. “Yeah,” she conceded. “Maybe.” She turned back to the group with a line between her eyes. “It just...makes me sad. It’d be nice to see him be unsubtly happy for a change, wouldn’t it? I know all of your laughs and smiles by heart at this point. I feel like I’ll never know him completely until I recognize his.”

The only times Zuko ever flagrantly expressed himself were when he was shouting angrily about something or shooting awake from another horrendous nightmare, drenched in a cold sweat with tears shining in the corners of his eyes. Happy emotions were restricted to tiny smiles that vanished in a heartbeat and the slightest lift in his otherwise level voice. Katara wondered what kinds of hardships he’d endured to make him this way. What cruel forces had forged him into the teenager that slept by their side—a person who shrunk from joy like it was dangerous, poisonous. 

Aang sprung to his feet suddenly, making the others wince in surprise. “Ooh, ooh!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I know what to do! We should have a competition!”

The group sat in silence for a moment. “A...competition?” Sokka parroted, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Aang cheered, pointing at the still-sleeping Zuko. “Whoever can get Zuko to laugh first wins!”

The gang exchanged a look of confusion and intrigue. It was such a silly proposition. 

“And I mean really laugh,” he elaborated. “Like, Sokka-after-Toph-inhaled-fire-flakes laugh.”

Sokka burst into giggles at the mention of the incident while Toph frowned at her feet. “Oho man, that was the best!” he cackled, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah, like that!” Aang continued exuberantly. “For the next few days, all of us should try to make Zuko do the Zuko-equivalent of that. And whoever gets him to do it first wins!”

Katara grinned at the idea. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine what Zuko’s laugh might sound like. She needed to hear it firsthand, which would clearly require creativity on their end. Her mind was already grasping for potential leads. 

“I like it,” she decided. “Are there any rules?”

Aang tapped his chin in thought. “Hmm. No telling Zuko about the competition or what we’re trying to do. That’ll spoil it. We also have to take turns trying to make him laugh—as in, you can’t try something once then immediately try something else; everyone has to go again before you get to take another stab at it. And everyone has to witness it happening and agree on the winner for it to count.”

Sokka stretched his arms over his head with a smirk. “Well then, the rest of you might as well duck out now. Everyone knows I’m the king of gut-busting jokes and sarcasm. Sokka’s got this in the bag.”

“The Air Nomads are famous for having great senses of humor,” Aang retorted cheerfully. “I’ve got an entire cultural heritage of making people laugh on my side. Don’t count me out just yet.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “You guys are so conceited. Always thinking your hilarious wit is the answer to everything.”

Aang and Sokka shared a puzzled scowl. “What’s your plan then, Miss Anti-Humor?” Sokka asked. 

Katara colored. “Um, w-well—” Her eyes darted around their campsite before landing on Momo. She scooped the lemur off the ground and placed him on her head. “I’ll make him laugh with fun! See? Fun!”

Momo warbled lazily as Sokka shook his head. “You’d best leave this to the experts, Katara. Fun hasn’t ever exactly been your thing.”

Momo leapt off her head as Katara pouted. “We’ll see,” she grumbled.

“What if none of us find a way to make Zuko laugh?” Toph inquired. “What happens then?”

“Those sound like the words of someone who is going down!” Sokka cried triumphantly. Aang shrugged. 

“Then I guess we just keep trying.”

Toph pursed her lips before hinting a smile. “All right. I’m in.” She polished off her handful of berries. “Oh, and I’m one hundred percent winning this thing.”

“That’s the spirit!” Aang said. He pumped his fist in the air. “The competition begins at daybreak tomorrow!”

The group settled in for the night, brainstorming their own series of elaborate, laugh-inducing schemes to test out in the morning. Zuko slept soundly, unaware of what awaited him once he woke.

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

“You seem distracted.”

Aang blinked, his focus snapping back to the tranquil cliffside and the scowling fire bender standing in front of him.

“Oh, uh, distracted?” he said, balling his hands at his sides with an innocent smile. “No, I’m not distracted.”

“Then get it right this time,” Zuko snapped, assuming a low stance. “Kick up, recenter, then punch out. Fire comes from the breath, so exhale at the peak of your move, not a second too early or late.”

Zuko demonstrated the action again, thrusting his foot in the air, reclaiming his balance, then jabbing his fist forward, flames gliding and shooting with his movements in perfect harmony. A burst of fire exploded from his knuckles at the end of the move, sending a wave of heat washing over Aang.

Aang winced back and swallowed. “Right. I’m sure I’ll have it down in no time.” A smile seized his features. “But before I do that, I have a surprise for you!”

Zuko’s fierce expression shifted to puzzled. “What?” he said, relaxing out of his solid stance for a moment. 

“Wait right there!” Aang said, then darted away, disappearing behind Appa. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“If you’re trying to bribe me out of today’s lesson, it’s not going to work. You still have five sets of fire lunges to get through.”

“It’s not a bribe!” Aang’s voice insisted from afar, echoing down the cliff side. “It’s just a token of appreciation—you know, for joining the group and being such a wonderful firebending teacher.” 

He reappeared with a giant grin on his face and his hands hidden behind his back. The rest of the gang sat around their campsite, looking unusually interested in Aang and Zuko’s training session. 

Zuko scanned the avatar warily as he approached. Aang stopped a few feet back, chipper as always. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, smiling wide.

“I guess,” Zuko deadpanned. 

Aang extended his hands forward, revealing his gift. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed.

Zuko blinked. It was...a cake. Of some sort. A small, round pastry with some kind of red jelly in the center. It was surprisingly professional-looking, especially considering they were out in the woods with no markets or ovens nearby. 

“I baked it for you with firebending!” Aang explained. “I even flavored the center with fire gummies so it’d taste like home.”

Zuko was taken back by the thoughtful gesture. This all felt largely unwarranted. “Um,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks? I guess?”

Aang held it out eagerly. “Go on, try it! It’s an old Air Nomad recipe. It’s really good!”

“I’ll try it after we’re done training,” Zuko said, re-assuming his power stance. “Now then—show me the move I just demonstrated for you.”

“Aw, come one,” Aang whined. “Just one bite! Please? I promise you won’t—”

Aang staggered forward suddenly, tripping over his own foot. He hoped it didn’t look too staged—like falling with the cake in his hands hadn’t been his plan all along. The alarm that crossed Zuko’s expression indicated his performance was a success. Zuko tried lunging forward to help him, but it was too late—with a yelp, Aang face-planted into his culinary creation, splattering cake and jelly at the prince’s feet. 

A beat passed where Zuko just stood there, mouth agape. Then the rest of the group exploded into hysterical laughter, gripping their stomachs and doubling over themselves.

“Ohokay, that was pretty good,” Sokka admitted between giggles.

“Look at Twinkle Toes, starting things off strong,” Toph agreed.

Aang lifted his face out of the cake, letting the goo and batter slip off for a moment to enhance the effect. At the very least, he expected a smile to cross Zuko’s lips. Instead, he just looked startled. 

“Aw, man,” he said, offering him a hand. “Are you okay?”

Behind the layer of flattened pastry, Aang frowned. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I just tripped.”

“Sorry about the cake. It, uh, sounded like you worked hard on it.”

The others were still cackling like hyena bats behind them. Aang swiped his hand across his cake-covered face bemusedly. It didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t Zuko laughing?

“But don’t you think it’s funny?” he asked. “That I, you know, tripped and fell face-first into it?”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “Do you...want me to think it’s funny?”

“Kinda! I don’t know. Everyone else does.”

The firebender wasn’t sure how to respond. “You worked hard on something, and now it’s ruined. That’s already bad enough. I didn’t want to make you feel worse.”

Aang couldn’t believe how spectacularly his plan had failed. Everything had gone perfectly except for Zuko’s reaction. This might be harder than he thought. He dropped his face back into the cake, groaning in defeat. While the others continued giggling, Zuko placed his hands on his hips.

“Let’s, uh, break from training for today. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Aang gave a halfhearted thumbs up as the prince walked away. Zuko: 1, Aang: 0.

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

It was around lunch time when Sokka made his move. The rest of the group watched in anticipation as the next competitor approached their target. 

“Hiya, Zuko!” Sokka greeted him. The teen sat by the fire pit with the others, eating a bowl of soup. 

“Hi...Sokka,” he addressed him hesitantly, popping the spoon out of his mouth. “Can I help you?”

Sokka jabbed his index finger into the air. “As a matter of fact, you can! I have a very important question to ask you.”

Zuko shot dubious looks at the other members of the group before sitting up a little straighter. “Okay,” he said. 

Clearing his throat, Sokka broke into a grin. “Why are firebenders always the slowest runners?”

Zuko thought on it for a moment. A frown wrinkled his features. “We are?”

“Because they get too easily burnt out!” Sokka howled, laughing wildly at his own joke, slapping his knee and hugging his belly. Zuko just stared at him, blinking his strikingly golden eyes. A few seconds later, the tiniest of smiles lifted one corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “That’s funny.”

Toph, Aang, and Katara giggled softly behind their hands—more out of pity than anything else. Sokka gawked.

“Wait—that’s it?”

Zuko tilted his head slightly. “What’s it?”

“I spent all night coming up with that joke!”

“I said it was funny,” Zuko said defensively.

“If you thought it was funny, why didn’t you laugh?”

Zuko downed the rest of his soup and shrugged sheepishly. “I’m...sorry?”

The rest of the gang snickered into their palms. Sokka groaned.

“Wait, wait—one more chance,” he pleaded, more to the others than to Zuko. Zuko had no idea why it was suddenly so important that he found Sokka’s jokes hilarious. Recovering part of his trampled dignity, Sokka coughed, then tried again.

“What do you get when you dunk Momo in a pitcher of lemon juice?” 

Zuko sighed, leaning back with his hands folded behind his head. “Gee, I don’t know, Sokka. What do you get when you dunk Momo in a pitcher of lemon juice?” 

Sokka’s eyebrow twitched crossly. Patronizing, much? “Lemurnade,” he muttered out. “You—you get lemurnade.”

At that, Aang cracked up, his laughter ringing like a bell. “Haha! Good one, Sokka!”

Sokka hung his head. “Thanks, Aang,” he mumbled, then sulked away, heavily chagrined. Zuko watched him go, feeling like he’d done something wrong.

“What’s his deal?” he asked the group. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Toph assured him, stifling a snort. “That’s just Sokka being Sokka.”

Zuko furrowed his brow. Was it just him, or were all of them acting...strange? It felt like they were paying more attention to him than normal, and hanging on his every response to their interactions like it was life or death. Around these guys, he preferred to fade into the background rather than be center stage; they were all such good friends, and they had so much history together, whereas he...well, they had history, all right, but not exactly the good kind. He found he was perfectly content listening to them talk from the sidelines, only joining the conversation when he was directly addressed. 

After lunch, the group headed to a nearby stream to wash off and cool down. Zuko stood at the edge of the riverbank, watching Momo paw at the minnows in the shallow pools between the reeds, when Katara tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey Zuko,” she said, looking artificially high-spirited. “You want to see something fun?”

Zuko gave her a questioning look. “Fun?” he repeated, turning to face her. What is with everyone today? He hunched his shoulders. “Um...okay.”

Zuko didn’t know what he was expecting her to do—propose some kind of group activity, show off a new waterbending move, maybe—but it certainly wasn’t her placing both hands on his chest and shoving him full-force into the river. The prince yelped and flailed, teetering frantically on the edge of the bank before tipping backwards and dropping into the water with a splash. Zuko resurfaced a few seconds later, his wet hair sticking to his face, his eyes wide. Immediately, the group erupted into a chorus of laughter, making the firebender blush.

“W-what on earth, Katara?” he stammered, slicking his hair back so it wasn’t falling in his eyes. “What was that for?”

“For fun, of course!” she exclaimed nervously, as if she was trying to convince herself. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Not really!” he growled. He clambered up the riverbank, griping and grumbling the whole time, steam rising off his thoroughly soaked clothing. The others continued to giggle at his dripping, disheveled appearance. “What part of that was supposed to be fun?”

“I thought it was pretty fun,” Sokka chuckled from the opposite side of the river. Zuko reddened beneath their stares and quickly turned away, crossing his arms tight to his chest.

“Sorry, Zuko,” Katara said. “Here.”

Using her bending, she pulled the water out of his clothes so he was dry again. Zuko scratched at his wild mess of hair, eyeing Katara thoughtfully.

After a pause, Zuko made a rash decision. His arms jerked forward before he could talk himself out of it, pushing Katara into the river, making her fall faster than she could react. She hit the water with a shriek, sending waves in every direction. The rest of the group gaped.

“Hey!” Katara gasped as she broke the surface, hands balled into fists. Zuko smirked.

“I take it back. You’re right, Katara. That is pretty fun.”

The others laughed again, and Katara eventually joined them, drawing the water from her hair and flinging it playfully at Zuko. Zuko flinched back with a smile, but that was the closest she got: still no progress on the laughing end. Not even the tiniest giggle.   

It looked like The Water Tribe siblings had struck out as well.

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

Toph’s decision to strike at night had been her plan from the start. Laughter always flowed more organically after dark, after all. The more tired you were, the more funny things seemed—even things that arguably weren’t that funny in the first place.

The light from their campfire gilded the group in an orange sheen. Zuko blinked sleepily, watching the flames lap toward the night sky, his golden eyes reflecting the glow in an arrestingly brilliant way. She waited until his heartbeat began to slow before executing her plan. While Sokka studied a map of the Fire Nation, Katara charted the stars, and Aang scratched Momo’s tummy, Toph rose to her feet.

“Watch this,” she said out of nowhere. Then she pounded her heel into the ground, causing the earth underneath Sokka to jump up like a spring, shooting him high into the air. Sokka screamed in surprise, bounced between the branches of a nearby tree, then crashed to the ground with a grunt. 

Katara and Aang’s jaws dropped open. Spitting and sputtering, Sokka scrambled to his hands and knees in a befuddled fury. “Toph!” he screeched, leaves and twigs sticking out of his hair.

Toph busted out laughing while everyone just stared. When she realized no one else was joining her, her giggles gradually petered away. 

“What? You guys didn’t think that was funny?” 

“It was certainly...surprising?” Aang ventured to say.

“A bit violent, though,” Katara added.

“A bit?” Sokka cried, wagging his arms through the air. “She catapulted me into a tree!”

Toph snorted. “Well I thought it was hilarious. Zuko?”

All eyes turned to gauge the prince’s reaction. They were stunned to see his body slack and his head lolled to one side. Their resident firebender was out cold, sleeping peacefully. 

With a huff, Toph flopped to the ground. “Are you kidding me? That was some of my best material!”

“Wow,” Aang mused, resting his chin on his kneecaps. “I can’t believe how big of a bust today was.”

“Seriously! I laughed at everything everyone tried with him! All of us are objectively hilarious, but still nothing!” Sokka jabbed an angry finger at Toph before she could respond. “Not you, Toph. I’m going to be picking bugs out of my hair for weeks!” He slumped to the ground, gazing at Zuko through the flickering tongues of the fire. “Man! What’s it gonna take to get this guy to laugh?”

Toph shrugged. “Maybe I was right. Maybe laughing just isn’t the way he expresses happiness.”

“That can’t be true,” Katara stated indignantly. “We’ve just got to keep trying. Maybe in Fire Nation culture, royalty aren’t allowed to laugh or something, and he’s still stuck in that mindset. All we need to do now is find the right way to draw him out of it.”

“First dancing is outlawed, now laughing?” Sokka slapped his forehead. “Why is the Fire Nation so obsessed with destroying all things fun?”

Toph swirled her finger in the air. “Or maybe you’re all just not as funny as you think you are.”

While Sokka viciously protested Toph’s proposal, Aang narrowed his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip. “If we’re determined to make Zuko laugh, we have to find out what he thinks is funny. Perhaps his sense of humor is just different from ours.” Aang smiled at his friends. “Don’t worry, guys. I have a plan.”

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

Zuko yawned and rubbed his eyes as he strolled up the quiet hillside. The grass shivered in the cool breeze and the sky was a painting of pinks and purples and blues. 

Morning meditation was a drag sometimes, but it helped him clear his head, reorient his senses, and tame his inner fire. Plus, after his haunting betrayal in Ba Sing Se, it was one of the only ways he could still feel connected to his uncle. Uncle was the person who taught him the value of disciplined meditation—a practice he hadn’t realized wasn’t widely exercised among firebenders until he was older. Rather, it was actually an Air Nomad tradition Iroh had picked up and passed on to his nephew. 

Sticking to his uncle’s mindful regime didn’t make Zuko feel better about what he’d done, but...it was something. A small memento to Iroh’s unconditional kindness and wisdom that he could maintain, even if he never got the chance to redeem himself.

As Zuko rounded the crown of the hill, he was surprised to see smoke rising from their campsite. The others were usually still asleep by the time he got back. He heard chatter and the sound of something hissing over the fire. A wave of smells washed over him that was oddly familiar—warm, spicy, nostalgic. 

“Zuko!” Aang cried once the prince stepped into view. The sleepy prince was shirtless and wore pants that cut off just above his kneecaps. He tended to run hot, being a firebender and all, so it wasn’t an unusual sight. The others popped up excitedly and grinned, as if they’d been waiting for him.

“What’s going on?” Zuko asked, kneading the heel of one hand into his eye. He sniffed the air and frowned. “Are you...cooking jook?”

“Yeah! And ash banana bread!” Katara presented a hefty portion of each for him. “Aang swung by the market at the base of the mountain and found all the ingredients.”

Zuko blinked at the offering then between his four friends. “This is Fire Nation food,” he said.

“Is it!” Sokka agreed. “Well, our attempt at it, anyway.”

“You guys hate Fire Nation food,” Zuko continued skeptically. “Why are you making it?”

“Just because we hate the Fire Nation doesn’t mean we hate all Fire Nation food,” Toph said, wrinkling her nose. “Although, I think I’ll pass on the jook.”

Sokka took a large bite of banana bread. “And even if we did hate it, it doesn’t matter. You like Fire Nation food, right?”

Zuko hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the delicacies of his country until now. After weeks of eating nothing but what they could forage and hunt in the wild, his stomach ached for an authentic taste of home. 

“Yeah,” he finally answered, still unsure what all this was leading to.

“Great! Because we made this for you!” Sokka slurped up a spoonful of jook and smiled wide.

Warily, Zuko accepted the bowl and the bread from Katara. He didn’t know what to say, other than—

“Why?”

Aang cocked his head to one side. “Why what?” he asked. 

“Why...did you make this for me?”

The group exchanged a look, like that was the silliest question they’d ever heard. Toph chuckled. 

“Because we like you, stupid. You're our friend, and we like doing things that make you happy.”

The words floated around his head for a while before seeping into his brain. Once they did, Zuko’s face flushed warm and pink. “Oh,” he said. He gazed into the steaming bowl in his hand. It looked just like the kind Uncle made for him. Where is all this coming from? he wondered. Was it something I did or said? This slew of kind gestures felt so undeserved and foreign, especially coming from the people he’d spent a significant portion of time terrorizing. A few moments later, a shy smile lifted the corners of his lips. 

“Well, thanks. I’m touched.”

“Here, sit,” Sokka said, scooting over to make room. Zuko sat down beside him and took a sip from his bowl. He brightened delightedly. 

“It’s great,” he said. Not as good as Uncle’s, he conceded; Iroh had a much heavier hand with the ginger. But still great—better than he could ever make. He fidgeted beneath all their attentive stares. “You guys didn’t have to do this.”

“It was a lot of trouble,” Sokka admitted, earning a whack from Katara. He winced, rubbing the fresh bump on his head. “But—ow—we were happy to do it.”

Aang floated into a sitting position on Zuko’s left, landing beside him like a leaf drifting delicately to the ground. “Speaking of happiness, I’ve been meaning to ask you: can you remember the hardest you’ve ever laughed in your life?”

It was a very bizarre and random inquiry, and didn’t seem at all like a natural segue in the conversation. But that appeared to be a theme among the avatar gang, so Zuko played along.

