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bigowlenergy · 5 years ago

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science

Daniel Phantom shoots out of the portal uncontrollably, skids directly into ectoproof concrete, and just lays there. Everything is frozen for a few seconds. Machines whir softly, something bubbles, the portal hums, the proximity alarm shuts off. Vlad raises his visor.

“Is there a reason you flew like a bat out of hell into my lab, little badger?”

A small sob is his only answer.

“I see,” Vlad says diplomatically. “As flattered as I am by your sudden emotional vulnerability, I do hope you aren’t expecting me to say something comforting.”

“Shut up,” Daniel rasps, pushing himself to sit up and wiping harshly at his eyes. They are already lined with dark green and puffy. Must be almost finished, then. No injuries, no farther retreating, no acrid smell of blaster fire following him like a cloud, no outright attack on Vlad’s person. Not an emergency, then - except to the overemotional college student crying on Vlad’s doorstep. Again.

“Oh, good.” Vlad lowers the visor and returns to welding.

As intriguing and drama ridden as Daniel’s life is these days, Vlad is not about to poke that monologing bear if he isn’t required to. One bout of tears per month is plenty, thank you.

Vlad does not quite begrudge their truce, but if he had known what playing mentor to Daniel had meant in terms of emotional labour some five years ago, well. He might never have expressed the interest at all. This is the fifth instance of Daniel using his portal to escape something trivial in as many months. Vlad is fully desensitized to it.

He leaves the gloves on as he hefts the modified cannon on his shoulder and lines up with the portal.

“Out of the way, Daniel. M-bot, begin recording and activate trackers. Ballistics test number four, with additional fire power.”

Daniel grumbles and dramatically flops over before floating to the back of the lab. The shot of energy collides with the open portal with quite the light show. It’s as bright as the welding torch, but arcs with eclectic discharge half the length of the lab. The kickback is impressive, but Vlad’s no amateur with high powered weaponry and can deadlift up to 850 pounds comfortably in human form besides.

M-bot pings brightly and the screen array behind the blast shield lights up, showing the damage to the targeted ruins some miles away in the ghost zone. The castle walls have already begun to rebuild themselves from the earlier testing, but the newest blast has eaten through the dense, ancient ectoplasm with a decent amount of promise. M-bot is timing the rate of decay, so Vlad should probably deal with Daniel before he gets bored and does something drastic to the lab. Or the fridge.

He sets the cannon back into its cradle and lifts the visor.

“Well? Out with it.”

“Val broke up with me. I think, I don’t know. She found out.” Daniel blurts out, looking half panicked, half resigned.

It takes Vlad a minute to parse that.

“What did you do? If you’ve alerted Miss Gray to us -”

“No! She just. Said she saw something on her ghost security system. You didn’t give her one, did you?”

“Of course not.” Says Vlad, honestly affronted. He’s not stupid enough to record in his own home labs above the second subbasement; why on earth would he ever give a hunter with routine access to his person any sort of recording device? Moreover, what did she see?

Actually, more pressing issue -

“You didn’t lead her here, did you? I swear I will end your entire afterlife if you did.”

“No,” Says Danny sullenly from where he’s drifted back down to the floor. “I took the lake portal.”

A relationship confrontation in the forest? At this time of night? That’s quite a distance from his portal’s location in the ghost zone. Must have been on the run for some time, then. Vlad is getting sucked in to the drama, but isn’t about to ask the first question.

“I did warn you about cultivating relationships with humans. You only have yourself to blame, little badger.” If you can’t function as a shining example then serve as a horrible warning, and all that. Vlad might have opted out of learning his own lesson the hard way, but only because he saw that trainwreck coming from a dimension away and deigned to acknowledge it about twenty years too early. Or three years too late, depending on the calendar. A ghost in a relationship with hunters will end poorly; it isn’t rocket science. But then again, Danny’s practically majoring in rocket science, so naturally the shoe will fall on the other end of the idiom.

It’s almost impressive, really.

Daniel frowns fiercely and crosses his arms over a loop of his tail, looking oddly small when he isn’t looming about a foot above Vlad, his favorite vantage point. He still looks like a wreck, but at least he isn’t using Vlad’s blasting chamber to contain a breakdown fueled Wail, a la midterms. Small blessings.