“Um,” he began, shifting to cross his legs on top of each other. “The hardest?” He grasped for a memory from his youth, but it was all so distant and fuzzy. Whispers and sprinkles of laughter buried beneath years of fear and obedience. Eventually, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe when I was little, with my mom. Or maybe with Uncle.”

He went back to his jook, thinking he’d satisfied their curiosity. Katara leaned toward him impatiently. 

“Maybe that’s too specific. How about the happiest you’ve ever been? When was that?”

Zuko lowered the bowl from his lips and eyed Katara curiously. “The happiest I’ve ever been?” he repeated back. 

“Yeah! Like, what period of your life would you consider the most joy-filled?”

Another unexpected question. This was getting weirdly personal. He could sense there was an end goal to all this prying, but he had yet to pinpoint it. Zuko ran the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“Uh...well...again, I’m not sure.” He thought hard about it for a few seconds, trying to recall an era of his life when he’d felt happy—truly happy, for an extended length of time. “I guess I remember moments of being happy, but...not entire periods. Working at the Jasmine Dragon with Uncle was nice while it lasted. But even then, it felt kind of forced.” He nibbled at the ash banana bread. It was warm and cinnamon-y and tasted like autumn. He swallowed and hinted a smile. “But being here, helping you guys...I’d say this is the happiest I’ve ever been. Because for once in my life, I know I’m doing the right thing.”

The statement was small but sincere. As his words sunk in, the group mirrored his smile tenfold. They shared knowing looks with one another, each with the same thought in their head. So this is Zuko’s version of happy. It’s definitely different, definitely subtle, but it’s him—and it’s genuine.

Maybe Zuko didn’t laugh loudly or smile all the time. That didn’t mean he was sad or broken. He just had his own way of expressing joy. And that was okay. It was reassuring to know that Zuko was in a good place, even if he didn’t show it as obviously as the rest of them did. The competition wasn’t over yet—that was a given—but if they continued to fail, at least they knew it wasn’t because Zuko was upset or discouraged. 

“Aw, Zuko—ya big softy,” Sokka teased, poking him in the ribs. To his surprise, the prince jerked away from his touch, a small yelp escaping him. Zuko turned to him bewilderedly, eyes wide. Oops, Sokka thought. Had he hurt him by accident? Maybe he had an injury he didn’t know about. He’d nearly made him drop his jook. 

“Oh, sorry,” Sokka said. “Are you okay?”

Zuko clenched his jaw. “Y-yeah,” he answered quickly, rubbing at his rib cage. “You—sorry, you just startled me.” 

He appeared flustered suddenly, like he was hiding something. Maybe he’d wounded himself in a really embarrassing way and didn’t want anyone else to find out about it. Sokka looked to the others for insight, but none of them seemed to have noticed Zuko’s weird reaction to his touch. 

“This startled you?” he inquired suspiciously, poking him again, lower this time. Zuko responded the same way as before, flinching and squeaking like he was being electrocuted. But as Sokka watched his expression change, he realized he wasn’t wincing or grimacing in pain. Instead, a grin flashed across his face, bigger and brighter than he’d ever seen, then vanished a second later, smothered by a look of shock and anger. 

“Quit it!” he snapped, hopping to his feet. He pursed his lips to keep them from turning upright. 

Sokka recognized his response. He’d seen it from the kids in their Water Tribe village as they wrestled playfully with their mothers and one another. Katara, too, when they’d played as children. A devious smile gradually spread across Sokka’s face. No way, he thought.

The rest of the group looked at Zuko confusedly but shrugged it off. He yelled a lot—it wasn’t anything new. Now was Sokka’s chance.

“Aang, let’s go. Time for your firebending lesson. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

He was talking rapidly, eager to abscond this situation before it escalated any further. Aang let out a disappointed groan.

“Okay,” he murmured, floating to his feet. Sokka stood with him.

Oh no you don’t.

As Zuko turned to leave, Sokka ran up behind him, wrapping his arms around his midsection. 

“Sorry—one more time. This startled you?”

With fiendish glee, he dug into his torso, wiggling his fingers into his belly and sides. Zuko yelped and flailed, not anticipating the surprise attack. He tried to pry Sokka’s hands away, but the Water Tribe teen was stronger than he looked. His flustered sputtering transformed into stifled squeaks. Two seconds later, the dam finally broke.

“Ahahaha!” Zuko belted out, grappling at Sokka’s hands as they clawed at his tummy. “S-Sohakka! Whahat are you doohooing?”

“Winning this competition, that’s what!” Sokka exclaimed. He poked and prodded at his ribs, making Zuko thrash and giggle. 

“Hahahagh! Gehet off me!”

Zuko broke Sokka’s hold and wrenched out of his grip, staggering forward so fast he fell to the ground. He rolled onto his back and scrambled a few more paces away, staring up Sokka in disbelief, blushing violently.

“W-what is wrong with you?” he stammered, hugging his stomach protectively.

It took a moment for everyone to register what had just transpired. But as soon as it did, shock and delight sprawled across all of their faces. 

“You…”

“Did he just—?”

“Oh man! You did it!”

“Yeah I did!” Sokka cheered, striking a pose. “Told you I was gonna win this thing! Bow down to your champion!”

“Win what thing?” Zuko growled, his face still tinted pink. He stood up nervously, scowling between them. “What’s going on here?”

“We’ve been playing a game to see who could get you to laugh first,” Aang explained. “None of us had ever heard you laugh before, so we wanted to try to make you do it. And now we finally have!”

“You mean I have,” Sokka corrected him smugly.

The idea that they’d spent the past twenty-four hours committed to hearing his laugh puzzled him. Why did it matter what it sounded like? It wasn’t particularly important or helpful information to have. Why did they care so much about something so trivial? The situation was odd and embarrassing yet strangely heartwarming. But mostly embarrassing. Zuko hunched his shoulders crossly.

“That’s what all this weirdness has been about? Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing?”

“Because we wanted it to happen naturally!” Katara said, throwing her hands in the air. “But apparently none of us are funny enough for your taste!”

The group giggled. Zuko wasn’t sure what to say. A smirk touched Toph’s lips.

“Huh. I never would’ve thought to try tickling you.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I guess I just didn’t expect the Grumpy McGrouchy Pants prince of the Fire Nation to be ticklish.”

“And that laugh!” Sokka snickered. “Have you guys ever heard anything so adorable?”

Heat boiled to the surface of Zuko’s skin. “I’m not…!” he began, but he had no idea where he was going with this. For people who claimed to be his friends, they sure liked humiliating him and making him blush a lot. With an angry huff, he turned away. “Whatever. I’m going fishing.”

As he started to leave, Katara, Aang, Sokka, and Toph shared a wicked grin, locking down their next course of action without exchanging a single word. Sokka moved first, dashing after him and hooking his elbows underneath Zuko’s armpits, making the prince start.

“Hey!” he cried, struggling against his hold.

“You’re not what, Prince Zuko? Not ticklish, or not adorable?”

Zuko burned inside and out. He tried to throw Sokka over his shoulder, but the other teen planted his feet and hoisted Zuko off the ground, taking all of his leverage with him. He kicked and floundered, feeling small and ridiculous.

“Let me go!” he demanded.  

“Either way, we’re obliged to prove you wrong.” Sokka beamed at the others, voice laced with mischief. “Get him, guys!”

Zuko opened his eyes to find Katara, Aang, and Toph approaching him, smirking with fiendish delight. This cued the prince to fight even harder to escape, his legs flailing through the air. 

“Besides, we only got to listen to you laugh for a few seconds,” Katara pointed out, curling her fingers into claws. “I’ll need to hear it a little longer than that to memorize it.”

“And to determine just how adorable it really is!” Aang added. 

There were a lot of things Zuko had dreaded facing after joining the avatar’s gang. His dark past, the Fire Nation’s tyrannical cruelty, his plethora of failures and mistakes. This, however, had not been one of things he’d had in mind. 

Zuko considered heating up his hands just enough to make Sokka release him, but he didn’t want to betray the trust he had only just recently earned from all of them. If he accidentally burned another person on their team, he’d never forgive himself. 

Though perhaps that’d be worth avoiding the mortifying predicament he currently found himself in. 

“W-wahait!” he yelped, giggly dread amassing in his belly. He kicked in their direction to keep them from getting any closer. “Stay back!”

Sokka wrestled to keep the squirmy prince still. “Toph, a little help?” he called. 

Toph grinned and thrust her palms toward the sky. Two hands made of earth rose up from underneath Zuko and grabbed hold of his ankles. As she lowered her hands back down, the earth hands moved with hers, dragging his legs toward the ground then morphing into a pair of rock bonds encased around his feet, keeping them firmly trapped in place. 

Oh no. Zuko wriggled and wrenched, but there was nowhere for him to go. Unless he firebent his way out, he was defenseless. 

Before he could voice any more protests, Katara closed the space between them, her hands reaching his torso and scuttling up his bare sides. Zuko jolted and gasped, a giant smile lighting up his whole face despite his attempts to squash it.

“Ahahaheehee!” he giggled, squirming and shifting to try to get away. It was no use. Her fingers needled his exposed midsection freely and mercilessly, driving the sensitive prince absolutely nuts. The blush in his cheeks bled down his neck. “Wahait—mmheh—ehahaha!”

“Not ticklish at all, I see,” Katara said smugly. “And certainly not adorable, no.” She scribbled her nails all over his belly, parroting his endearing smile. It was so big and radiant and happy—a hundred times more so than she ever could’ve imagined. His laugh was another matter entirely—bright, bubbly, hysterically shrill. Far too cute for the human language to articulate. Plus, outrageously contagious.

“Stahahap it!” Zuko cackled, tugging uselessly at Sokka’s arms. The boy’s grip was like iron. Katara ignored him, testing and teasing every inch of his twitchy torso, kneading his tummy and pinching his sides and fluttering her fingers underneath his rib cage. He couldn’t believe how much it tickled, or how wild his own laughter sounded. None of them had realized how loud and uncontrollable Zuko’s laugh could get until now—including himself. 

Two hands on his ticklish belly were already enough to drive the giggly prince out of his mind. Of all days to meditate shirtless, why did he have to choose today? But then, to his horror, two more hands joined the fray, drilling into his hip bones with diabolical intensity and precision. Zuko bucked and squealed, his laughter reaching an entirely new caliber. 

“Ahahahaha!” he bubbled, shaking his head from side to side. “NohohahahAang!”

Zuko thought out of everyone present, the avatar would be the one to approach this situation with the most mercy and compassion. Boy, was he wrong. The airbender attacked his weak points like he’d been trained in the ancient art of tickle torture—as if tickling was a fifth element, and he’d already more than mastered it. 

“I can’t believe we went a whole day trying to be funny to make you laugh when all you needed was a little tickling!” Aang chirped cheerfully. “I also can’t believe you made us go this long without hearing what your laugh sounds like. It’s so cute and happy! Why don’t you do it more often?” 

If Aang expected Zuko to reply, he wasn’t making it easy. He furrowed his brow and stuck out his tongue as he explored the prince’s sensitive midsection, working in tandem with Katara so that every tickle spot on his torso got a turn being poked and squeezed and stroked. Zuko couldn’t stand another second. 

“Guhuhuhuys!” he howled. This was a nightmare. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse. He had to make them stop.

“Try tickling his ribs!” Sokka suggested suddenly, grinning with malicious glee. “He was super jumpy when I poked them before!” 

“Ooh, good idea!” Aang said. He skittered his hands up his sides then shook them viciously into his rib cage, making the poor teenager squawk.

The universe just loved proving him wrong, didn’t it?

“NOHOHAHA!” he bellowed, throwing his head back, nearly hitting Sokka in the face. “Gaha! Youhou—jerherherherks! Ahahaaa!”

The gang giggled along with him without slowing their attack. “Hey, there’s the Zuko we all know and love,” Toph chuckled. She sat on top of his buried feet and began skating her nails against the backs and caps of his knees, drawing feathery circles into the sensitive skin and causing goosebumps to shoot up his legs. It was gentler than Aang and Katara’s cruel tickle tactics—a fact he had to be grateful for—but still contributed significantly to his overall state of flustered, twitchy hysteria. 

“Aw, look at you, Prince Zu-Zu! So smiley and giggly and squirmy!” Katara bunched up her hands and spidered her nails against his belly button, making Zuko shriek and thrash like a little kid. “I can’t believe we were ever afraid of your adorable little face! If only we’d known back then how easy it is to defeat you! Just a couple tickles here, a few pokes there…”

She moved her hands across his tummy while she spoke, wiggling her fingernails as they dragged along his skin, cooing at him the entire time. Meanwhile, Aang was absolutely wrecking his ribs, grinding his knuckles ruthlessly into the bone. 

“Right? He’s cuter than a baby turtle duck!” 

“No wonder his uncle adores him so much,” Toph agreed.

Zuko wanted to disintegrate. The relentless teasing was just as cruel as the six hands tickling him to pieces. He’d never been taunted or tickled to this extent before, and the only thing he could do about it was blush tomato-red and laugh himself silly. He didn’t consider himself to be that sensitive of a person, seeing that no one had really tickled him since he was a child, but the avatar and his crew were doing a pretty good job convincing him otherwise. At this point, his entire body was bright pink and sizzling like a space heater. 

“PLEEHEASE STAHAHAP!” Zuko begged, hiccups leaping from his throat and puncturing his endless giggle fit. No point in trying to retain some shred of dignity—every last drop had already been spent. “I CAHAN’T TAKE AHANYMOHOHOREHAHAHA!”

“Aw, but this is so fun,” Sokka pouted playfully, poking at his neck with the fingers that could reach. “You sure you can’t take just a little more?”

“We haven’t even tickled your armpits yet!” Aang protested, immediately shoving his hands under his arms and wiggling his fingers against the hollows. It was a welcome break for his ribs, but also gave him giggly whiplash.

“AHAHAHACK!” Zuko squirmed helplessly, tears welling in the corners of eyes. He barely had the strength to even writhe in place anymore. “IHI’M—GOHONNA—DIHIHIHIE!”

Katara’s hands slowed to a halt against his sides, granting him a sudden rush of relief. “Okay, maybe we should stop,” she said, smiling sympathetically. “He does look pretty wiped.”

“He’s not going to die,” Toph assured the others with a chuckle. She took her hands off his knees. “Still, that’s probably a good idea.”

The absence of Katara and Toph’s tickling gave Zuko the chance to catch his breath a little. The relief was astronomical. Aang, however, had yet to let up, keeping the prince twitchy and giggly with his rib cage and underarm torment. 

“EhahahAang!” Zuko wheezed, wriggling helplessly. “Pleehease!”

Aang smiled wryly. “All right, I’ll stop,” he conceded, worming his fingers between each individual rib. “But first, you have to admit out loud that you’re adorable, because I’m still not convinced you believe it. Say that, and I’ll stop.”

Zuko thought it impossible for things to get any more embarrassing than they already were. Wrong again. Being disowned by his father and banished from the Fire Nation hadn’t been as humiliating as the past five minutes. Now this?

The group grinned at him expectantly, waiting. Zuko shook his head.

“B-buhut—I—” he stuttered out between giggles. Then Sokka dug his hands into armpits, making him squeal with laughter and shrink into himself.

“No excuses!” he demanded playfully. “Go on! Say it!”

Zuko tried to thrash out of Sokka’s grip now that it wasn’t so tight, but Sokka still had a strong enough hold on him to keep him trapped—even while he was tickling him. He buried his face into his shoulder to hide his goofy smile and flushed cheeks. 

“Ahaha! Youhou’re—s-soho—meahean!” To think that he used to be the one considered cruel and evil. Ponytail Zuko had nothing on these diabolical tickle monsters and their degrading requests.

A moment later, Katara started squeezing his sides again, causing Zuko to twist and yelp. “We’re mean? But look how happy we’re making you! If anything, you should be thanking us.”

Toph wiggled her fingers against the middle of his tummy. “We’re waiting, your highness.”

It was too much. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He needed this to end.

“OHOKAHAHAY!” he cackled, squirming and hiccuping and craving the sweet escape of death. “IHI’M—I ADMIHIHIT IT!”

“You admit what?” Aang asked, grinning innocently as he revved up his rib tickling to a maddening ferocity. Oh, he was so getting them back for this.

“GAHAHA! FIHIHINE! I’MAHAHAHADORHORABLE!” He ducked his head, blushing brighter than their campfire. “NOHOW STAHAHAHAP! PLEEHEEHEASE!”

The group laughed and cheered at his miserable defeat, then finally ceased their attack. Katara and Aang stepped back as Toph freed his feet and Sokka released him from his grip. Zuko was left standing in the center of the team, panting and giggling dazedly, guarding his torso with his arms held tight to his skin. His whole body tingled and burned. His face hurt from smiling so much.

“Well, you heard it here first, folks—Zuko is adorable, and he knows it!”

“And he can laugh! Like, actually laugh!”

“I guess he can express happiness the same way we do. You just have to push the right buttons.”

“Was that emotive enough for you, Katara?”

Zuko was at his wit’s end. Again, with the teasing? Couldn’t these guys give him a break? He was never going to hear the end of this for as long as he lived. Giggling breathlessly, he sunk to his hands and knees, making his friends flinch. 

“Whoa,” Katara exclaimed. “You all right there, Zuko?”

For a moment, the team worried that they’d gone too far, that they’d somehow broken Zuko by making him laugh for what might’ve been the first time in his life. Zuko doubled over himself, wheezing dazedly.

“Uhuhugh…” he whimpered, voice muffled. “Y-you’re...gohonna...pahay for that…”

The group let out a sigh of relief. If he still had the strength to threaten him, that was a good sign. 

“Don’t worry, Prince Zu-Zu,” Sokka said, patting him on the back. “Having a cute laugh doesn’t make you any less intimidating.”

“It’s nice to know that you can laugh though, even if you don’t do it very much.” Katara smiled somberly. “I was worried something was bothering you, or that you weren’t happy here with us. That’s why we started this whole silly competition in the first place.”

After a pause, Zuko slowly lifted his face from his lap. His cheeks were still rosy, but he was beginning to tame his breathing. 

“But if that’s just not how you normally express yourself, that’s okay.”

The prince sat back on his haunches, still seething with humiliation, but to a semi-reduced degree. He didn’t think he’d ever fully understand the way this group functioned, why they garnered such delight out of poking fun at him and each other, why they were so concerned and endeared with his behavior and emotional expressiveness. But it was clear they cared about him, however bizarrely they chose to demonstrate it. 

“I...I am happy here,” Zuko eventually ventured to say, his voice still shrill and brittle. Hearing it out loud made him blush some more, but he continued. “I wasn’t trying to make you think otherwise. I’m just…” he swallowed. “Weird. And bad at...stuff.”

The gang snickered. “Yeah you are,” Toph said, hugging his arm. “And we love you for it.”

The firebender blinked and hinted a bashful smile. Aang placed his hands on his hips. 

“Who knows! Maybe you just forgot how to laugh for a while, but now we’ve reminded you!”

To everyone’s disbelief, a chuckle escaped Zuko, short and authentic. “Maybe,” he said. 

Then, an instant later, he shot to his feet. “But don’t ever do anything like that to me ever again! I’ll burn down this entire hillside and run back to the Fire Nation if you even think about it!”

Flames rose from his clenched fists as he glared daggers into each of them. But Aang just laughed.

“Sure you will,” Aang teased, fluttering his fingers against his side. Zuko winced and smiled, then whirled on him with a growl. 

“Touch me again, and I’ll have you doing fire lunges until you puke.”

Aang shrunk away with a nervous chuckle, folding his hands behind his back. “R-right. Sorry, Sifu Hotman.”

If anyone noticed that Zuko started laughing more after that, whether it was at Aang’s antics or Sokka’s jokes or Katara’s ridiculousness or Toph’s sass, they thought it best not to point it out. Now that he’d started emoting more positively, they didn’t want to shy him away from it. It was still small and fleeting, but it was progress from absolutely nothing. Perhaps they had helped the Fire Nation prince rediscover his laugh after all. 

But that didn’t stop them from poking and teasing him whenever the urge hit. While his everyday chuckles and giggles were great, nothing compared to the sound of Zuko’s wild, bubbly, tickle-induced laughter. And unless he firebended at them to get them to quit, they didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Lady Wifi (Part 2)

Marillion AU

- - -

“He can’t do that! It’s illegal! I'm a superhero, for gods sake!”

Alya was fuming. How dare they? Expulsion would go into her school record permanently, it would influence her future career forever!

“But he doesn’t know that.”, Tikki reasoned. “And it better stays that way.”

Alya was tempted to change that. But if it came down to it, being Ladybird would always rank higher than revenge on Damocles in her priorities.

“I'm going to get them for this!”, Alya swore under her breath. “The principle, Chloé and her Alter Ego Marillion!”

“Alya-“

“No! You don’t get this, you won’t have to apply for jobs with “Expulsion for Theft” written on your record!”

Tikki backed away a little and Alya immediately regretted her tone.

“I... Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Tikki may be an insufferable know-it-all, but she was her friend. She cared for her and only ever wanted to help.

“It's okay, Alya.”, her Kwami calmed her worries. “I know how upset you are. But think of Marillion! We can’t risk that she gets to you, and you're in a vulnerable state of mind.“

Alya paled.

“Oh my gosh... What do I do? Tikki, what do I do now?”

“Stay calm! Marillion can only akumatize people who think there is no solution to their problems. You're Ladybird! You can think of something.”

Her jaw dropped. Of course! I'm Ladybird!

“Jesus! You're right, Tikki! I can do this!”

“Awesome! Maybe we should write a letter-“

“I'm going to confront Damocles as Ladybird! And then I'll kick Chloé's butt!”

“Wait, what?”

Alya jumped up and threw her hair back, revealing the white, pearly earrings.

“Tikki, spots on!”

-

“She's not answering her phone.”, Marinette fretted, turning her own off after the fifth attempt. “This is bad...”

“Oh no!”, Nooroo zoomed around her, just as anxious as herself. “Do you think something happened to her?”

Fear twisted her guts and she shook her head.

“I can’t think like that. I can’t... I have to... think clearly now.”

No time for her worst-case scenarios, she would only scare Nooroo. No, first she had to find some clarity about Alya's disappearance from her radar.

“You're the expert when it comes to your brooch’s emotion-radar.”, she mused and turned to her little friend. “Any idea what could cause her to just... vanish?”

Nooroo stilled, thinking.

“Well... if her mood had lightened up, we would have felt it. In order to completely disappear, she either lost consciousness, entered a meditative state, came in touch with a similar magic to mine, or... hm.”

“What?”

“I remember one instance where my... wielder set a trap to upset his victim. Their pain became so great it turned completely catatonic.”

He shuddered.

“He can speak of luck it happened before he could akumatize them. A catatonic Akuma is absolutely disastrous!”

She took a step back.

“That's horrible! Do you think this happened to Alya?”

Uncertain he bit his lip.

“I’m not sure. It’s also possible that she met Ladybird. I’m not very familiar with Tikki's powers, but maybe it’s possible for her to shield people from me.”

“Ugh, that’s just what I need now!”

Nooroo ducked his head.

“S-sorry.”

“No!”, she hurried to comfort him. “Not you, honey, this isn’t your fault.”

She sighed, looking up at the door to the principals office. This is so unfair!

“We've got to help Alya.”, she decided. “And if we can’t find her personally...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Then we'll just have to make sure her problems are gone when she returns.”

Nooroo nodded eagerly, happy she had an idea.

“What is your plan?”

“It’s... risky. But maybe we can help Alya and make sure she doesn’t suspect us to be Marillion. You know, once she realizes it’s not Chloé!”

“Good thinking, Marinette! Reveal-prevention is most effective when used early.”

“And I think I'll do it by... akumatizing myself?”

His mouth fell shut.

“Oh.”

“Is that possible?”

“Um. Well, yes.”

He didn’t look very happy.

“Nooroo?”

“Hm? Oh. It’s not dangerous, I just...”

He fidgeted.

“You'll have to take off the miraculous for that.”

That didn’t sound too dramatic. She could just... oh.

“You... You’re scared that you'll get lost, aren’t you?”

“No!”, he hurried to deny. “I trust you! You'd never be careless with the brooch.”

He didn’t look at her, scared he'd offended her somehow. She petted his forehead, a quiet assurance that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Nooroo,” she soothed him, “it’s alright to be scared. And you can always tell me if something sits wrong with you.”

Hesitantly he looked up to her.

“It’s just... if you renounce me, I won’t know what happens with you. What if you get hurt? Or you get carried away, like Stoneheart did? Or what if Hawkmoth finds me while you're gone, and the next thing I’ll see is him and I won’t ever see you again? Or what if the brooch gets lost and the next time I’ll open my eyes, I’ll find that two thousand years have passed and you are... you are...”

He was crying now and she felt tears form in her own eyes.

“Oh, Nooroo.”, she whispered and hugged her little friend. “That won’t ever happen. I promise! I promise you won’t end up there again.”

He nuzzled his face into the fabric of her jacket.

“But how can you be sure?”, he asked, his voice so faint she almost didn’t hear him. As if he didn’t want her to hear him.

Gently she pulled back a little, so she could look at him.

“We can figure something out.”, she stated confidently and tapped her brooch. “You don’t want to be left behind? Then we'll make sure that you’re not.”

He blinked, confused, and she smiled.

“This is your power before it is mine, right? I'm just borrowing it when I transform.”

“In a way.”, he answered, his voice still wobbly. “But I can’t create akumas without a wielder. At least no stable ones.”

“Then I‘ll create the akuma. I'll detransform and take off the brooch. I take the akuma and take care of Alya. And you stay close-by, guide me like I guide my champions, and hold on to your miraculous while I’m busy. Okay?”

He leaned his head sideways.

“You... you want me to take the miraculous? All alone?”

Was that a taboo for kwamis?

“If that's alright with you!”, she hurried to add. “If you don’t feel up to it, we can deposit it in my diary case. Or put it in Dad's safe.”

Nooroo shook his head, wiping his tears away. When he spoke, his voice was soft but firm.

“It will be my honor.”, he said. “To watch over it and you. I’m sure you can find Alya.”

She smiled and petted his squishy little cheek one last time.

“Then we're ready. Nooroo, dark wings rise!”

He vanished in a blur of sparkles and her transformation washed over her. Careful that the schoolyard was indeed empty, she dashed out of the bathroom and jumped on the roof of the school, eyes darting over the nearby park.

It was spring and butterflies weren’t hard to come by. As soon as she spotted one it was already fluttering towards her, settling on her outstretched palm to be of service.

“We have to help Alya.”, she whispered and covered its wings with her other hand. “But this time I'll do it on my own. Stay close by, my akuma!”

Her fears and concern for Alya transformed into inky shadows, drawn into the the white butterfly and sparking with potential. The newly dubbed akuma took off and fluttered around her, ready to fulfill its mission.

“Dark wings fall.”, she released her transformation and caught Nooroo in cupped hands. Exhausted he took the bonbon she offered him.

“Are you completely sure?”

She nodded.

“I'm not renouncing you, Nooroo. You'll be on your own for a bit, but if anything goes wrong I need you to take control. I trust you, okay?”

He swallowed, but when he took the rosy brooch from her hands, he looked determined.

“You can count on me.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the akuma and took out her phone. She had thought a lot about this, and... well, if she was going to avenge Alya, she might as well choose a form her crush would approve of. Already sketching out a design in her mind she held up her phone.

“Let's do this!”

The akuma took a dive for her and a bubbly feeling shot through her hand.

“It'll be fine, Nooroo.”, she waved him. “But this is a job for Lady Wifi!”

-

The door to the principals office flew open with a crash.

“Monsieur Damocles!”, Ladybird roared, righteous fury burning in her chest. “You have unjustly thrown out an exceptionally talented student! So now you must answer to- Monsieur Damocles?”

The principal was frozen in place like a mannequin. A pinkish Pause icon hovered in front of his chest and send a chill down her spine. Her fury fizzled out like a cheap sparkler and she dropped her dramatic pose.

“What the...”

She waved her hand in front of his face, to no avail. Before she could take a closer look at the problem, the computer on his desk flickered to life. Alya gasped.

“Marinette?!”

If someone had asked her how she'd come to this conclusion, she wouldn’t be able to answer. By all accounts, the girl on the desktop looked nothing like the Marinette she knew. She was dressed in pitch black spandex, accentuated by white stripes and a symbol resembling a Wifi icon. Her skin was ghostly pale, and pink eyes glared out of an angular butterfly mask. The soft black hair Alya had braided during countless sleepovers was out of its usual pigtails, loose and unkempt. The most striking difference however was her bearing.

Marinette tended to make herself small, to slip in the gaps between people or hang onto her friends. When she walked there was always an endearing air of hurry or absent-mindedness to her, which had caused her to bump into Alya more times than she could count.

Now, on the other hand... she was so forebodingly present. She was commanding attention, fully in control, her posture relaxed and confident.

“I'm Lady Wifi,” Not-Marinette informed her viewers with a grin, “Revealer of the Truth! For my first Exposé, your Principal would like to share a tidbit with you.”

The camera zoomed out, revealing an intimidated Damocles behind his desk - alive and moving. This had to be a recording!

“So, Monsieur Damocles”, Lady Wifi addressed her hostage, walking with a grace she hadn’t possessed before. “Is it true that you wrongly suspended a student named Alya today?”

Damocles avoided to meet the piercing glare in her glowing eyes.

“Y-yes, I have.”, he confessed, having the decency to look ashamed.

“So you were biased, unjust, totally unfair?”

He sighed.

“Yes, I was.”

Her phone came into view and Ladybird narrowed her eyes. The rest of Marinette - her clothes, her mannerism, her eyes - had changed, but the lucky charm on her phone still looked the exact same. A lavender little spiral, bought the same day that Alya had gotten her Ladybird-themed one. And if the little charm was the same, then so was her phone.

“That's were the Akuma must be!”

“There you have it!”, Wifi snarled into the camera. “He confessed his crimes! And so will everybody else who harmed Alya, before I give them the punishment they deserve.”

She raised her phone and turned towards her prey, swiping over the display of her phone. A glowing pause button shot out and froze Damocles in place before her could escape.

“Stay connected.”, Lady Wifi dismissed her audience and the screen turned black.

Ladybird let out the breath she had been holding and slumped onto the nearest chair.

“Oh no...”, she groaned and pressed her hands over her mouth. “Not you, girl!”

And it was Ladybird's own fault, too! If she'd just kept quiet about her discovery, or at least talked to Marinette beforehand. But now Chloé knew she was onto her and was targeting the people she loved!

“I'm going to fix this.”, she mumbled into her gloves. “I promise, Mari.”

Fueled by the determination to get her friend back, Ladybird stood up and reached for her Yo-Yo.

“Chat Noir, it’s me.”, she told her partner's voicemail. “Get moving, buddy. We've got a job.”

-

“You have a crush on Chloé, you have a crush on Chloé!~”, the pest that was Adrien's Kwami teased him in his most annoying sing-song. The teenager swatted him aside and pulled the bathroom door closed.

“If you don’t show some compassion for my heartache very soon, I’ll loose my tolerance for your gross Camembert.”

“Not as gross as the idea of kissing Chloé though, is it?”

Adrien groaned and raised his fist in defeat.

“Plagg, Claws out.”

This day couldn’t get any worse. His great love had turned sour, his good friend had turned evil, and his partner had left him a message. That couldn’t be a good sign. A message meant she had a plan. A plan meant she was impatient to start. Impatience meant that his hotheaded partner would barge headfirst into danger, without any backup.

“We've got a job,” she informed him for the pure drama of it. “I have no idea where Lady Wifi went, and I honestly don’t feel like fighting her at all. So here's what we'll do: instead of fighting a girl everybody likes, let’s fight a girl no sane person can stand! Oh, Chloé is Marillion, by the way, meet me at her Hotel; we're kicking butterfly butt tonight.”

The message ended and Chat Noir sighed deeply. There was no time to try and convince her of a different strategy, she was probably already there and ready to fight.

“This is the worst day ever.”, he complained to no one. But alas, the universe was not inclined to have mercy on its favorite black cat. So he sighed once more over his broken heart, kicked the door open and vanished into the night like the ninja he was always meant to be.

-

“There you are, Kitty!”, Ladybird greeted him, already brimming with excitement. “Just in time!”

She pulled him down to take cover behind a chimney and took out her Yo-Yo.

“Look!”

Zooming through a window - a feat impossible for any normal device - the display of her weapon revealed exactly what he had feared: Marillion in all her purple glory, swinging her staff at imaginary opponents. She was so obviously Chloé that he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“This is horrible.”, he mourned his disillusioned crush.

“Right? Her form is so sloppy!”, Ladybird agreed far too enthusiastically, missing his point by the length of her Yo-Yo-cord. “She looks like a toddler!”

He groaned and hid his face behind his hands.

“Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else?”

There were thousands of girls in Paris, but somehow the one behind Marillion's tragically pre-redemption-villainous mask was... Chloé. His oldest yet brattiest friend, the last person he could ever feel attracted to.

“When this is over I'm so going to give the brooch to Marinette.”, he grumbled. He didn’t even have the time to fully process what he had said - let alone imagine how amazing Marinette might look in purple - before Ladybird had grabbed his shoulders and dragged him closer.

“That,” she gasped, “is the best idea you've ever had, Kitty! We'll be a trio with the smartest little bean in Paris, ohmygosh!”

“Wait, you know her too?”

“Dude, I adore her! Let’s get this Miraculous and pay our girl a visit, yes?”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am!”, he eagerly saluted and readied his baton. “Chat Noir, reporting for duty!”

“Then here we go!”

[idkmaybenotthatcool]

any advice for someone who wants to learn to read tarot?

(( .First of all I’d like to say that I am not an expert, I’ve only been studying them for a little over a year now, so I can just give you a few tips based on my experience. 

Buy the deck you like the most, this will encourage you to always have your eyes on them.

As soon as you get the deck, make sure you clean it. You don’t know how many hands have touched it and how many different energies it has been in contact with, so leave it a night under the moonlight maybe or in the sun for a while.

Done that, mix the deck, look at each card, look at the pictures and their details. In short, enjoy it!

Each deck comes with a small manual, read it as you look at the card you’re reading the meaning of. Usually the image reflects the meaning, try to catch it. It would be easier to remember what the card means like this.

 I recommend to try to learn the major arcana first, because you can already do some tarot spreads with them, so practice even if you’re still not sure of the meaning. Don’t worry, you’ll learn by doing spreads.

One thing that helped me a lot learning them is the “5 Cards Story” exercise. You need to take 5 cards from your deck and try to make a story out of them. Space with your imagination and then write it down.

There are many videos on youtube that explain each card very well, watch as many as possible because each card has more than one meaning that are difficult to remember, listening to more than one explanation will help you more than you think.

When you ask a question to your deck, try to clear your mind and concentrate if you don’t want the deck to change its focus. For example, it often happens to me that during my own readings, it starts to talk about other people I’m tied to, rather than me. A little meditation will help with that!

If a card doesn’t convince you while you’re doing a spread, it’s not the deck that is wrong, but there’s something you’re not seeing. Go to google and do a deeper research on that card.

Don’t do more readings on the same surface if it does not have a cloth that separates the direct contact between the deck and the surface. Otherwise you will have confusion between the reading you are doing and the previous one.

They WILL call you out, don’t worry about it, it’s normal.

Knock three times on your deck every time you finish a reading.

Take notes and carry them with you!

Remember though that everyone has their own learning method, so these have worked for me, but maybe won’t work for you, so try to find your own method. And don’t be discouraged if you can’t remember all the meanings, there are too many and it’s normal, don’t be ashamed to have your notes always in front of you, I still use them too!. You’ll soon see that readings will become natural to you the more you practice.

Hope to have been helpful and Good Luck! ^_^. ))

[teawithotome]

i hAVE BEEN looking into reality shifting stuff for a while and i’ve been wanting to try it out but i’m lowkey nervous i’ll do something wrong and like get stuck or something 👉🏻👈🏻 if it’s okay can you give some advice??

ahh hello!! ♡

this will be a pretty long reply so I'm putting it under the cut (finally figured out how to do it on mobile!!)

so first off, please take whatever I say with a grain of salt ! I am by no means an expert, since I'm also fairly new to shifting myself (I only started researching it a couple months ago) and I've only shifted one time since then (I think;?? but I don't consider it to be a success, since I didn't shift to my DR,,) you should definitely do your own research and find what resonates with you! ♡♡

but that being said, I'm happy to share tips based on my experiences ! ♡

I would first like to reassure you that you cannot get "stuck" in your desired reality

shifting relies heavily on our subconscious to dictate "what happens" in our DR, so if you don't want something to happen, then it won't !! but even more than that, you can't get stuck because your brain will already know subconsciously how to come back to your CR once you've shifted

so why do people have "safe words" or "trigger words" to bring them back?

because while they're entirely optional - just like scripting - safe words can be more convenient in some cases ! I like to think of it this way: if you wanted to go from your bedroom to your kitchen, you know the way and you could probably do it in your sleep, right? you also know how to get back to your bedroom once you're in your kitchen. but imagine if you had an instant teleporter that could take you to the kitchen and back to your bedroom with just the touch of a button... more convenient, right?

now onto some more general advice !

stay hydrated!!

this is very important, as many people have claimed that when you do shift, it takes somewhat of a physical toll on your body - it's important to stay hydrated anyway, but especially so if you're trying to shift

take breaks between attempts to shift

this one is also very important for safety and wellbeing as well, but if you try night after night to shift without a break, you're going to wear yourself out,,

you need to give your mind time to rest between each session, like working a muscle

I usually try to shift a night or two in a row, and then I'll take a day off - if you script, that would be a good night to work on it - but don't actively attempt to shift that night

it's important to give your mind and body enough rest during the process ! ♡

keep your focus on your DR, not the process of shifting

this is something I struggle with, but I've seen a few other people say this as well

because shifting relies heavily on our subconscious, it works when we're not actively thinking about it - active thinking is in the conscious brain

that may sound counter intuitive, but that's also why I tend not to rely on the various methods for shifting floating around the internet,, if all your focus is on the method, then it's much harder for your subconscious to take over the process

focus your thought - your conscious mind - on your DR as much as possible while trying to shift

I've gotten many more symptoms of shifting and felt more at ease when I let my subconscious work on the "getting there" and I focus my conscious energy into the "destination"

that brings me to my next tip...

methods and scripts ARE optional

I don't personally use subliminals, particular methods, and have barely a few lines of a script that I haven't read over in a while,,

a lot of people will tell you that these things are optional but then recommend or do them anyway, and I'm here to reiterate:

they are completely optional

no matter what's trendy or what everyone else is doing, you have to find what resonates with you !! ♡

if you feel more centered, more focused, more confident with a script, then by all means script away! but if you're like me and tend to overthink, to get stuck on details, or just plain feel strange trying to write about "self inserts",,, then you don't need to script at all !!

your subconscious is your safety net, nothing will happen that you don't want to happen

if you don't have a script, your subconscious will fill in the blanks, and in doing so, things may not always be exactly like you expected but they'll never be unreasonable or unwanted

I remember reading someone's experience shifting to Hogwarts, and they forgot to script anything about the bathrooms, so they ended up with a shared bathroom down the hall, and they later changed that in their script to be a personal bathroom for each dorm room, since that was more ideal for them in practice - but it wasn't like there was NO bathroom because they forgot to script about it, their subconscious filled in a reasonable option for the bathrooms that was in keeping with their DR

find the mindset that works best for you

it will be very difficult to shift if you aren't totally calm and confident in yourself, and it's difficult to be those things if you don't truly believe in what you're doing

for me, I'm a very rational person, and I was very skeptical when I first heard about shifting, this "magical" way to "travel to fictional worlds".... a small part of me was of course ecstatic,, but it was outweighed by the skepticism

so before trying anything, I did quite a bit of research, looking over the scientific backing as well as comparing people's accounts of what shifting feels like

and I came to the conclusion that the way I personally view shifting (feel free to disagree! this is what makes sense to me) is like a deep state of meditation, wherein the consciousness can drift and align itself with different parallel realities

this made it so much easier to relax and believe in myself when attempting to shift because I framed it as something achievable to me !!