“Whatever.” Daniel mutters, staring hard at the scorched floor. “Don’t wanna hear about it from Mr. Attempted Homewrecker.”

Vlad shrugs. He knows what he’s about.

“I suppose you’ll be expecting me to allow you to hide out here? Unless you were looking for advice on disposing of a body. You never did make the ending of that confrontation clear.”

“No!” Daniel snaps, finally rising up. “I’m not you. She’s just - we’re just.” He deflates, uncrossing his arms and floating about in silence for a long moment. “I’m going to go pet Mad Cat. Whenever that thing you’re making works, I’ll be back to kick your ass for it.” And then he’s gone.

Wonderful. If he eats all of Vlad’s icecream again, there will be consequences.

He drops the shield over his face and retrieves the cannon. Ah, the stress relief of the predictable type of explosions.

“Looking forward to it, little badger. Ballistics test number five: repeated damaged before total re-adhesion. Begin recording.”

#dannymay2020 #danny phantom #may 4 #science #vlad masters #mentioned grayghost #sciencey science idioms #ua where vlad is a good character #but a shitty person #i just think hes neat.jpg #fanfiction

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years ago

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Chasing Fyre

This hot mess of a fic is brought to you by this hot mess of a discussion.

Azula lays in the grass, staring up at the sun...the moon? She isn’t sure what she is staring at, but it is an orb and it is in the sky. What she is looking at is neither the sun nor the moon, but a paper lantern that sways in the breeze. This is boundlessly alarming for the princess because she has never seen the sun move like that. Usually the sun sits in a fixed position. Perhaps, she decides, she isn’t looking at the sun at all. Perhaps she is looking at Sozin’s Comet coming back because it too knows that she has been cheated out of her crown. Azula grins, this time, she will have victory! But then it dawns upon her that she has never seen a comet hang in one place for so long.

She rubs her head, it is beginning to ache. She takes another hit from her cactus juice joint. It has been prescribed to her to calm her anxieties and alleviate her stresses. Though they advised her to use it only in moderation. Which had been going well until she’d met that weird flying monkey thing. She should have known not to trust it, it is after all, the Avatar’s pet. But she had run out of her medicinal cactus juice so she didn’t refuse when the creature perched itself on the window and said in a voice that was alarmingly deep for a creature so small, “five gold pieces and I’ll get you the stuff.”

“Just this once, lemur.” She had vowed.

“You can call me M0m0. But with two zeros instead of O’s.”

“Just this once, lemur.” She had repeated as she fished out five gold pieces.

As fate will have it, the lemur’s cactus juice is much stronger than the medically regulated joints she is used to. And so the princess finds herself unfathomably and helplessly high as fuck. She flops down and tries to remember where the hell she is and how the hell she has managed to free herself from that institution again. Especially considering how heavily they have cracked down since her last escape. She wracks her brain but each blade of grass around her has something to say.

“You’re pretty, Azula.” “You have nice eyes!” “Those asylum robes look great on you!” “You deserved to be fire lord.” “You are the fire lord.”

At this, Azula perks up. “I am?”

“You are to me.” That particular strand of grass gushes. She smiles at the strand and plucks it from the ground. It grows silent. She has killed it. She begins to cry softly to herself. Another friend lost.

.oOo.

“We’ve decided to try something different with her.” The head doctor speaks.

“What are you trying?” Zuko asks.

“Medicinal cactus juice.” The man replies.

“And…” Zuko prompts.

“It was going well.”

“Until…”

“It stopped going well.” The doctor smiles nervously.

“Can I see her?” Zuko asks.

“Ah...well, that’s part of the problem. You seeeeee….she...uh...she escaped.”

“Escaped!?” Zuko throws his hands up. “Have you started looking for her.”

“We have not. But we think that we know where to start.” He pauses. “The princess has grown quite fond of Chong & The Singing Nomads.”

Zuko curses to himself. He and Mai have had several discussions already and they have already decided that they would be staying far, far away from that crowd and their bad hair and lack of hygiene. And their overly lax mannerisms and their constant spouting of peace and love bullshit. Both he and Mai are well aware that peace is for Air Nomads and love is dumb. They do not love each other, they simply not hate each other. “You don’t really think that she went there do you?”

The doctors trade glances. “We think that she did.”

.oOo.

“Do it, Azula, follow your dreams.” The remaining blades of highly motivational grass chant. “Achieve your goals!”

Azula, feeling highly lethargic, stands up anyhow. With each enthusiastic encouragement, the princess finds herself feeling more inspired even if she’d rather lay back down and stare at the swaying sun.

“You can do it!” Shouts a blade of grass that sounds like it belongs to a burly earthbender. It sounds that way, because it had come from an earthbender. The Boulder to be specific, he is shouting at Toph as she tries to deadlift Appa who is being ridden by Raava. But Azula does not know this, so she attributes it to the blades of grass. And she decides that she will. She will go out and do what she had escaped to do. What she had always wanted to do. What she had been born to do! She is going to meet her favorite band and she is going to join them!

She supposes that this is much easier said than done considering how many bands are in attendance.

.oOo.

The scent of incense hangs heavily in the air. A breeze rustles the beaded curtains that act as the tent’s door. Moku leans back, humming to himself.

“C’mon man.” Chong drawls. “We just need one more good joint, man. And we’ll write one more jam it’ll be totally groovy, man.”

“I don’t grow for free.” Momo scowls. “Do you know how hard it is to ditch that bald headed, twinkly toed, monk?”

“It’s godda be tough, man.” Chong admits.

“I gotta act like a muffin...a complete square. If my homies saw me prancing with that loser they wouldn’t ride with me anymore. So when I grow, I gotta make bank. I ain’t makin’ bank with you.”

“Bummer, man. Listen, just hang tough and in the mean time pass us another joint and you can jam with us.”

Momo pulls out a glock. “You pay up or Imma cap yer ass.”

“What a downer.” Says Lily.

.oOo.

Azula wanders aimlessly, she has been wandering for some twenty minutes now. Though she has not made it very far. She circles the same tent for the fourteenth time now; she does not realize that it is the same tent because every time she makes a lap around it the design shifts.

Azula frowns and folds her arms over her chest. And then she extends her arm. She crosses them over her chest again. She extends her arm once more. “Arms are weird.” She says to herself. She bends and unbends her arm several times. “We-eird.” She whispers in a lazy sing-long.

She shakes her head, she has to stay focused. She looks around. The place is disorientingly crowded. People sit shoulder to shoulder on checkered blankets. They braid each other’s hair and weave flower crowns. Some make bead jewelry and others make love.

Azula narrows her eyes, just who makes love while wearing socks. She tip toes up to the woman and tugs her socks off.

“Hey! What are you doing!?” The woman shouts.

Azula bolts. Bolts meaning lightning bolts. She does not run. Running is for lil’ bitches. And Azula isn’t a lil’ bitch expect for when her therapist brings up her mother then she is kinda, in fact, a lil’ bitch. At the very least, she cries like one.

Having freshly charred a woman, Azula wanders off. She is carried on a cloud of music. Music! Her objective comes back to her.

.oOo.

“Welcome to Fyre Fest, the Fyre Nation’s most far out festival!” Guru Pathik greets. “Onion and banana juice?”

“No thanks.” Zuko grumbles. He wishes that Mai would have come along, but he could convince her to ‘enter that hippie hell land’. He’d even snagged some My Chemical Romance tickets from another dimension entirely and she still sent him off on his own.

He looks around. In ever direction is some new monstrosity and none of them are Azula. He sees men and women running around with their bits exposed, the more conservitive of them place leaves and flowers but just enough of them to cover what needs covering. He sees men with long hair staring into lava lamps that they heat and bend themselves. Across the way a woman offers to predict the future via seeing it in smoke. Zuko is certain that a helping of cactus juice is involved with those visions. But it isn’t what he sees that horrifies him the most; it is what he hears. Pan flutes and harps play out of sync to a singer who may very well be tone def. She bellows a ditty about loving one’s self and loving one’s potted cacti.