I can meditate, therefore, if I practice enough, I can shift too.

however, you can frame it as a type of magic that only you can perform, or as a form of hypnosis, self induced hallucinations, an aligning of spiritual factors, whatever it is that makes the most sense to you, and gives you the confidence to be fully relaxed and open minded ♡

please don't shift for the wrong reasons !

this one is more of a personal word of advice, but shifting should be treated like a hobby, something to do for fun and/or relaxation... please try not to get stressed or discouraged if you can't do it right away

and please please don't try to shift just to escape your CR problems,, I've heard stories of people who have tried to "shift permanently" into their DR... which is not healthy or even possible,,

shifting is temporary in nature.. your CR is your home base, the place you'll always return to, and you need to cherish it and shape it into something you can be proud of (or at least be in harmony with) !! ♡

---

that's about all I can think of for advice.. but if you have any questions or don't understand something, I'll do my best to help !! ^^ ♡

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Ahkmenrah asks Nouke to be his queen. Kahmunrah’s suspicion stirs more trouble, and the pharaoh holds a meeting with his advisors that does not go as well as he hoped. 

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 7327

Warnings: none

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​, @edteche2​ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N:  This chapter marks the halfway point in this story! So there is still lots to come. 😁 Shout out too all of you who left me such kind comments about last weeks chapter! I was so nervous to post that and you all filled my heart with so much love. Thank you. This chapter might be a tad less exciting then last week, but there are some great scenes in it nonetheless. At least I think so. Enjoy!Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible.

It was by neither the rigorous duties of being king nor the golden light of day that woke Ahkmenrah the next morning. The blame, instead, fell upon the lazy kisses placed along his jaw that gradually withdrew him from his restful slumber. Gentle and airy, they were like the brush of warm desert wind over his skin, and Ahk hummed his delight—keeping his eyes closed to savor every press of her lips. The sound of his pleasure grew into a purr when Nouke shifted to straddle his waist, tucking her legs at either side of his body.

She bent to meet his lips with a tender kiss, her calloused fingertips coming to cradle his chin as she controlled the slow movement of his mouth with her own. A delighted rumble thrummed in the back of his throat, the pillowy silk of her lips and tongue pulling him further from the inky void of sleep. The telltale heat of arousal was already pooling in his groin; her touch like flint and steel, sparking his desire with ease.

When she finally broke away, Ahk’s eyes fluttered open, eager to marvel at the woman looming over him in the light of early dawn. His grin was impossible to keep properly masked. 

The early-morning sky was a fresco of muted tones, blues and pinks, and lavenders, all working simultaneously to give Nouke’s coppery skin an intrinsic glow. Every dip and swell of her body made Ahkmenrah’s heart race and his mind cloudy. She was breathtaking: a masterpiece that could have only been sculpted by the gods. Any man would have been lucky to have her, and she had chosen him.

Even as pharaoh, Ahkmenrah hardly felt deserving of a being with abundant beauty and spirit. She was stronger than him in every way, and he loved her all the more because of her heartened tenacity.

As her dark, amber eyes watched him reverently, palms lying flat against his chest, he continued to drink in the sight of her. He proudly noted each of the marks along her neck and shoulders—tiny brushstrokes of purple—where he’d suckled and nipped until he provoked delicious sounds from her lips as they made love. Oh, how he longed to hear those melodies again. 

Finally, Ahkmenrah rested his hands on her hips, gently squeezing the soft flesh, unable to quell the need to touch her any longer.

“Sorry I woke you,” Nouke murmured, her eyes on him with a worshipful intensity.

“I’m not.” Ahk’s grin grew wider until it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I had to make sure you were really here.” A glint of ruefulness stole the shine from her eyes momentarily, and he gave her hips another squeeze as reassurance.

“I’m here,” he promised as his smile faded into a look of compassion. He would never leave her again—not longer than he had too.

Nouke held his gaze until her sadness folded under his tenderhearted expression. She moved her focus in a bashful gesture to the fan of his fingers laid across the flare of her hip.

“How is your hand?” she asked in a in a not so subtle attempt to take his intimate focus away from her.

Ahkmenrah blinked several times having forgotten all about his bruised knuckles.

In truth, the pharaoh forgot almost everything—including his grand title—having been utterly lost in Nouke, both figuratively and literally.

“The bandages came off during our exertions; it would seem.” Ahkmenrah stretched and balled his fist as he spoke, gauging the severity of the injury.

The ache remained—thrumming in time with his pulse—but was something he could easily ignore given the proper distraction: like having the woman he loved before him, naked and kissing each of his hurt knuckles.

Nouke held his injured hand in hers as she reached for the roll of clean linen strips tossed among the pile of supplies she’d brought to the roof the night before. Once again, she began meditatively wrapping the cut and bruised flesh. The tender caress of her fingers over his skin as she tucked and tied the bandages around his knuckles was inherently intimate and entrancing to watch.

When she finished, she tore the excess away with her teeth, then kissed the freshly covered wounds again.

“Thank you,” he said on a wistful exhale—utterly captivated.

Nouke's lips quirked into a soft grin, “You’re welcome.” 

Ahkmenrah sat up a second later, circling his arms around her waist and her’s wove around his neck—resting on his shoulders—while her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. Gingerly, he tilted his forehead to meet hers, locking her gaze with his own.

“Be my queen,” he murmured; his tone a breathy wish.

Never had he wanted anything more than her.

“You will never again need to work a field or go without food. Your mother will be cared for by my priests and healers—our children will be great rulers of this empire.” He paused long enough to fight back the welling, joy-filled tears blurring his vision. “Be my queen so that we will never again find each other apart.”

Nouke smiled softly and touched his face, mapping a feather-light trail from his cheek to his chin as her eyes searched his expression for a sign of trickery.

“Are you sure?” she whispered as a hint of doubt crept into both her tone and her smile. “I come from nothing…”

Uncertainty stole away more of her smile, and Ahk quickly cupped her face, thumbs gently sweeping at the corners of her mouth, trying to coax back her smile.

“Never have I been more sure of anything,” he promised without hesitation. “You are the only person I wish to devote myself to—completely—in this life, and all others.”

His words evoked joy to wash over and relax her features as happiness spilled down her cheeks in two solitary tears that Ahk brushed away, smiling.

“Be my queen, Nouke,” he asked once more. “Please.”

Her misty eyes searched his face again, her fingers moving to trace his bottom lip, then she nodded.

“Okay.” The simple response crashed into him with overwhelming force and a small chuckle—a cumulation of his joy, awe, and disbelief—vibrated through him as his own tears fell freely. Ahk hugged her tightly against his chest and kissed her until they were both breathless. 

***

Dawn lingered, its beauty still painting the sky with soft hues of morning when Ahkmenrah announced his need to return to the palace.

Both reveled in the serenity of dawn, prolonging every moment tangled in each other—bodies molded together in a twisted mess of limbs. Nouke was certain she had found nirvana enveloped in her pharaoh’s arms, the sound of his heart against her ear, while his fingers absently drew sweeping shapes over her skin. The timbre of his voice was warm and gentle as he told her stories of his time venturing through the land he now ruled, just as he had promised to do so many years before.

The tranquility was almost enough to lull her back to sleep as they laid together; the bass of Ahk’s voice so smooth. Its low inflection made it near impossible to keep her eyes from drooping. Her desire, however, to relish in the imagery he painted of all the places he’d seen was enough to deter the tiredness that beckoned her. 

“Ahk?” she said in a low murmur as her mind dared to imagine the blue waters of the Mediterranean and the temple of Khonshu he spoke of. “Promise you’ll take me there.”

She knew it was wrong to be envious of his fortunate travels, but it was difficult to stifle how much she yearned for a similar adventure.

“I promise,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

As his stories of adventure reached their conclusion, the two of them grew quiet, eyes fixated overhead while they watched the pastel clouds drift on their own journey across the desert sky. Nouke felt the familiar heaviness of sleep tempting her again, so comfortable and at peace nestled beside Ahkmenrah. When he sat up enough to rest his back on the makeshift cushions, however, the sleepiness ebbed and Nouke frowned.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He sighed as he pulled her snug against his chest, holding her safe.

“I just need a day or two to get things in order, my love. Then I will return to you with news. You mustn’t fear.”

Nouke met his eyes, finding them big and beautiful and full of his affection, losing herself in them until she husked out a quiet word.

“Promise?”

He dazzled her with a show of his teeth—a brilliant smile—that set her heart racing just before he kissed her deeply, reassuring her he would never again leave as he did before.

“I promise.”

They took their time helping each other dress in a series of feather-light touches and long, loving glances that did little to ease their impending separation. Nouke all but leapt into his arms as she embraced him, gliding her fingers through his curls, before tying her arms around his neck. She filled her lungs with his scent of papyrus, lamp oil, and lotus blossom (his favorite blooms in their West Garden). The wave of nostalgia bit into her with a sharp sting of bitter-sweet memories and she missed him already.

“Two days at most,” he vowed, inhaling deeply as he buried his nose against her neck and shoulder. “Take time to collect your things, I will return to you soon, my queen.”

Nouke could only manage a nod, finding her words caught behind the lump in her throat. She had at most three material things to her name; gathering them would not be enough to aptly distract her from his absence. There was still plenty of farming to be done, however, and she knew she would bury herself in it to keep her heart from wallowing.

Together they made their way down into her home, finding it empty as they went. Nouke thought little of the vacancy, Ahkmenrah’s hand in hers too distracting as she guided him along. Her feet fumbled to a stop, however, when she came upon the sight of her mother on her hands and knees in the garden they kept, with Kamuzu assisting her.  

Maketaten glanced their way as the king and soon-to-be queen descended the stairs. Kamuzu followed her glance, and both of them threw them knowing smiles.

“We were beginning to wonder when the two of you would grace us with your presence," Kamuzu chided in a light tone, wiping the earth from his hands as he stood to help Nouke’s mother to her feet.

The rest of the stairs became an arduous obstacle to maneuver as Nouke’s wobbly knees fought to conquer them; feeling entirely exposed. Ahkmenrah, however, seemed emboldened by their playfully teasing glances and all but floated the rest of the way down.

The grin he wore was exultant and brighter than the rays peeking from behind the clouds. He mustered his own bout of playful hubris, and his chest swelled with pride; Nouke could only roll her eyes adoringly at the king's triumphant display.

“Mother,” Nouke said blatantly ignoring the figurative elephant in the garden. “Why did you not wake me to help?”

Her mother’s health was miles ahead of where it had been before Ahkmenrah graciously intervened, but she still struggled and grew tired easily.

“You were busy,” Maketaten stated cooly with a dismissive wave, and moved her sights to Ahk. “Good morning your majesty."

She bowed her head. 

“Good morning to you as well,” Ahk cast her a charming grin, and inclined his head in return. “I am pleased to see your health has improved.”

Maketaten nodded as she smiled, “Yes, thanks to you and to my daughter.”

“She is very special, your daughter. Very special.” Ahkmenrah’s eyes drifted to meet Nouke’s with a quiet intimacy.

She had gotten lost in that same reverent gaze before—several times, in fact—as they rocked together in the throes of passion only hours ago. While the intensity was more reserved, it was still enough to make Nouke’s body ache to have him again.

“My king,” Kamuzu said, his tone shifting back to one of business.

Ahk blinked a few times, batting away his look of affection and cast an inquiring look to his guardian.

“I’m afraid you have extended this excursion long past due. I must see you back to the palace.”

Ahkmenrah shook his head, and never let his smile fall from his face.

“This was more than an excursion, my friend.” He looked to Nouke, the pharaoh’s grin widening. “This was a matter of the crown.”

Kamuzu nodded his understanding, letting the tiniest hint of a smile curl his pursed lips as his glance passed between the lovers.

“Of course, my king. But I doubt your father or the council will see it that way.”

Ahkmenrah shrugged as confidence aligned his posture, “I am the pharaoh. On this particular matter, I intend to do as I please.”

His Medjay guardian didn’t argue and slipped away to the front gate to wait for the pharaoh to finish his good-byes.

Nouke’s stomach felt suddenly heavy, her heart a similar weight but racing in her chest at the notion of Ahk leaving again. Their story was fraught with farewells, and Nouke was tired of them. Every step closer came with another obstacle. She knew her path should have stayed far from his; each turn seemed harder to tread, yet he always managed to come back to her and help maneuver every trial that sought to part them.

The promise he left her with was enough to allay the sense of melancholy for a while, and she smiled when he took her into his arms for a final kiss that was just this side of over-indulgent—not that Nouke minded.

She knew watching him go would never be easy; the more of him she tasted, the more difficult it was to let him go. 

***

The sun was high overhead—the peaceful hues of the morning giving way to a vivid blue sky—when Ahkmenrah made his way back through the hidden passage of the garden wall. Immediately his mind was teeming with all that had to be done before he could tie himself to the woman he loved forever. There were people to inform, contracts to write, unions to break. All of it should have felt daunting, but the reward that would follow far outweighed the impending tasks themselves. Ahkmenrah would do everything he needed to in order to call Nouke his queen.

The thrill that had carried him all morning waned unexpectedly when his eyes found Kahmunrah, seemingly waiting for him in the West Garden. His brother watched through narrowed eyes, intrigue furrowing his brow as he stepped nearer to investigate what laid beyond the row of foliage the pharaoh had just stepped from.

Ahkmenrah hurried to meet his brother before he could snoop too closely, not wanting the secret of the broken wall to get out. There was something unsettling about Kahmunrah knowing the breach existed; Ahk wasn’t sure why, but something implored he kept the knowledge of the passageway from his brother.

The pharaoh made no attempt to hide the anger that overtook his features; suddenly fighting the urge to swing his injured fist once more at Kah’s smug face. He did not like the image of Kahmunrah in his garden.

 “What have you been doing in this garden all night?” he probed, craning his neck to search the line of brush Ahkmenrah wandered out of.

“And in servant robes no less,” Kahmunrah mused, noting the garments Ahkmenrah and Kamuzu both wore with a look of disgust.

Ahk held his brother’s leer, tapping into the rage deep within him in order to match the intensity of Kahmunrah’s presence.

“Did I not make my demand clear, brother? You will recall my request for you to stay out of my sight.”

“Oh, I recall,” Kah chided with a flare of indifference that made Ahkmenrah’s blood boil. “I simply wish to know why our precious pharaoh has been missing all of last night and this morning.”

Ahkmenrah made a point of not supplying Kah with an answer—he didn’t deserve one. Instead, he gathered a smug grin akin to the ones Kahmunrah had mastered years prior, offering a true ‘wouldn’t you like to know’ expression that quickly yanked a frown onto his older brother’s lips.

The two stood, locked in a silent exchange—neither willing to waver—until Kamuzu stepped between them.

“You are in no place to make demands of our king,” the Medjay spoke boldly. “Now, remove yourself from his majesty's presence, or I shall remove you myself.”

Kahmunrah’s eyes narrowed and his chin rose in challenge, delighted by the notion of someone else pulled into his game.

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I detect a threat in those words?”

“Kahmunrah!” Ahk shouted; his nerves shot. He was done with his brother’s incessant play for power.

“By the gods, I will have you thrown into a cell if you do not leave my sight this instant!” The venom in his voice was enough to combat his brother’s fiendish, hubris and Kah sneered.

“I do believe I liked you better with no backbone, little brother.”

Ahkmenrah’s teeth were set against each other—jaw tight—and his eyes narrowed.

“You insult me? Your king?”

“Yes,” Kah hissed. “I insult you, fore you are not my king.”

Something snapped deep inside Ahkmenrah, the gate bursting to allow his rage to rip through him like fire. He was practically shaking with anger when he squared his shoulders and built himself into the posture of a king. Ahk channeled that fire to fuel the uncharacteristically cruel demand he was about to speak—he could think of no other way to teach his brother.

“Put him in a cell,” the pharaoh spoke calmly despite the turmoil mixing with his anger.

Kahmunrah was a man of brash action, and it was going to take a brash action for him to even begin to understand the degree of what he had done. Maybe then he would learn the path the gods gave him: learn his place in the grand scheme of things.

“As of this moment you are no longer a member of my council. You will no longer hold a title or power in Egypt. This will be your sentence until I feel you have proven to me your unyielding loyalty.”

Kah almost looked amused. But there was a ravenous fury in the black of his eyes; he wasn’t afraid, he was nothing except his anger.

“Get this man out of my sight,” Ahkmenrah demanded, struggling to maintain his resolve.

When the last syllable fell from the pharaoh’s mouth, Kamuzu barked a single worded command, and four Medjay appeared to descend upon Kahmunrah—holding him with rivaled strength. He went quietly, eerily so, and his animalistic eyes never left Ahk’s.

As soon as Kah was gone, a heavy sigh shook through Ahkmenrah, suddenly encumbered with guilt and the sense of exhaustion that often coupled with holding onto rage and anger; it was twisting and dark and un-beguiling to host. For a moment, the pharaoh pondered how his brother managed every day harboring such intense contempt.

He let his mind drift, allowing the tension to drain from his body as he took deep breaths to calm himself. There was a pang in his gut that was a different kind of darkness, and it left him questioning whether his actions towards his brother were duly justified.

“That apprehension you are feeling,” Kamuzu spoke. “That is how you know you are still a good man. A lesser man would have no sympathy…”

He paused for a moment to think before meeting the pharaoh’s eyes, “Your brother comes to mind.”

A weak smile pulled the corners of Ahkmenrah’s lips; the sincerity of Kamuzu’s words helped to calm him.

“Thank you.” His ever-watchful guardian was every bit as wise as he was strong; every day Ahk was grateful to call him a friend.

“An honor, my king.” With another deep breath, the remainder of Ahkmenrah’s tenuous nerves mended—burying his anger for the time being.

“Come on, there is lots to be done,” Ahk announced, finding the joy he’d held before stumbling upon his brother.

Hope once again fueled his body, working a great smile on his features and filled his steps with tenacity. As he strode through the halls of his glittering palace, his mind sorted all that would need to be done for a proper royal wedding. If he could truly have it his way, Ahk would have seen to it that he and Nouke were wed that very evening. But as pharaoh, there was a certain guise of political obligation that kept him from making that decision. Advisors had to be informed (even if he did plan to ultimately disregard their wants for him); notable dignitaries had to be summoned with an invitation so as not to slight their allies with swollen egos. It would be days before anything could actually take place.

Ahkmenrah hated being at the mercy of his duty; he wanted Nouke at his side for the rest of time, as soon as possible. 

***

As was per the usual routine, the council meeting came later in the evening once all of his other duties were seen to. The day progressed at a sluggish pace, but Ahkmenrah’s determination fueled him with zeal despite his tiredness. He yearned to finally put an end to the charade he’d lived for years so he would be, at last, free to move forward with the happiness in his heart. But there remained a mountain of responsibilities to be seen to before his path was clear to take what he wanted.

A palpable disquiet suffocated the council chamber when Ahkmenrah joined his advisors with his mother and sister behind him. Kahmunrah’s absence seemed to be putting everyone ill at ease, as well as the pharaoh’s disappearance the night before. The uncommon presence of Shepseheret and Setshepsut also triggered a fresh wave of whispers that were neither quiet nor pleasant to hear. Worse, however, was Merenkahre’s immediate suspicious glance, well masked under his usual stoic expression.

Regardless of their obvious uneasiness, all the advisors stood when Ahkmenrah entered with his guests in tow. The moment he motioned them all to return to their seats, the advisors wasted no time in pelting him with questions.

Each one he dodged skillfully. There was much to tell his advisors, but the secret passage in the West Garden was not a topic he wanted to bring attention to. As far as he was concerned, that hidden pathway was the cornerstone to all his best memories, and Ahk was not about to have anyone ruin it for him. 

“It is no concern of anyone's where I was yesterday,” Ahkmenrah stated firmly, putting an end to their, frankly, insulting reasons for his absence.

The vague answers did little to inspire cooperation among the advisors—they only pressed harder. Meren’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Ahkmenrah could almost feel him trying to pick clues from his expression and the glances he shared with his mother and sister. Ahk ignored his father’s scrutiny, unwilling to hinder the confidence he’d found in the promise of a blissful future.

“If you refuse to divulge where it was you have been, my pharaoh. Then perhaps you are more inclined to tell us why your brother is not present for this meeting,” Tahut-Mut (Kah’s top general) asked looking peeved.

Ahkmenrah pursed his lips and flexed his injured knuckles as a reminder to keep himself from acting rashly towards one of his brother's men whom he couldn’t so easily be rid of. Tahut-Mut was a general and had been before Ahk had taken the throne. He was too skilled to remove from his station, but he’d always favored the pharaoh’s older brother.

“Actually, that is one of the many important discussions I wish to address this evening," Ahk stated cooly.

News of his brother’s incarceration was sure to upset a number of men seated at the table—Tahut-Mut the most—but it was his father’s judgment Ahk feared overall.

Ahkmenrah stalled only long enough to square his shoulders and hold himself higher before glancing around the table to begin.

“As of this morning, Kahmunrah has been stripped of all titles and positions—as well as his seat at this table until I command otherwise.

Several councilmen shared a look of bafflement and a furrowed brow. It was not only Tahut that held the most favor with Kahmunrah; a few were like his brother: they found power to be the ultimate feat of a ruler. Ahk kept them within his circle in an attempt not to offend Kah. They’re shock, and irritation was to be expected. The pharaoh would regard them closely to see how they acted with Kah no longer seated among them. If their allegiance stopped with Kahmunrah, Ahk would see to their removal (they were not irreplaceable generals) and the pharaoh was tired of having to prove himself an able ruler.

While the council fussed or rejoiced about Kahmunrah’s imprisonment, Ahk turned his focus to his Grand Consul, watching Meren’s expression the closest. Surprisingly, Merenkahre’s features were collected, twisted with nothing more than slight inquiry. Ahk held his father’s gaze, unwilling to fold.

Finally, Merenkahre lifted his hand to silence the bickering that was growing louder every passing second.

“What was his offense?”

The pharaoh swallowed back the abrupt pang of anxiety his father’s question prompted; unsure if it was genuine or a test—or both. Nevertheless, he answered quickly and with decisiveness.

“For the unlawful treatment of a soldier, as well as the queen.” Ahk looked to his sister, trying not to focus on the vivid bruise around her upper arm, knowing it would provoke his anger.

Purposely he flexed his knuckles and let the ache cool his mind before he spoke again.

“He also showed disobedience to the crown. The men in his employ sought to raise arms against their pharaoh while I was unarmed.”

A stunned look consumed the faces of men Ahk knew to be loyal to him; their outrage fostered a sense of solidarity that he was glad for. Tahut-Mut, however, looked on unfazed by the notion.

He cast the pharaoh a heavy leer, as though he suspected what he’d said to be lies.

“And who bared witness to this controversy?”

“Me!” Shepseheret’s usual sing-song voice rang with a protective hostility that stilled the air. “As well as your queen; do you not see the bruise she carries? How dare you question your king!”

Tahut’s scrutiny hastily fell from his expression, and he shifted uneasily in his seat; cowering under her vehement glare.

A fresh quiet swept over the chamber—no man foolish enough to argue with the regent queen—giving Ahkmenrah back his platform to speak.

“Kahmunrah’s men have since been exiled from these grounds.”

“And where is Kahmunrah now?” a man asked, true curiosity in his tone, free of contempt.

“In a cell,” Ahkmenrah declared without missing a beat, tilting his chin and waiting to see if anyone challenged his decision. “It should be noted that he was initially reprimanded mildly for the degree of his actions yesterday. However, this morning he chose to further irritate his sentence. My brother will remain in his cell until I feel his loyalty has realigned. And only then may he earn back his titles.”

No man argued and Ahk took their silence as compliance, although Tahut-Mut’s grimace was difficult to miss.

“Until that time, I will choose a Medjay to head the position of Consul of Montu.”

Whispers spread quickly, the overt sense they were not completely sold on the notion, but again, none of them argued.

“So be it,” Merenkahre stated firmly, drawing a hush over the other advisors. “What is next, your majesty?"

All eyes turned to the pharaoh with fresh interest as though the topic of Kahmunrah’s imprisonment had not affected them at all moments prior.

Ahk’s gaze fell upon his sister as he spoke, “The next matter concerns Setshepsut and myself.”

The intrigue on his advisors faces rooted deeper, most of them hanging on his every word as though he was telling the most gripping tale they’d ever heard. Meren’s expression, however, contorted once more with a mask of quiet suspicion.

The pharaoh was unsure what his father knew about the incident in the throne room the day before. His puzzlement creased his brow, giving evidence that Merenkahre was surely unaware of most everything.

Words stuck on Ahkmenrah’s tongue as he battled a wave of apprehension, knowing the upheaval he was about to cause. Advisors did not like surprises.

Set cast him a soft smile, enough encouragement to rival his anxiety, and Ahkmenrah swallowed as he corrected his slightly wilted posture.

“I have decided to annul my marriage to Setshepsut, thereby granting her the freedom to marry outside of duty.”

Whispers engulfed the room again, and their father’s glower was firm enough to shake the earth.

“You have yet to take a second wife,” Merenkahre told him in a calm shade that did not match his expression. “It would be unwise to dismiss a queen without another to rule beside you.”

“I have already found my new queen,” Ahkmenrah said, struggling to mask his pride and enthusiasm. He wanted to grin, but he managed to keep himself collected.

The news of a replacement queen was enough to relieve some of the building tension. His councilmen relaxed into their chairs with glad faces and exchanged pleasant chatter once more. Even the glower on his father’s face ebbed enough to allow inquiry to press a line across his brow.

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone caught somewhere between collected irritation and genuine confusion. “As far as I am aware, all the brides I picked for you have since left these halls—you having found none of them to your liking.”

That reserved frustration came to a head when his father spoke, and Ahkmenrah sensed an argument brewing; one he was most willing to fight, but otherwise disheartened that he would have to.

“None of them were to my liking. You are right, father,” Ahkmenrah admitted keeping his tone even, wanting to keep the discussion civil for as long as possible. 

It was under his narrowed glare that the pharaoh realized it would have been wiser to have brought the topic of annulling marriages and marrying commoners to his father prior to the meeting. Within the walls of the council chamber, Merenkahre held himself first and foremost as the right hand of the pharaoh. In passing and in private, however, Meren radiated fatherly kindness free of the shackles of duty.

The role of a resolute advisor was expected of him when an audience of colleagues was present (a charade Ahkmenrah understood) still he hated it. Out from under watchful eyes, Ahk wondered if his father would have regarded the circumstances differently. But it was too late to dwell on could-haves and should-haves.

“I was recently reacquainted with a friend from my youth, Anuksamun. She came to me, asking for my help and during the short time I spent with her, I realized that I gave her my heart long before I wore this crown.”

Ahkmenrah kept his eyes trained on his mother and sister, using their warm expressions as fuel to keep his confidence burning. His father’s narrowed eyes would surely seek to snuff out his flame.

“This friend of yours,” one of the other advisors spoke, already sounding as though he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Is she noble?”

“No,” Ahkmenrah confirmed with pride. “She and her mother own a farm.”

The whispers started again, this time with an accent of desperation and concern; as though the thought of their pharaoh naming a commoner as queen was utterly repugnant. A frown, laden with annoyance, curled Ahk’s lips, hearing and watching the men before him bicker about how he should live his life like he was not there. It was insulting.

Even so, Ahk sighed and let his ire billow out of him to ensure he stayed the calm, collected ruler he wanted to be.

“And how is it that you came to befriend a farm girl so young?” Merenkahre asked with a raised brow.

“She was not a farmer when I knew her,” Ahk told his father. “She was a servant here at the palace.”

That was somehow worse than the notion of wanting to marry a common farmer. A farmer was—after all—considered a person. They were skilled craftsmen with a trade that offered plentiful aid for all of Egypt. A servant, however, was the lowest being in the land. They had no skills to offer—just a lifetime of servitude.

“Her father was a commanding officer in my father’s army,” Ahkmenrah bit out with more venom then he’d intended, but it effectively put an end to their seething ramblings. “And her mother served as my mother’s maidservant: who became a loyal trusted friend of the former queen.”

The room turned their collective leer upon Shepseheret, and she stared back, emboldened almost, by the fiery looks the councilmen cast her way. Even Merenkahre’s sharp glare settled on his wife in search of affirmation, and she easily combated his glower with an expression much more resolute.

When his father’s eyes turned once again to the pharaoh, Ahk found the aggression gone.

“The daughter of a loyal Queen’s Servant?”

Ahkmenrah nodded, watching his father slowly sift through his thoughts with honest consideration.

“As well as a loyal soldier?”

“Yes, father.” 

A hint of hopefulness surged with fervor through his body, making his heart beat rapidly. For a moment, Meren’s unwavering advisor mantle faded away, his expression becoming a window to his thoughts until a trace of distaste devoured the prospect of leniency.

Ahkmenrah knew then, he had not won yet.

“Such a union will taint our bloodline. Gods-blood is noble blood. Your friend is not noble.”

The finality of his father’s tone shook the room and prompted Ahk’s strong, collected composure to crack. A scowl twisted onto his face as he let his irritation ignite his features for the room to see.

“Might I remind you, father, that my mother—your wife—who I know you love deeply, was not noble when you married her. She was the daughter of a general.” Ahk said robustly. “And while generals do hold a higher title then a soldier, they are not, themselves, noble.”

Ahk paused long enough to reign in some of his anger, not wanting fiery words to spew regrets. When he spoke again, his tone was completely composed.

“How is what I seek any different?”

Merenkahre held his son’s gaze with no reply until his eyes fell to the table, taking his defeat calmly. A pensiveness was marked by the hard line on his lips and brow, but no other argument came from him.

Ahkmenrah relaxed slightly, feeling as though the last of the obstacles had been conquered. That was until Tahut-Mut spoke again, making the pharaoh’s lax posture tense.

“This servant girl of which you so highly speak, is she not kin to the soldier suspected of stealing your prized tablet?”

All at once, Ahkmenrah’s rigid muscles grew tight like stone, jaw clenching, and fists balling. His anger ripped through him, and it took several deep breaths before he worked his fury into something manageable. When he moved his attention to the General (who’d foolishly thought to bring up the topic) Ahkmenrah’s voice was low—veering much too close to sinister—as residual contempt coated every word that flowed from his mouth.

“From my understanding, that matter was poorly handled. My tablet was recovered the day before I returned to Waset—a suspicious notion, in and of itself—which was long after the suspected thieves had been exiled. Found among clutter?” Ahk’s eyes narrowed, gauging Tahut-Mut suspiciously. “Yes, I do believe it was you and my brother who claimed to have found it tossed among a heap of scrapped idols, conveniently in no one’s possession.”

Tahut leered back at the pharaoh, insultingly so, and spoke.

“It is likely they disposed of it heedlessly so as not to be caught with it, your majesty."

Ahkmenrah was not going to budge when it came to Nouke and her family. They were only ever kind people, loyal in duty, and in heart, it was heresy to suspect them of crimes at all.

“Speculation is all you have,” Ahkmenrah reminded him cooly. “And I refuse to condemn an entire family on no more than speculation. I am not my brother.

Tahut sneered, “Indeed.”

“Besides.” The pharaoh’s fire simmered to a dying ember. “The struggles they found in exile were punishments enough for their imagined slights. No longer will this be.” 

More hushed voices rose to clamor, spreading through the room from man to man like a malignant disease, their displeasure bleeding into the very atmosphere. Each of their pestilent tones stuck to Ahkmenrah’s skin as though their words poisoned the air around him.

But he was not foolish enough to expect smiles and praise from his advisors. He knew all the news he brought forth would spur arguments. However, in the back of his mind, Ahk had hoped to sway the majority of them to his side. In regard to his father, Ahkmenrah supposed that had gone as well as it could have. Meren’s disquiet was more about feeling wounded than angry,  setting deep in his own thoughts—his expression distant.

Before long, the incessant squabbling and whispers were too much; the fuss was beginning to make the pharaoh’s head hurt. With a loud sigh, Ahkmenrah accepted his losing battle; there was no way to sway them. As king, however, he could easily win the war.

“Gentlemen,” Ahkmenrah said stern enough to gain everyone's attention. His tone was soft and composed, perhaps even somewhat disappointed, but he held himself high and immovable.

“The purpose of this meeting was not to ask your permission in regard to the matters I have presented today. I will be breaking my marriage to Setshepsut and marrying Anuksamun. It is out of the respect I hold for each of you that I have taken the time to inform you of my decisions.”

Ahkmenrah met the eyes of every man at the table, “Am I clear?”

Without hesitation, his men nodded as a choir of “Yes, my pharaoh,” echoed in the room.

The sound of their dutiful compliance aroused a fissure of excitement to bloom in his chest—relief too—and his closed-lip grin was too strong to suppress. For the first time in his reign, he could command a selfish joy; not his responsibility to his people but a true wish he wanted for himself alone. It was a significant indulgence to be greedy and staunch in a decision, and if he could only allow himself one selfish thing in all his years, Ahkmenrah was thrilled to use it to make Nouke his queen.

“Before this meeting comes to a close, there is one more topic to see to,” the pharaoh said before his memory grew too consumed with joy to remember. “The soldier Satauhotep is to be given a higher rank in my army as compensation for the trouble Kahmunrah caused him.”

For once, no one held any quarrel with the pharaoh’s demand, and Ahkmenrah turned to his father.

“Will you see to this?”

“Of course, my pharaoh.’ Merenkahre nodded.

“Thank you.”

Ahkmenrah dismissed the men at the table, asking only his father stay behind. When the last council member closed the door behind him, Shepseheret stood and laid a familiar scroll of papyrus before them. A strike was drawn through Ahkmenrah and Setshepsut’s marriage contract, marking the previous negotiation void. Below a new line was scribed stating the terms of the annulment (incompatibility) and already declared with the marks of Ahk, Set, and Shep.

Merenkahre eyed the document with hesitance but not distaste.

“I had Mother and Set change the contract this morning,” Ahkmenrah explained when his father continued to study the transcript with nothing to say.

“In the eyes of the gods, we are no longer wed. All I ask is you honor me—” he looked at his sister. “Honor us, with your blessing as Mother has done. Make your mark again.”

Ahkmenrah held his breath and Set took his hand in solidarity, either for his benefit or her own. Nevertheless, he was glad for it and gave it a warmhearted squeeze.

“Please, father,” Setshepsut murmured.

Minutes passed slow and heavy, thrumming almost painfully like the pulse behind a bruise. It let the sting of disappointment bite into each of them when the former king kept his eyes locked on the papyrus with no reply.

Finally, he looked to his wife, his hard exterior fading away the moment their eyes met.

“Do you believe this to be wise?”

Shepseheret smiled and nodded, “Egypt prospered under our love, Meren. Let it be so with Ahkmen’s. Anuksamun will make our son happy, and she will be a great queen.”

Merenkahre was quiet again, taking his time to consider his wife’s wisdom, blinking at the document until he stood and made his mark next to Shep’s. Ahkmenrah’s smile unfurled steadily and Set all but jumped her joy beside him.

All at once, years of stress vanished from his shoulders. No longer would the two of them need to play the charade they had mastered over the years. They were free.

Ahk threw his arms around his sister and kissed her cheek when she returned the embrace just as tightly.

“Go tell Satauhotep he is free to court you properly.”

Setshepsut’s eyes were misty and wide with excitement. She kissed his cheek too, “Thank you!”

Ahk watched her bound out of the chamber on buoyant steps as her happiness consumed her, and it made his smile grow even fuller. His attention was startled away when his father’s hand grasped his shoulder, prompting the pharaoh to spin to meet compassionate eyes staring at him.

“I only ever intended your happiness, my son. You and Setshepsut were so close in your youth—I thought the two of you would be a good match. I am sorry.”

Ahkmenrah’s smiled turned soft, seeing the sincerity in Merenkahre’s expression, “I know, father.”

They held each other's gaze for a long moment of silent convergence marking the love and respect they harbored for the other. Merenkahre cleared his throat and let his hand fall to his side, shoulders squaring as he regained the persona of the Grand Consul once more.

“Give me time to call on our friends to attend your union with Anuksamun. I will see to it that we welcome our new queen with a feast and celebration.”

There was a glimmer of compassion in his father’s eyes: his want to make the occasion special more than just his duty. Ahkmenrah smiled on account.

“Thank you, father.” Merenkahre bowed as he departed, taking his wife by the hand as she went, but not before she could leave her son with a motherly kiss to his cheek.

Ahkmenrah lingered in the quiet of the council chamber long enough to toy with the notion of sneaking off to be with Nouke for the remainder of the night. He missed her, but returning would undoubtedly lead to another sleepless night of passion and praise. As tempting as that notion was, duty would be calling upon him early come the morning. As much as he hated being away, logic forced them apart yet again.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Fourteen: What We Should Be

[vee-angel]

First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles), part 2

Second Subject: Gym Class

Ricki had tried to meditate for the first time in an attempt to calm her nerves. She didn’t exactly know how it was done, but she knew that the likelihood of some magical deus ex machina swooping in to rescue her was close to nil. She was going to have to learn to live in this world whether she liked it or not. Besides, it’s not as if the other girls seemed like they were particularly unhappy. 

She stayed away from the window, but some of the girls crawled out to meet with other girls or boys. Best she could tell, aggressively kissing one another is how girls greeted each other. While they addressed males by sort of facing them with downcast eyes for an expectant moment. Sometimes the men engaged them in conversation, some groped them, while others snapped their fingers to command the girl onto her knees or into other positions. It seemed that there were some universally understood hand-gestures that directed girls into one position or the other. Ricki tried to appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this new culture, but she couldn’t fully dismiss her anxieties as she watched Sharaje being anally hate-fucked by two guys in a row. They both used her mouth afterward. 

After a few minutes, there was a tone that seemed to signal that they should make their way to the next class. Ricki had managed to make it all the way to second period with her virginity intact, but she had a feeling she may not make it to the end of the day. 

Sharaje quickly retrieved a mirror and some wet-wipes from her bag to clean her anus; she angled the mirror to check that her rear-entrance was picture perfect before fixing her hair and lipstick with expert speed. She then bounded happily up to Ricki and took her hand, “Sorry for making you wait, stupid. My asshole is a really popular place for men to cum.” 

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand down the hall, “Do you know where we’re going, or are you too much of a retarded fuckhole?” Sharaje asked. 

Ricki wasn’t sure where they were going, she hadn’t been given much information, other than where her first class was; she was led to believe that Sharaje would get her up to speed from there. “Umm, no, the man in the front office didn’t tell me much.” 

Sharaje stopped short and her expression went stern. She gave Ricki a firm, corrective slap in the face. “Ricki! I know you’re new to the outside world, but it’s never okay to blame your failures on a man! I’ve been assigned to take care of you, and if you get declared a feminist within a certain period of time, I’m going to be punished. So let’s try this again, why don’t you know what class is next?” 

“Because I’m a retarded fuckhole.” Ricki spoke with the tone of a girl broken. 

“Again.” Sharaje demanded. 

“I’m a retarded fuckhole.” She repeated in a lackluster tone. 

“Don’t act like you’re being forced, shit-lips.” 

That particular insult made Ricki cringe. She knew it was a reference to her dark labia that had been mercilessly mocked by the class a few minutes before. She decided to use the hurt to speak decisively, “I’m a retarded fuckhole!” She spoke loud enough that a few other students passing by in the hall snickered at her. 

“That’s a good cunt.” Sharaje said as she rubbed the side of her head as if petting an animal, which Ricki supposed was the best way women could be regarded here. Her mind latched onto something her “friend” had said. If she failed to assimilate and got sent to one of the feminist “repositories,” Sharaje would get punished? Was she only being mean to try to get Ricki accustomed to this society as quickly as possible? Because something really bad might happen to her if she failed?

Maybe the two of them really could be friends. Maybe Ricki was actually lucky in a way. After all, it seemed like Sharaje was thriving in this world, maybe she could learn how to thrive, too.  

The two girls continued walking together to someplace that Sharaje either forgot to or intentionally neglected to tell her. She noticed that all of the female students and many of the male students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Eventually, they made their way out through the large double doors that opened upon what appeared to be a large athletics field. Just beyond that was a waist-high fence and then a busy street. It seemed like every girl in the school was out here. 

She got lost briefly trying to figure out what was going on when Sharaje gave her a firm, yet somehow friendly slap between the legs. “Over here.” She pointed to several rows of square lockers. Ricki followed as she made her way to a particular one. “We can share mine until you get your own.” As she spoke, she hooked her fingers under the bottom of her shirt and flipped it off in one swift motion. She opened the locker, folded the garment neatly, and placed it inside. 

Ricki was stunned. She knew by now that she shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t a locker room or a changing room. It wasn’t a room at all! It was just rows of lockers on an exterior wall. She could see lines of cars going past just a few dozen feet away. Along with pedestrians of various ages. Some of whom stopped to watch as a few hundred teen girls all stripped publicly naked in unison. 

She knew that resistance was hopeless. At least this time, she wouldn’t be the only one exposed. She began to undress and placed her shirt and bra timidly in the locker next to Sharaje’s things. Sharaje, meanwhile, had produced a small bottle of solvent from her bag and was painting it onto her butt to dissolve the glue that ensured the spreader-jeans kept her holes perpetually exposed. It was an irony that taking her pants off would actually allow more modesty in her case. 

The two girls had just finished undressing when Ricki noticed a girl emerge from the double doors. She had apparently taken her time on account of the fact that she was already naked as the day she was born. She also looked strong… really strong. She had this vibe like a bad-ass lady superhero from old comic books. Except a more teen-aged version. 

Her and Sharaje exchanged a grin that wasn’t entirely friendly and the new girl walked over. Sharaje spoke first, “Hey Loose Caboose, ready to tongue kiss the tightest asshole in the school?” She turned her hips to spread her ass in the muscular girl’s general direction. 

“Well, I would kiss the tightest one in the school, but I’m not flexible enough to reach my own yet.” The tone suggested a friendly rivalry, but in Ricki’s mind, she had to process for a moment. Their rivalry was about who had the tighter anus?? She had a brief sinking feeling; is that what all the girls were going to be doing today? Testing how tight their buttholes were??? 

She’d tried to hold her tongue for fear of saying something wrong, but she had to ask this time. “Umm, excuse me, cunt?” she tried to speak to other women disrespectfully, but it still felt awkward, and she was certain it sounded as such, too. “What are you talking about? What’s happening today?” 

Both girls stared at her, but thankfully Sharaje didn’t let the silence linger too long. “Oh, this is Dephile. She’s a rapist!” 

“I’m not just a rapist. I’m the best rapist in the state.” Dephile declared proudly. 

“Only for high school.” Sharaje shot back derisively. 

“Choke on a dick, you fat slunt, I have scouts for college rape teams all over me.” 

Ricki was confused. “Wait, what do you mean she’s a rapist?” The question was addressed at Sharaje. 

“Wow, your stupid cult didn’t even let you watch tv?? Rape has become pretty much the biggest sport over the last, like, ten or fifteen years. Two sluts get into a ring and try to win points by penetrating each other’s holes. There’s like a different number of points for-” 

Sharaje was interrupted when Dephile slammed her forcefully against the lockers and leveraged her arm against her back. “Maybe you should let an athlete explain it, soft-bodied whore.” 

Dephile’s body was extraordinary, watching her exert herself to hold a struggling Sharaje in place allowed Ricki to see the smooth, defined muscles writhe beneath her skin. She continued her explanation. “A rapist wins point by violating the holes of her opponent. That can be done through penetration, like the stupid skank here said,” Dephile then demonstrated by jamming two fingers dry up Sharaje’s asshole. It was clear that she was clenching hard to resist, her body thrashed but Dephile’s strong grip kept her pinned against the lockers, the powerful fingers dry-forcing their way inside. “Or she can win points by defilement, like so.” 

Dephile performed a maneuver so quickly that Ricki wouldn’t even begin to be able to describe it, but it ended with Sharaje bent back on her knees and her face clamped between Dephile’s legs. Her mouth was pressed firmly against the strong woman’s cunt as she began to piss, with impressive accuracy, straight up Sharaje’s nostrils. She began to choke and cough, but Dephile was using her smooth cunt to gag her, ensuring that there was no way to get air without sucking urine through her nose. 

When she’d finally emptied her bladder onto Sharaje’s face, ensuring that a decent amount ended up in her lungs, she finally released her face from the death-grip of her thighs. She went to stand up, but Dephile apparently wasn’t done with her, yet. After a sweep of the legs, Sharaje was face down with Dephile kneeling on the small of her back. “Of course, double points are awarded any time a rapist can force a self-violation.” She demonstrated this by gripping Sharaje’s hand tightly and wrenching her arm back so that she could sodomize the girl with her own fingers.” 

Finally, she released the thrashing Sharaje and took a step backward to allow her room to stand. “I have a match after school today. You cunts should come cheer for me!” 

Sharaje stood and wiped the piss and snot and tears from her flawless arabian features. “Gee, thanks for explaining, Dephile.” Her words oozed with sarcasm, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ricki.” 

“Umm, thank you!” Ricki said, seeming almost surprised by her own words. 

It was about this time that all three girls noticed that nearly everyone else in the class had lined up near the fence of the school. By this point, Ricki was able to deduce that the purpose was to place the girls as close to the public as possible to maximize their humiliation. 

A group of middle-school aged boys leaned on the fence casually a few feet away and just admired the wall of naked teen girl-flesh as they chatted amongst themselves. 

There were a few women who looked old enough to be teachers standing in front of the line facing the girls. But it seemed that most of the instructors were simply athletic students. Dephile had a group a bit farther down. Once all the girls were in position, the naked girls acting as instructors prompted them all to go through a course of basic calisthenics. 

Ricki was sweating and out of breath after the first few exercises. She looked around to see that she was seemingly the only one. While not all the other students had particularly athletic-looking physiques, they were apparently all unquestionably in-shape. The exercises continued. The line of naked sluts extended, flexed, bent, and twisted in enough different directions to ensure that every muscle in their bodies was lithe and supple. The others made it look easy, but Ricki was actually getting light-headed by the time they were told to go for a jog around the perimeter of the school. 

Ricki was the last one of the group to make it back to her position, having spent the last ten minutes staring out over a sea of slick, jiggling asses moving progressively farther from her. It took all her strength not to collapse on the spot. She was dripping with sweat and wheezing. Sharaje and the others, she noticed, had nearly caught their breath by the time she returned, and their skin had a healthy glow of faint perspiration. Ricki thought she must be more out of shape than she realized, and hoped that there would be a break soon. 

Thankfully, the next segment of class seemed to center around stretching. It was a chance to get her heart-rate under control. Although her profound lack of proficiency soon became apparent. Ricki never thought of herself as stiff, but these other girls had a level of limberness that seemed more appropriate to dancers or gymnasts. While Ricki could touch her toes, most of the other students had their large fleshy tits bulging out as they pressed their chests against their knees. When they were instructed to lay on their backs for a groin stretch, Ricki seemed to be the only girl she could see not doing a full split. Sharaje actually had her feet pressed to the ground roughly in line with her shoulders, legs spread well past a hundred-eighty degrees. 

Ricki had caught her breath, but the lightheadedness still hadn’t totally faded. She did, however, have to admit that this society certainly promoted a much higher level of fitness than the Compound ever did. Maybe that’s why all the girls seemed so happy in spite of everything that was going on? She remembered reading about how stretching can stimulate happy chemicals in the brain, and these girls certainly seem to do a lot of it. 

She was shaken back to attention by the P.E. teacher explaining something about testing and ranking their holes? A part of her really hoped that wouldn’t be a horrible, humiliating, degrading experience, but she expected that it probably would be. 

The teacher led them all to a different section of the field. The first thing she noticed was a bunch of rectangular blocks about knee high and roughly four feet long. The second thing she noticed was the very prominent scoreboard that spanned one of the school's higher walls. On it seemed to be the name of every girl in the school. Actually, she noticed, every girl’s name was on it twice. The left section was labelled “Anal” and the right section was labelled “Vaginal.” From top to bottom had a smaller label that read “tightest” at the top and “loosest” at the bottom. 

Was this really happening?? Was this school really going to test how tight her asshole and pussy were? And then post them up on a scoreboard for…. not just the whole school, but also anyone who happened to pass by?!? The thing that made her most sick to her stomach was the knowledge that if she performed as badly on this as she did on everything else, she’d almost certainly rank at the bottom. Her eyes darted to the very top of the board. The anal side had two names she knew. In first place Sharaje, just beneath her, Dephile. The vaginal scoreboard was reversed, with Dephile seeming to have the tightest cunt and Sharaje coming in second. Then she noticed Sharaje’s name again, in what appeared to be a place of honor above both lists. “Tightest hole: Sharaje’s anus” That must have been what the two of them were teasing each other about earlier. Sharaje’s taunt of “Loose Caboose” made more sense now. Ricki inwardly giggled at the immature wordplay. 

Still the prospect made her feel a bit lightheaded. Each of the teachers read off a pair of names from a list, and two girls approached them. They each took their place on the wooden platforms on their hands and knees facing away from one another. 

The instructor pulled a few supplies that seemed to have been stored inside the base of the platform. A peculiar rope, a bucket, and sturdy looking box. She grabbed the thin rope, it had a two-inch metal ball on each end. She roughly shoved the ball on one end into one of the girls vaginas and then did the same to the other, so that the rope hung between them, suspended by their cunts. 

She then hooked the bucket over the midpoint of the rope, which was indicated by a red line. From the sturdy box, she pulled a small metal brick, about the size of a brownie and dropped it in the bucket. 

As nervous as Ricki felt, she was still fascinated as she came to understand the process. A rope was held up by each girl’s hole, and weight was added to the midpoint. The first girl to release the rope was the loser. Furthermore, one could approximately rank tightness by knowing how much weight caused each girl to fail. Ricki guessed that the list of match-ups was determined by previous testing so that girls were going up against competitors of similar tightness. 

“You’re gonna be at the bottom, loser.” Sharaje’s voice came from behind her, confirming her fears. The statuesque goddess followed up by grabbing Ricki’s pussy and roughly shoving a few fingers inside of her. She mockingly jerked the fingers side to side, causing a humiliatingly loud, wet noise with her genitals. A few of the girls nearby looked at her and laughed, some mocking how wet she was at the prospect of the whole school knowing that she was a used up slut with a sloppy cunt. She wasn’t actually wet at all, it seemed that Sharaje just had a certain expertise when it came to embarrassing other girls. “Yup, definitely last place,” Sharaje concluded as she used Ricki’s hair to wipe off her fingers. 

Ricki tried to push her anxieties to the back of her mind and observe the bizarre challenge. Pairs of girls competed against each other to see who had the tightest cunt and asshole. Sometimes the winner would aggressively mock the girl she’d beaten, other times she’d boast and be congratulated by her friends on the victory while the loser was ignored. 

Eventually she heard one of the teachers call a pair of names that prompted everyone to silence. “Dephile and Sharaje, you’re up!” 

Sharaje bounded up girlishly, her perfect fake tits bouncing as she went, she faced her opponent with the typical arrogant “mean girl” smile. Dephile marched forward, her bare feet slapping the asphalt as her dense, muscular form took her place. She glared back with humorless menace. 

The teacher commanded them to their places on the wooden platforms. The rest of the girls quieted down and crowded around to watch the top two girls compete. The two naked forms struck a perfect quadrupedal pose, backs arched to spread their asses; ensuring their holes were proudly displayed. 

Their cunts were first to be tested. Each metal sphere was pushed into their perfect pink holes. Dephile’s puffy labia seemed to be just about the only part of her body that displayed any softness; even her artificially enhanced tits were taut. 

Both girls had an expression of focused cockiness as the instructor hung the bucket from the midpoint between them. The dykey looking naked P.E. teacher didn’t waste time at the beginning; she tossed the iron blocks in as quickly as she could count them for the first twenty or so. After that she started slowing down a bit, adding one more before pausing for a count of five, then adding another. The time was to give them a chance to fail each time another weight was added. This went on for more than a minute; eventually the bucket was close to overflowing and the dyke twenty-something needed to quickly grab a second bucket that she hooked onto the rim of the first. 

Ricki had to admit that she was kinda impressed. A few of the other girls had managed to get their bucket almost full before they failed, but these two were obviously way ahead of the other girls, and neither seemed like they were about the crack. Another full minute passed with the second bucket being almost half full and then it happened! 

There was a loud sound of spilling iron as the bucket tumbled to the ground. “NOO!” It was the slightly butch voice of Dephile, who’d released first. Sharaje hopped to her feet and threw her hands in the air triumphantly, the rope still hanging from between her legs. After striking a victory pose for her classmates, she pulled the ball from her orifice and rubbed the cunt-juice saturated piece of metal on Dephile’s face mockingly. The muscular woman was clenching her teeth so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t crack one; Ricki could tell that it was taking everything she had not to beat Sharaje to within an inch of her life. 

Ricki studied the encounter, it seemed almost as if there were unwritten social rules regarding when women could behave abusively toward one another. In this particular circumstance, Dephile needed to behave with deference. Was it because Sharaje had proven superiority? Did females in this society have complex rules of a perpetually shifting hierarchy? That seemed consistent with a lot of what she’d seen so far. 

The teacher declared that they’d have a two minute rest before “testing your backdoor strength” as she put it. The sporty instructor seemed to be good-natured, and seemed to have a tattoo on her lower back that Ricki had been trying to make out. As she was re-setting some of the iron blocks from the buckets, she was finally able to make out that it said “Dyke 4 Dick” in a beautifully symmetrical script that framed her perky little ass. 

There was a bit of a murmur from around Ricki. It seemed they were wondering if the rankings would be reversed this month, since Sharaje apparently had the tighter cunt for the first time. Ricki got the impression that Dephile had held that title as long as anyone remembered. 

The two minutes were up and the cute lesbian whisled at the girls to resume their places while the rest of the girls watched. There had been a couple other pairs of girls being tested during their first round, but it seemed that the teachers and student-teachers respected that this was a big deal. So at the moment, all eyes were on the two naked sluts as the two-inch metal balls were shoved into their asses. 

Dephile’s confidence seemed to be wavering, based on the scoreboard, her shitter had lost to Sharaje’s in the past. After all, it was the body part Sharaje was known for; hell, she was even named after her anus. 

The teacher elected not to start from scratch, but simply hung the first full bucket from the mid-point in the rope. Neither girl seemed to have much of a problem. The second bucket was hooked to the rim as it had been the first time and she began counting in weights. 

Both girls' assholes were tightly clenched around their respective ends of the apparatus, they seemed to have a deep sense of determination as the second bucket slowly filled up over the course of the next couple of minutes. When no more could fit in the second bucket, the dyke teacher looked back and forth between the two girls with the iron assholes. They both seemed to be showing signs of exertion, with Sharaje having a slightly greater sheen of perspiration. She waited a few moments to see if either of them would fail, but neither let go. She quickly rushed to get a third bucket, something she seemed utterly unprepared to need. 

She returned and was preparing to attach the third bucket. Ricki found herself honestly rooting for Sharaje to win. She may have been a bully, but she was the closest thing Ricki had to a friend. Her heart sunk as she saw the arabian beauty’s face contort in exertion, she was reaching her limit. Then there was the loud clang of spilling metal that almost made her ears ring. 

“Winner! Sharaje!” the teacher declared. Ricki looked to see Dephile with the ball having dropped out of her anus. She angrily punched the platform hard enough to draw blood on her knuckles. Sharaje sprung up from the platform, still breathing heavily from the exertion and let out this giggle-scream of triumph. She hopped over to Dephile, who had just reluctantly stood up, wound her arm back as far as it would go, and slapped the muscle-bound bitch hard across the face. 

“Get ready to spend the next month kissing my asshole, you fucking loser!” Sharaje punctuated the sentence by grabbing a handful of Dephile’s hair and spitting in her face. Dephile looked broken, a combination of anger and shame washed across her face and threatened to flood out of her eyes in the form of tears. “You know, actually? You’re such an ugly jock loser that you don’t even deserve to kiss my asshole yet. I’m gonna have you beg to kiss every other girl’s asshole and tell them how much better they are then yours. Then, maybe when you’ve had some practice I’ll allow you the honor of pressing your lips against my perfect, superior hole.” 

Sharaje seemed absolutely prepared to spend the remainder of the class period publicly humiliating Dephile, but the teacher stepped in and dismissed them back to their places so that the rest of the students could be tested. 

For a moment, Ricki almost forgot that she would eventually have to be subjected to this same violation and humiliation. But she noticed a pit in the bottom of her stomach and her knees felt weak. She also became distinctly aware of the fact that the dizziness she experienced after the jog still hadn’t subsided. She wasn’t sure if she was really just that out of shape or if the stress of the day was really having that much of an impact. She elected to try to put her worries out of her mind and just focus on her breathing for a little while in the hopes that she’d be in better shape by the time her name was called.

She wasn’t. 

Her heart was racing even before the dyke teacher called her name. It’s just nerves, she told herself, everyone else here is doing this and they’re all fine. This is normal here, it’ll just take some getting used to. 

Ricki’s knees almost buckled when she took a step forward, but she managed to catch herself. She was paired off against the asian girl who was dressed like a slutty anime character in first period; the outfit was gone, but the hair and make-up still made her memorable. 

After a few tries, Ricky managed to climb up onto the platform and assume the position. Though she nearly fell when she lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat from her face. I’m still sweating? She didn’t feel hot, in fact the air on her naked skin was beginning to give her a bit of a chill. 

She felt the metal ball pressing into her vagina, it took a bit of force for the teacher to get it in. After all, Ricki had never had anything bigger than her fingers inside herself, so maybe that’d work to her advantage, she thought. The metal ball wasn’t particularly big, but it’s bulk was still enough to cause a bit of pain when it was forced in. The teacher behind her hooked the bucket onto the midpoint of the rope, and Ricki immediately felt the cold metal mass withdraw from her and hit the ground. 

There was a smattering of laughter from the other girls. “She’s so loose, she couldn’t even hold the empty bucket!!!” One of the girls shouted. Ricki turned her head to see who spoke but all she could see was a blurry mass of pink and brown flesh. 

She felt the teacher’s hand gently on her bare shoulder, “I know this is your first time, fuckpet, but you need to clench a little bit at the beginning and then go harder as I add the weights, okay? Do you understand?” She sounded legitimately kind and encouraging. 

“I understand. I… I’ll try better,” Ricki replied. She sensed the teacher moving behind her again, and felt the cold metal once again penetrate her. It fell out again almost immediately. She heard the other students taunting her again but they were starting to sound really distant. Her dizziness was getting worse by the second. She had a vague sense of the teacher at her side speaking to her again, but there was an encroaching blackness at the edges of her vision. 

This wasn’t just nerves, something was wrong. Ricki was feeling really bad. She decided to try saying something to the teacher. She took a deep breath and as she tried to speak, everything went black… 

[meditationnearme]

Is This Crazy New Treatment The Cure To Your Insomnia? - how do you reduce stress

NuCalm promotes itself as neuroscience-backed tension and sleep technology. In practice, though, it simply helped me nap. I recently awakened from a delightful 20-minute nap. Really, it was more of a 10-minute half-nap half-trance, preceded by ideas of what I required to accomplish today that slowly liquified into the types of non-sequitur visions that take place because earliest phase of sleep.

In some way, this was rejuvenating. For the last week, I have actually been checking out the NuCalm system. According to its website, NuCalm is "the world's only trademarked neuroscience innovation clinically shown to deal with stress and improve sleep quality without drugs." It includes a neuroacoustic software application app utilized for 20- to 120-minute increments, an eye mask and the abovementioned processing discs, and in practice includes listening to ambient, cinematic sounds (comparable to this) with your eyes closed and a sticker label stuck to your inner arm.

Each of the elements are designed to set off the body's parasympathetic nervous system, which aids with recovery and relaxation. The disc is created to launch gamma-aminobutyric acid, a neurotransmitter that inhibits cortisol and adrenaline. With this and the app, NuCalm halts your body's tension action and therefore the mental and physical toll tension can handle the body.

military, 49 sports teams and in over a million surgical treatments. Some dental offices even utilize it for clients who hesitate of the dental expert. NuCalm's 'bio-signal processing disc' Although the product is touted as a way of possibly healing the body from injury, addiction and physical concerns, it appears predominately useful for relaxation and anxiety.

By this procedure, my use of NuCalm was a success: After my 20-minute session this afternoon, I certainly felt far more refreshed and awake. While a few of my sessions kept me conscious the whole time, I at least felt a bit more relaxed than previously. At the start, I 'd believed I was supposed to treat the session like a meditation, preventing letting my ideas roam.

Why I was so focused upon events of this age during my session is a secret to me, but regardless, I think I still dropped off to sleep for about five minutes. Unusually enough, a FAQ section of the app states that memory recollection is a typical characteristic of "theta brainwave variety," and that recalling memories in this phase allows you to dissociate negative feelings from them.

Overall, NuCalm did enable me to take best little afternoon naps in a structured method. I am decent at sleeping as it is, but I do believe something about NuCalm, whether it be the discs or the noises or the timer, made those naps more effective than usual. One glaring problem with NuCalm, nevertheless, is its rate.

Perhaps as I keep utilizing it, I'll find that this is a totally reasonable expense for the advantage of much better relaxation, health and sleep. At this moment, however, I 'd pay possibly $10 a month. The app likewise requires some major upgrading, as it presently only uses 3 various session types (recharge, reboot and rescue) at differing lengths and with a rather cumbersome layout.

Instead, it feels rudimentary, with lesser parts of the app like the post-session debriefing FAQ totally nonfunctional. I have actually taken some fantastic naps this last week, and I'll keep utilizing NuCalm for this function. It's a nearly simple and easy way of fitting 20 minutes of pure relaxation into my day. Whether those bio-signalling dics do anything, I'm still suspicious in addition to a cleaner app, I 'd need to get a bit more trust in the science to pay $60 a month.

Magdalene Taylor is a junior staff writer at MEL, where she began working two weeks after finishing college. Her work is a mix of cultural analysis and service, covering whatever from reconsiderations of low-brow hits like Joe Dirt and Nickelback to modern disability issues, OnlyFans and the kinds of small concerns about life like why baby carrots are so wet.

According to the company, thirty minutes of NuCalm is equal to 2 to 3 hours of corrective sleep. The NuCalm website boasts that the de-stressing treatment takes simply 2 minutes to administer and less than 5 minutes to accomplish its effects, making it the extremely meaning of a quick repair.

With its sleek website and claims of high-tech, borderline-magic outcomes, I half expected my NuCalm experience to occur in the literal future or, at really least, a center that reeked of sci-fi vibes. I believe I was imagining a workplace that looked like the ship from Passengers and a large set-up reminiscent of the memory-implanting tech from Total Remember or possibly even a coffin-like pod directly out of The Fifth Component.

My NuCalm treatment was not administered on the set of a motion picture, but it also wasn't administered in a dental expert's workplace. On the early morning of my visit, I drove across Los Angeles to Santa Monica to the workplaces of an authentic medical professional to the stars, whose Hollywood customers includes starlets, authors and motivational masters, and who boasts know-how in energy medication, integrative medication and bioidentical hormone replacement treatment.

Rather, my NuCalm experience began in a (actively) dimly lit waiting room that looked more like the living-room of an eccentric, well-traveled college professor than a medical center. The doctor was fashionably late not with another patient, simply in getting to the office. While the tardiness might usually have actually frustrated me, here, it appeared like part of the experience, almost like a sneak peek of the outcomes of the high-tech treatment that awaited me.

Throughout a quick consultation, the physician discussed the NuCalm procedure and summarized the science behind it (more on that later). The gist of the system, I learned, was this: I would chew a tablet of gamma-Aminobutyric acid, or -aminobutyric acid (or GABA, for short), a repressive neurotransmitter suggested to decrease activity in my nerve system.

I would listen, through headphones, to binaural beat music music with two various balanced pulses that activates Alpha and Theta brain waves, which are connected with the very first stage of deep sleep and meditation. Likewise, I would be blindfolded. And, in Doc Hollywood's workplace, I would do all of this while lying on a waterbed although the waterbed, I learned, is not a standard or needed element of the treatment.

I was led to a small exam space (or, possibly, a large closet), where I was offered a big GABA tablet and told to chew but not swallow it while the medical professional marked time the binaural beats and connected the Biosignal Processing Disc to my wrist. Lastly, after what seemed like a much longer duration of time than it possibly could have been, I was informed to swallow the GABA vitamin sludge, which had the artificially sweet, fruity taste and distinctly milky taste and texture of Flinstones vitamins that are a couple of months past their expiration date.

The NuCalm treatment itself was completely pleasant. The music was calming but interesting (I've since registered for a binaural beats playlist on Spotify bless the web). The milky, orange-adjacent taste of the GABA tablet didn't remain in a particularly noticeable way. And the waterbed was warmed, that made for a relaxing place to lie down and rest.

What am I doing incorrect? Why don't I feel calm? If science can't make me chill TF out, am I just a lost cause? Perhaps if I do a body scan, I'll be able to feel the results. That's a good concept. I'm going to do a body scan. This will resemble mindfulness on steroids orange-flavored, healthy steroids.

I am broken. I was wrong. It was not practically over. Maybe it's the kind of thing you can't feel in the moment, however I'll observe a substantial distinction when it's over. I have a lot work to do. Stop thinking of work and being stressed. That beats the entire purpose.

I asked how typically he advised that individuals come in for NuCalm treatments and he stated that it differs, but that some individuals "need it daily." I couldn't help however think, based on my experience and the lack of concrete outcomes, that that appeared excessive. He handed me some research study further discussing the science behind NuCalm prior to rushing off to his next appointment, and I left sensation disappointed and a little anxious about my failure to feel less distressed through the treatment.

For the record, it's not. I discovered the experience to be a little New Age-y in practice, however the system really is based in science. Drawing from neuroscience research into the patterns the brain goes through throughout natural periods of relaxation, every component of NuCalm is created to simulate that process and prompt a stressed brain to switch gears to a more relaxed state.

NuCalm works specifically on the body's inhibitory system, the GABAergic system. This gadget is bio-mimetic in that it resets the naturally taking place negative feedback loop of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, which when properly functioning is expected to shut down and stop releasing cortisol from the adrenal glands after the end of a stressful occasion.

Individuals in this state are physically not able to have a distressed reaction. Within moments of application, users will start to feel remedy for the 'fight-or-flight' considerate nervous system action and their tension hormonal agent (cortisol) levels will start to decline as the HPA axis is hindered." Here's a quick breakdown of the science behind each phase of the NuCalm process.

It's really the primary repressive neurotransmitter system in brain circuits. Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid is a relaxation neurotransmitter that the body produces naturally when we're preparing yourself to sleep, so the strategy of utilizing GABA supplements to signify the brain that it's time to relax makes good sense. What's not completely clear, nevertheless, is how effective oral GABA supplements remain in triggering those advantages.

While some studies have actually revealed that GABA can cross the blood-brain barrier, others have shown the opposite, suggesting a possible placebo result behind perceived benefits of the supplements. Researchers agree that more research is needed to figure out how useful GABA supplements really are. According to NuCalm's website, the disc "simplifies the process of triggering the parasympathetic worried system, by tapping into the body's Pericardium Meridian with specific electromagnetic (EM) frequencies." The disc (which, again, was a round sticker, about the size of a quarter, that was used to the within of my wrist) was, undoubtedly, my greatest source of apprehension at the same time, and NuCalm's official explanation of the science behind it highlights the most Brand-new Age-y vibes of the company.

It is hypothesized that if you can restore the frequencies that take a trip through the Meridians you can reinstate ideal physiology. Each NuCalm disc holds the EM frequency patterns of GABA and its precursors to provide a pure biological signal to your body. When put on the within your left wrist, at your Pericardium-6 acupuncture point, the disc sends a signal to the pericardium of your heart to trigger regional parasympathetic nerve fibers, which then transfer the signal to your brain telling it to increase vagal nerve output and start the process of decreasing the body.

In 2017, Gwyneth Paltrow's GOOP promoted a $120 brand name of bio-frequency stickers, leading to a short-lived viral moment for the tech. Sadly for proponents of the devices, the action wasn't fantastic, with Mark Shelhamer, previous chief scientist at NASA's human research division, significantly decrying the GOOP-endorsed product as "snake oil." Although the NuCalm site describes that "each disc holds the electromagnetic frequency patterns of GABA and its precursors to provide a pure biosignal to your body," it's unclear exactly how putting the sticker on your wrist sets off that shipment.

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Downward Facing Doubts” (Rated M)

Summary: Kurt convinces Sebastian to join him, Olivia, Julian, and Cooper in a yoga class. 'Bribe' is actually the more accurate term. But whereas the endorphins released during exercise usually make people feel good, this time, they bring all sorts of doubts to the surface. (3760 words)

Notes: Takes place some time after 'Under the Fireworks' and references 'I Was Praying for You and Me'.

Part of ACITW AU extended verse

Read on AO3.

“Extend your arms out to your sides, then raise them over your head …” Yogi Cecile instructs, her soothing alto voice threading through the airy music playing over circular speakers scattered in Feng Shui formation throughout the studio. “Bend your back gently into a crescent moon …”

Sebastian breathes in sharply as he attempts the move, his shoulders quaking involuntarily as he tries to deepen the stretch. He finds his balance point, quite by surprise, then fights to hold it, difficult since his focus keeps drifting, his eyes darting to the side to check out the competition. He scowls, not thrilled at being one-upped by Julian who, infuriatingly, performs the move like an expert. But of course he would, Sebastian thinks with a bitter roll of his eyes, one that gives him a major headache with his head pulled back. Didn’t he claim that he attended some month-long yoga retreat in the High Desert for the sole purpose of fellating himself?

Even if Sebastian is a bit fuzzy on the particulars, his head swimming with a mixture of dizziness and pain that’s one more deep breath away from making him puke, that definitely sounds like the kind of thing Julian would do.

Olivia and Kurt, lined up to Sebastian’s right, switch from pose to pose without breaks, extending their arms and bending their backs as if standing on one leg and staring horizontally up at the pale pink ceiling were the normal position for, say, grabbing a coffee or looking at shoes. At least Sebastian isn’t faring the worst in their group. No, that honor goes to Cooper. Capping off their row to the far left of Julian, Cooper starts losing his balance, teetering forward dangerously towards a handful of innocent strangers unaware of the 180 pound man on the brink of bowling towards them.

“How …?” Sebastian starts, talking on the crest of an inhaled breath he’s running out of as he contorts into another ludicrous pose.

“Did you let me talk you into joining a yoga class?” Kurt finishes, sliding smoothly from a crescent moon into the next forward bend. “That’s easy. You’ll do anything for a blow---”

Olivia clears her throat loudly when she spots their instructor heading their way, eyes originally glued to Sebastian’s crooked posture but hopping to Kurt’s smug grin when the word ‘blow’ sneaks past his lips.

“Straighten your spine … lean forward … brace your hands on the mat in front of you … and extend one leg back to a half downward dog.” Cecile circles their quintet twice and Kurt thinks she’s about to scold them. They haven’t been properly engaged since the start of class. But then she hurries off to help another young lady square her hips.

“I refuse to believe that I’m that simple-minded,” Sebastian grouses, working on stabilizing his own hips before he extends his leg. He dips to the side but manages to catch himself. Cooper isn’t quite as lucky, careening forward like a downed Cessna and smacking the bridge of his nose on his cork yoga block. He drops to his knees, shaking his head to clear the stars out from behind his eyes. Julian falls out of formation to give him a hand up and helps him restore his stance.

“Well, I promised you that bj for after this class and you’re still here,” Kurt says, lips curling into the shadow of a smirk. “You draw your own conclusions.”

“You draw your own conclusions …” Sebastian mimics. He wobbles once. Then twice. He sucks in his stomach to save himself without locking his knees (since Cecile told them at the start of class that locking their knees was bad). But his foot rolls and he’s forced to put the other down to support himself. He tries again … and again … but Sebastian doesn’t successfully execute the move before they’re changing positions.

Kurt rotates up on one leg and transitions into a picture perfect tree pose. He opens an eyelid and peeks at Sebastian, taking in a deep breath through his nose and schooling his face into a mask of meditation so he doesn’t laugh out loud and disrupt the class more than Sebastian’s fumbling through the stances already has.

“Maybe it’s because … mmph … I’m so tall … grrr … that I’m not getting it,” Sebastian offers, stuttering upright in stages, ending in a slumped, unsteady tree.

Kurt turns his head left and looks at Sebastian directly beside him, meeting him eye-to-eye. He arches an eyebrow.

Sebastian pulls an undignified face.

“Sometimes …” their yoga instructor says as she makes the rounds, correcting the posture of the needier students. She has already been to help Sebastian five times during this one-hour lesson, and Cooper too many times for Kurt to count. She flashes Julian an impressed smile and a nod. He winks at her in response “… it is not the balance outside that is needed, but inside.” She puts a hand to Sebastian’s back and one to his stomach, pushing together to force him straight. “The anxiety in your life, the stress, the regrets of your past - they settle in your core.” She pats Sebastian on the stomach. Removing her hand causes his belly to stick back out a hair, and he sways dangerously in Kurt’s direction. Cecile shakes her head and sets Sebastian straight again. “Negative influences roll around and throw you out-of-whack. But yoga and meditation will set you right again.” She stands back and appraises the two men standing side by side, so similar in appearance but obviously a couple with the way they’ve been playfully bickering, and gives them a smile. Then she continues on her way.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Kurt says with a fond grin.

“Yeah.” Sebastian grunts. “Why is it we’re forever getting life advice from graduates of The Learning Annex?”

Both Kurt and Olivia scoff.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with The Learning Annex, but I will have you know that Cecile is an expert in her field!” Olivia says.

“An expert in standing on one foot and stretching her arms over her head? Excuse me if I’m not all that impressed.”

“You should be,” Julian intervenes. “You can’t do it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to do it!”

“Boys, boys,” Olivia whispers when heads turn their way. “Let’s keep it down to a dull roar, please. And remember to breathe.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Kurt says, making a big show of following her lead, breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth. “We’re here to meditate. Relax. Realign our chakras.”

“Someone’s going to have to realign poor Cooper’s spine by the time we’re done,” Olivia remarks, a giggle hidden in her voice. With Kurt’s eyelids shut and Cooper two whole people away, Kurt doesn’t see what the man is doing, but immediately after Olivia’s comment, he hears Cooper apologize profusely.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry. I really … yes, sir. I’m sorry. Oh, r-really? That’s very kind of you. Slash savings, yup. I can sign that for you, if you’d like …”

Kurt bites his tongue behind his teeth. Good old Cooper, still able to get some mileage out of that FreeCreditRatingToday gig.

It’s nice to know some things never change.

“For your information, I regret nothing,” Sebastian whisper-hisses after a pause, his body cramping as he tries to maintain his corrected tree pose.

Kurt sighs.

Yup. Some things never change. And some things rise up from the grave from time to time to haunt you, like Hamlet’s father, only with swoopier bangs, wearing basketball shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger v-neck.

“Ah, you protest too much, Sebby,” Julian murmurs, remaining purposefully vague as this is definitely not the time nor place to drudge up old angst. He leaves things there, snapping back into an impeccable tree pose after helping Coop up off the floor again.

“Besides …” Sebastian side-steps his brother to finish making his point “… if that’s the case, then you should mondo-suck at this, Kurt! I mean, let’s take a look at your past, shall we? The year of tragic style choices, dating Blaine, choosing New Directions and that lame ass public school over Dalton and the Warblers … whoa!” Sebastian drops his hip and his shoulder during his rant, causing him to rock to the outside edge of his foot. He barely keeps himself from twisting an ankle and going straight down. “Your life must be chock full of regrets!”

“Uh … let’s not forget that one of those past life decisions was agreeing to date you, little brother,” Julian steps in, jumping swiftly to Kurt’s defense.

Sebastian may have retorted with something along the lines of, “That’s the only intelligent decision he made,” but Kurt doesn’t know for certain. He shuts up like a clam - locks his teeth together and blocks Sebastian and his infernal whining out. He inhales long and zeroes in on the music - the gentle plucking of strings, the tinkling of bells, the flutes holding sustained notes, giving the class an anchor with which to control their breathing. There he remains, floating in the cradle of dark behind his eyelids. A bigger man rises above petty retorts, Kurt can hear his father say, concentrating on repairing his own withering tree pose. He simply needs to be the bigger man.

If he reacts thoughtlessly, does something rash, he might regret it.

Sebastian is simply having a bad day.

They don’t have days like this very often. This is just … well, one of those days. And Kurt is willing to let it go, let it pass like the rhythmic breaths through his lips. But Sebastian broke a cardinal rule.

He mentioned Blaine, which they both swore on the threat of blue balls that neither one of them would do. Especially in anger.

Kurt can only assume Sebastian is uncomfortable here. Sebastian doesn’t like not being the best at everything from go, which is probably why he’s bearing claws and teeth right now. It reminds Kurt of their days taking dance lessons - the two of them butting heads, fighting to lead when it didn’t really need to be one or the other.

It could have been both, paving a single fluid path had they come to a consensus from the start.

But here, they stand on their own two feet - or one foot at the moment, with their hands above their heads. They sink or swim on their own. Cecile calling Sebastian out more than likely didn’t help matters any. No one likes to be the center of attention when they’re flailing. Kurt feels guilty about that, that he’s not closer to Sebastian, reaching out a hand to help him the way Julian is for Cooper.

Kurt opens an eyelid and peeks over. He sees Sebastian, the man he loves, struggling, fighting to regain balance. A balance that Kurt has in spades. A balance that Kurt would be more than willing to help him with, lend him some of.

Suddenly, Sebastian mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath, and Kurt feels less than willing.

He actually considers reaching over and giving Sebastian a push. One swat would send him toppling backward. Kurt has seen Sebastian fall on his ass plenty.

It would be hilarious.

But he can’t do it.

And not because Sebastian might take half a dozen other students with him when he goes, but because after a little quiet contemplation, Kurt realizes that Sebastian may not be lashing out because he can’t do yoga.

The thought that he wouldn’t be as good at this as he is at everything else is preposterous. He’s an exceptional athlete and a graceful dancer. Yoga shouldn’t be that great a hardship for him.

Sebastian may be lashing out because he feels backed into a corner. This has happened before - several times, as a matter of fact, and with Kurt. Sebastian starts to feel trapped, forgets himself, and comes out barrels blazing, shooting first and asking questions later. But what about? What could he possibly feel trapped about?

It comes to Kurt with a single, subtle movement - something he’s started doing recently. Something that had never been a habit of Kurt’s before.

Rolling his engagement ring on his finger.

The ring is a fairly recent accessory, given to him in fairy tale fashion underneath Fourth of July fireworks with everyone he loves present at the picturesque Smythe estate. But their journey to this point has been a bumpy one. There have been fights, misunderstandings, crossroads, a break up. But here they are, together, standing tall …

Another glance in Sebastian’s direction proves that’s not entirely true. He stumbles backward … then forward … then backward again, like he’s performing a clumsy two-step on the deck of a listing ship without a partner.

Could this ring on Kurt’s finger be the reason? Could it be one of Sebastian’s regrets? Could he be re-thinking the whole thing?

As ridiculous as that may sound, it has crossed Kurt’s mind once or twice before. Nothing bad has happened between them since that night - no devastating fights, nothing that would threaten their overall happiness. Even Julian has kept his shameless flirting to a minimum. But Kurt has abandonment issues. Severe ones.

They run deep.

To his defense, Kurt did consult an expert about his feelings.

He’d asked Olivia her opinion on the subject.

She’s privy to the grim details of his backstory, of course, so he can be as dramatic as he wants around her without sounding like a self-serving ninny. She’d waited patiently for him to finish, smiled warmly, and said, “Kurt, Sebastian loves you. More than he’s ever loved anything in his whole life. Loves you more than he’s ever loved himself.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you not know?” she’d replied with that faint roll of her eyes that the Smythe siblings seem to share. “I know my brother. And even if, for some reason, he didn’t love you as much as I know he does, we do. The whole family.”

“So you’d keep in touch if anything went south between us?” Kurt had never thought to ask. The Smythes were such a loyal family, he feared the answer would be no. But they’d already invited him into their home once before after he and Sebastian split up - that Christmas when Kurt’s father ended up in the hospital. The Smythes let him spend the holidays with them, supported him throughout that entire ordeal. Luck seemed to be on his side that year. His father came out of the hospital unscathed when Kurt feared to the depths of his soul that he wouldn’t.

How long could his good fortune hold out, especially if he were the reason they split up again?

“You’re one of us, Kurt,” she’d assured him. “Part of the clan. And we don’t ditch clan members, no matter what their transgressions. Besides …” She stirred creamer into her coffee with the biggest, twisted grin on her face “… Julian would marry you.”

Kurt choked on his mocha. “What?”

“You, him, and Cooper would become a thruple. We’ve discussed it … at length.”

“You what!?”

“Take you as a lover was the way he put it. I have to admit, that has a lovely Victorian ring to it. You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

Kurt laughs to himself remembering the look on Olivia’s face as he spilled his drink and she snorted her coffee.

Sebastian must feel Kurt’s eyes on him because he turns his face to Kurt, red-cheeked, frustrated to the point of angry tears. Kurt feels his heart wrench, tightening into a knot of pure sorrow.

Why now though? What could have happened that Kurt didn’t see coming? And why would Sebastian bring up Blaine?

There was a time long ago when Kurt thought he couldn’t live without Blaine and a ring on his finger. That’s far from true. He can more than stand on his own. Ironically, it took dating Sebastian to remind himself of that. Probably because when you’re with someone who supports you selflessly, who only wants the best for you, it brings out the best in you.

“Kurt …” Sebastian whimpers. It’s pained - a pain Kurt feels pinging around his chest.

“Sebastian …” Kurt mouths back, voice unavailable past the ache.

Kurt could live without Sebastian. He could. But he doesn’t want to if he can help it.

Standing here, staring into Sebastian’s eyes, feels like falling in love with him all over again, even if Sebastian is planning on leaving him.

But Kurt isn’t falling.

Sebastian is, coming his way and fast.

“Kurt … help me, Kurt!”

“Sebastian!” Kurt yelps.

Unable to decide whether he should try to catch his boyfriend or get out of the way, he does neither, taking Sebastian’s weight full force in the chest. Reflexively, he wraps his arms around Sebastian instead of dodging for his own safety. He lands flat on his back with a spine-bruising crack! but that’s not where it ends. Unable to stop his momentum in time, Sebastian lands on top of Kurt, checking him in the nose with his shoulder so hard, Kurt almost blacks out.

“Kurt!” Olivia yells, racing to his side. “Sebastian, get off of him! Oh my God! Kurt!”

“Sebby!” Julian barks, yanking Sebastian to his feet, completely unconcerned with any injuries of his brother’s and staring at Kurt with wide, bugged-out eyes. “You killed Kurt!”

“I didn’t kill him!”

“Doesn’t matter! I’m calling mom!”

“Call an ambulance first, you dunderhead!”

Cooper pushes through the crowd to hand Julian his phone. “He’s bleeding!” he points out, voice thick with concern, then shaking like a leaf when he adds, “a lot. I … I don’t like …” Another heavy thud vibrates the wood floor as Cooper disappears from view.

“Jesus Christmas …” Olivia mumbles. “Men.”

“Tell me about it,” Kurt grumbles.

“Kurt!” Sebastian takes Kurt’s hands carefully in his while Cecile leans in low to examine Kurt’s face. She tsks.

“Sit tight, hun. I’m going to get you some ice.”

“Paramedics are on the way,” Julian informs them as he kneels down to tend to an unconscious Cooper. “I told them to send an ambulance built for two.”

“Are you okay?” Sebastian rushes, looking Kurt over closely, doing an examination of his own. “What hurts? Can you hear me? Speak to me!?”

“How can I?” Kurt moans, content after that to never speak again for as long as he lives. It wouldn’t be too bad. He could learn ASL. He’s always wanted to. He nearly guffaws out loud when the thought he can take a Learning Annex course springs to his brain. “You won’t shut up long enough to let me!”

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m … I’m sorry,” Sebastian babbles. “I didn’t mean to ...”

“You do have regrets, don’t you?” Kurt asks, sadly shaking his head. Or trying to. He budges it a centimeter. It screams at him to stop!

Sebastian’s brow furrows. “What the---? Everyone has regrets, Kurt.”

“What are yours?”

“What? I …” Sebastian’s chest shudders, closer to tears than Kurt had previously realized. “That you’re right. That you’re always right.”

Kurt frowns. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I am simple minded. I didn’t want to do this. I knew I wouldn’t be any good at it. And that’s not an opinion. It’s a fact. I went to gymnastics camp as a kid, so I know my limits.”

“You did?” Kurt says, stunned out of remembering he’s in a blistering amount of pain.

“That’s right!” Olivia gasps, pleased as punch that she has another embarrassing story to tell Kurt about his soon-to-be-husband. “How did I forget about Sebastian in that purple unitard!?”

“A story for another time,” Sebastian dismisses forcefully through clenched teeth.

“All right, all right,” Olivia says, pulling out her phone, checking to see if she has any pictures of that event uploaded to her gallery, giving Kurt and Sebastian privacy (figuratively) for the moment.

“The point is,” Sebastian continues, “I should have told you from the beginning that I couldn’t do this.”

You did, Kurt thinks with a pang of regret that eclipses the throbbing in his nose. You did, and I convinced you to come anyway. “So … what about us?”

Sebastian’s face crumbles imperceptibly, as if, with those four words, he’s expecting the worse. “Wh-what about us?”

“Do you have regrets about us?”

“What?” Moss-green eyes pop open so fast, Kurt swears he hears them, like the foley on an anime. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Well, you fell. And Cecile said …”

“Kurt! I fell because I have no balance to speak of! I can’t do yoga. At all, as it turns out. This isn’t The Fault in Our fucking Stars, babe! Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, not a metaphor.” He leans down to kiss the knuckles of Kurt’s hand trapped between his. “I don’t have any regrets about us. I swear I don’t.”

Kurt closes his eyes, the left swelling rapidly, skin turning an alarmingly vivid shade of aubergine. A tear slips from the corner and down his cheek. It’s hot, and everything it touches stings.

Sebastian swallows hard and asks a question he’s wondered about hundreds of times, a question he keeps finding himself asking, never settling in comfortably with the answer. Which is always the same, no matter what.

“Do … do you have any regrets?”

Kurt sniffles before he answers. “Recently?”

Okay, well, maybe not the same this time.

“I guess …”

“Only one.”

“Does it have something to do with me?”

“Yes, but only a teeny bit.”

“And what’s that?” Sebastian asks, holding his breath immediately after, readying himself for whatever barb Kurt chooses to throw.

“That we’re never going to be able to come to this studio again.” Kurt smiles weakly, wincing when he scrunches his nose and pain shoots straight up the bridge to his brain. “And I think you broke my nose.”

Sebastian kisses Kurt’s hand, sputtering a half-laugh/half-cry of relief. “It matches your black eye.”

Kurt fixes his good eye on Sebastian and grimaces - the safest expression of displeasure he can make with his face on the brink of exploding.

“No worries, love,” Julian pipes in, saving Sebastian as tears finally start to fall. “The crooked nose thing isn’t quite in anymore, but I can see you bringing it back. You wear it well.”

“Fuck you both very much,” Kurt mutters.

Julian winks, stepping aside as paramedics rush in. “Promises, promises.”

[thesoundofnat]

Friends

Poe/Finn, Zorii, Snap, Jessika, Leia, Rey

Summary: Poe’s friends help him in various ways.

A/N: I just wanna write about Poe and his friends okay.

Warnings: Minor spoilers for The Rise of Skywalker, mostly I just write about one character that’s in it, but I make my own conclussions about their relationship to Poe, so the character’s mere existence is the spoiler tbh.

Words: 2.5k

Poe hadn’t changed in the slightest during the years they’d been apart. Zorii had to roll her eyes, in that fond way she saved for him even though he could exasperate her to no end.

“Are you done?” she asked when his grumbling had died down.

He sighed, deflating. “Yes. For now.”

“Good. Now. You want to talk about why you’re acting like a child?”

“I’m just tired.”

“We all are. You used to be able to hide your emotions better, at least.”

“Never around you.”

“But it’s not just around me, is it?” She felt her face soften. Couldn’t help it. “I get being frustrated. Truly, I do. But Poe. You need to rein it in in front of the others.”

“They’re as frustrated as I am.”

“And that’s why you need to put on a brave face and give them hope. You’re their leader, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.

“I think there’s something else bothering you.”

“Like what?”

She tilted her head at him. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

He’d seen her friend, her companion, co worker, beard, wear too many expressions to count, and she’d once been able to identify each and every one of them. But this one was different. This one was layered. A vulnerability, shielded behind something like pain, which in turn was being shielded by a stoicness. And in front of them all was vulnerability, again, because he was allowing Zorii to see all this. And then, front and center, a desperation, which was disguised as grumpiness around others. She couldn’t interpret what all this mean when they mixed together. She couldn’t read him as a whole.

“What’s wrong, Poe?”

He hid his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

This was bad. This was hopelessness.

“You-” she started, taking a step closer and reaching for his hand before changing her mind. She slapped his back. He needed tough love. He needed the familiarity. “You need to have a good cry, some food and some sleep, okay?”

He peeked out at her, eyes dry, but barely. “You think that will help?”

“It always helps.” She ruffled his curls, grinning at his indignant whine. “You can cry on my shoulder if you want.”

He let out a laugh. “I’m good. You’d never let me live that down.”

“You bet your ass I wouldn’t.”

Poe crossed his arms, his smile melting off his face as quickly as it had arrived. “I just… I can’t help them all. I can’t lead them all.”

Zorii bumped into him. “You’re not alone.”

“People keep saying that, but I’ve never felt that less in my life.”

“Remember what I told you?”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “That they make us think we’re alone to make us lose hope.”

“Don’t lose hope, Poe Dameron.”

His exhale was almost a laugh. “I’ll try.”

“Come on.” She pulled at his wrist, in the way that always made him grin back in the days because he found the action so childlike. “Let’s start with some food, okay?”

He was nodding. “Okay.” A beat and, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

*

Snap was watching Poe. He wasn’t sure why. Something about his face, the way he held himself, had caught Snap by the throat and he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He looked exhausted, but not from a lack of sleep. More from a perpetually interrupted peace of mind. A restlessness about him.

Or something. Snap couldn’t say he was an expert on all things Poe Dameron.

“Hey, Poe,” he found himself saying, catching Poe’s attention before he could curse himself. What was he even gonna say? “Come here a sec.”

Poe did, a mild curiosity to his face. “What’s up?”

“I need your help.”

“With?”

With indeed. “I need someone to meditate with me.” What the fuck.

Poe raised an eyebrow. “You meditate?”

“No. But I wanna start, but I need a buddy or else I won’t do it.”

Poe looked around them. “Can’t you ask someone else?”

“I feel like you’ll need it the most, pal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we need some stress relief, Dameron.”

Poe started laughing, the sound unfamiliar to Snap, but oh so welcome. “You’re so full of shit,” he said, and Snap was laughing too.

“Got you to smile though, didn’t it?” he replied, realizing, belatedly, that this was all he needed to do. Tell a joke, be a little bizarre, and Poe was distracted. That was all Snap could do for him, but it seemed to be enough.

Poe rubbed at his neck, sheepish at being caught, but not denying his struggles. Not sharing, but also not pretending something wasn’t weighing him down. “It did. Thank you.”

Snap waved a hand at him. “Oh, stop. We’ll try yoga afterward to make us more flexible.”

*

Jessika nearly crashed into a building in her haste to fly the hell out of there, but Poe, that stupid brave bastard, stayed behind, his blaster going off in all directions in order to stall the Stormtroopers enough for his crew to flee. Practically leaving him behind.

She cursed. “Poe, come on.”

“Get out of here,” he called back into the comm, and she cursed again. “Jess, go!”

She did the opposite of that and turned her X-Wing back around, aiming straight at a group of Stormtroopers who were shooting in Poe’s direction. “Take this!” she cried, shooting them back and hitting one, two, injuring one, and making the rest turn to aim at her only for Poe to finish them off.

“That’s more like it!” she said. “Now come on.”

Poe jumped into his own X-Wing, thanking her over the noise of more Stormtroopers arriving. Not a match for them now though, and they fled, higher and quicker, and Jess was still cursing out of the need for relief.

“You’re an idiot,” she said later, much later, when they were fed and patched up and alive, alive, alive. “Next time, call for backup instead of thinking you can handle them all yourself.”

“Follow my orders next time, Pava.” But he didn’t sound angry. Just tired. “But thank you.”

She snorted, punching his arm. “For saving your ass? You’re welcome.”

He laughed and Jess finally felt herself relax.

*

Leia had an inkling she knew why Poe was sulking, but she sat down beside him anyway, feeling she could at least ask. Maybe he’d want to talk, even though that was highly unlikely. “How are you?”

He glanced at her, back straightening when their eyes met. “I’m well, General.”

“Poe, I’m asking as a friend.”

“Oh.” He slumped, if only a little. “I’m still well.”

“Something’s on your mind.”

“People keep saying that.”

“Well, I don’t know what they’re saying, but-” How to approach this? “I might be able to give more… experienced advice.”

“About leading? Oh, absolutely.”

Huh. More than one thing on his mind then.

“And other things,” she said, not prying, but opening the topic in case he wanted to share.

But she knew Poe. Poe was stubborn, shy about his emotions, nearly ashamed, and if she didn’t gently let him know she knew, he would never tell.

“Such as relationship advice. I did date Han Solo for years, you know.” A joke, but Poe flushed anyway.

“Right,” he said, eyes not on Leia anymore. “Well. I’ll let you know if I need some.”

“Poe.”

He licked his lips, the ghost of a laugh escaping. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“It’s hard balancing these things in the middle of a war, let alone in the middle of a crowded military-esque base.”

“I bet.”

“But it’s possible. Maybe even more crucial because of it.”

“How did you know?”

“About Finn?”

He shrugged. “About Finn.”

“You’re being quite obvious in the way you look at him. But don’t worry, people would have to observe you in order to properly tell.”

“You observe me?”

“I observe everything.”

“How did you and Han- I mean-”

“Make it work? We needed to, or we could risk dying without having ever even tried.”

Poe nodded. “That makes sense.”

“It’s stressful dealing with feelings during times like these,” she continued, giving Poe’s arm a squeeze. “But worth it. And needed.”

Poe huffed out a laugh. “I guess. I just… what if he-”

“Doesn’t feel the same?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ll have to settle on friendship, which isn’t settling at all.”

“What if I lose him?”

“You won’t, Poe. I promise.”

Leia could tell him about how she’d observed Finn too and seen a love for Poe that Poe hadn’t noticed yet, but she figured it wasn’t hers to tell. He’d figure it out, once he stopped being so terrified. She was sure of it.

*

Rey found the hallways both creepy and soothing during nighttime. Empty, echoey, perfectly dimmed in case she wanted to see a shadow and mistake it for a person. But when she saw Poe sitting by himself one night she wasn’t startled. It was almost as if she’d sensed him. Sensed an unrest outside of her own.

“Poe?”

He looked up, eyes wide and bloodshot. Exhaustion rolling off of him even from afar. “Rey. Hi.”

“Hey.” She hovered before him. “May I join you?”

He gestured to the floor. “Be my guest. Please.”

She sat, their backs against the wall. Their base temporary, but the most comfortable one they’d had in a while. A planet they would have to leave, eventually. “Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Not a challenge. Just an observation.

She felt herself smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Same here.”

“Nightmares?”

“No. Just-” He paused, humming. “Can’t settled down enough. Too much on my mind.”

“I see.”

“You?”

“Too restless to even try.”

He breathed out a laugh, the emptiness of the hallway amplifying it. “I can respect that.”

Rey turned to face him. “How long has this been going on for you?”

“Oh. Uh.” He shook his head, his smile small. Sad. “Too long probably.”

“Can I help you?”

“How would you help?”

“I can… I think the force might-” She shook her head. “I won’t mess with your head or anything, but… I think I can help you relax.”

“Really?”

“It won’t hurt to try. We need you to be alert, after all.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess. I mean, sure, why not? I’d owe you my life if you fixed it.”

She heaved herself to her feet and held out a hand to help him. “Come on. Better do this around a bed.”

He accepted her hand, hope in his eyes. Hope she hoped she wouldn’t crush.

*

Finn wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry when Poe approached him and said he’d been hurt during their latest mission and not told anyone until now.

“You stubborn bastard,” he growled and Poe was laughing, that sweet sweet laughter enough to get Finn to smile despite himself. “Is it bad?”

“No, but- well, I think it might be infected?”

“Poe.”

“And I’m sure if I told anyone else they would scold me all the way to Jakku.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Want me to clean it?”

“Yes, please.”

So there they were, in Finn’s room, door shut, with Poe’s shirt pulled up because the wound was on his side. Finn couldn’t say he didn’t want to push the shirt up even more, maybe pull it off entirely, make sure the rest of Poe’s torso was okay because that man had no self preservation. But he was tasked with sorting out the current predicament, and that was enough for now.

“Lean back,” he said, because Poe was slumping a bit and it was hard to see the proper damage.

“I tried to clean it myself, but…” he trailed off, sitting back against the wall as Finn looked at the wound.

“How did you even get this?” he asked, fingertips hovering over the infected skin. “This doesn’t look like a blaster wound, thank the stars.”

“I honestly think I bumped into something and didn’t even realize I was bleeding until much later.”

“Can’t take you anywhere.”

Poe’s laugh was cut off by him inhaling through gritted teeth when Finn started dabbing at the cut. “Shit.”

“Sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

“S’okay. Keep going.”

Finn cleaned the wound mostly in silence, apart from Poe’s occasional yelps or curses. Finn had his other hand on Poe’s abdomed, pulling the skin ever so slightly, head bowed low in order to see better. Ignoring that he was touching Poe. Entirely ignoring as he moved his hand over Poe’s lower belly.

He suddenly cried out, but there was a laugh in there that made Finn look up. “Poe?”

He looked sheepish, with his head tilted to the side and a smile still lingering on his lips. “Sorry. You just- you tickled me.”

Finn looked at his hand, and then back up at Poe. He couldn’t help his grin. “Huh. I’ll have to remember that.”

Poe laughed again, all timid and nervous. “Please don’t.”

Finn kept cleaning his wound. “Nope. Can’t hear you. Too overcome by the thought of a hysterically laughing Poe Dameron.”

“Oh, come on.” Poe used one hand to shove at him, and Finn, suddenly playful, shoved him back. “Hey! I’m a wounded man and this is how you treat me?”

“Serves you right. Now be still.”

Poe was grinning now as Finn kept patching him up, so much less tense, and Finn found the beauty of him unfair. Unfair to Finn, who had zero self control as it was. Could be as reckless as Poe and his stupid need to not seem weak.

But this he couldn’t do. Not without acknowledging it. Reckless and stupid and way overdue.

“All done,” he said, leaning back, but Poe didn’t pull down his shirt and Finn didn’t move away.

“Leia told me something the other day,” Poe said when neither of them spoke. “About needing to take a risk if you ever want to get the desired outcome. That you can’t just wait around and hope.”

“Leia is smart.”

“It was love advice, believe it or not.”

“Oh.” Finn’s heart was suddenly rioting. “Are you gonna listen to her?”

“When Leia Organa tells you something, you listen.” He leaned closer. “Everyone’s been helping me recently. Taking care of me. I figured it was time for me to try to help myself.”

“How will you do that?”

“Being honest’s probably a good start.”

“I see.”

“Finn.”

Finn couldn’t breathe.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” The word a whisper, Finn’s heart a scream. “Please do.”

Poe did.