He covers his ears. He has to find Azula fast, before she can do something that will have the nation talking. Because if the Fyre Nation citizens get to talking then word will get to his father. And if word gers to father… Zuko shudders, the man is a week away from getting out of prison and if he comes back to his perfect, can-do-no-wrong daughter completely stoned…

.oOo.

Azula wanders towards the music. There are, in fact, many songs playing all at once--most of them come from the various stages or from within the tents. But there are at least two songs that play in Azula’s mind only; these songs are indescribably horrifying they are played at a frequency very low so as to induce a sense of horror and foreboding. But Azula is used to them and has actually taken a liking to them.

She ignores these songs for the time being and tugs open one of the tent flaps. She pushes the beaded curtain aside. It is vacant except for an air of failure and a perfume of incense. Azula can see the failure, it is all around and there is so much of it. So, so much failure. She stumbles back and out of the tent, she trips over a bong and falls on her ass, this doesn’t deter her any. She continues her hasty retreat away from the failure before it can latch onto her again.

It chases her clear across the field. She is so busy looking at the failure behind her that she doesn’t notice the failure in front of her until she collides with him. “Oh, hi Zuzu.” She greets before remembering that it is probably not a good thing that he has found her. Before he can turn around she picks up one of the rugs, lays down, and throws it over herself. It is only large enough to cover her face.

“Azula...” Zuko says through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“I am not here. I am back at the institution where you left me.”

“You’re right here, I can see you.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I--okay, no, I’m not doing this with you again.” Zuko hisses. “You’re right here in my field of vision.”

Azula does not understand, she is perfectly hidden. Zuko snatches the blanket from her face and she screeches. Zuko winces at the hideous noise. She seizes the opportunity to dash.

.oOo.

“Wait, no!” He hollers.

But Azula is fast, she has always been fast. Why the hell can’t she be clumsy and uncoordinated like every other stoner he has met.

“Hey, man, you need some chase music?” Chong asks. He still has plenty of time before his performance.

Zuko is about to say no, but Chong plucks at his dramyin and begins a fast paced and frenzied tune. As Zuko persues Azula, Chong persues him. Lily chases Chong and chasing Lily is Moku who is being chased by Momo, who is chased by Zhao, who is chased by Vaatu who is trying to drag him back to the depths of hell where he belongs.

Zuko doesn’t notice any of this for he is hyper fixated on Azula who has flung herself into a pile of flower petals and is army crawling towards one of the stages.

“I did it!” Toph shouts loudly. Zuko looks away momentarily to see Toph standing proud, holding Appa above her head, arm pit hair blowing in the breeze. Zuko gags, he has only heard legends about armpit hair that long. He wants to cry. Even if Mai would let him, he couldn’t even grow his pit hair out that long.

.oOo.

Azula smirks to herself, she knew that it was a good idea to sprint past Toph! With Zuzu well and distracted she makes her get away. It is time to begin phase two. Looking back at her brother, she knows that she doesn’t have much time, the shock is already wearing off.

She snatches up a flower crown and a peace sign necklace and takes a seat upon one of the quilts. She gives a loud and forced laugh, “yeah, I totally get it.”

Chan and Ruon-Jian turn to look at the weirdo who has just invited herself into their circle. They don’t remember her arriving at the festival with them, they aren’t even sure if she is real. “What are we doing?” She asks.

“Oh, we’re just hangin’ loose, ya know?” Chan says.

Azula nods but she does not understand. She has not immersed herself in enough Fyer Festival culture to know what that is supposed to mean. She watches Chan pass Ruon a joint. He takes a puff and passes it to the girl next to him.

“You want a hit?” Chan asks when it gets back to him.

“My therapist says that partaking in acts of violence is detrimental to my healing process.” Is what she would have said if she weren’t so high. What she does say, because she is high, is, “yeah, sure man.”

“Far out.” Chan nods with a smile. He gives her the joint and then gives her finger guns.

Before she can bring the joint to her lips, Zuko snatches it. Azula frowns. “How did you find me so quickly?”

“First of all, I know that laugh anywhere. Second of all, you walked like two feet away from where you were before!”

“Can I hit you?” She asks.

“Wh-what?” Zuko sputters as Chan leans in and whispers something in her ear.

She nods and says, “oooooh,” and turns back to Zuko. “Do you want a hit?” She holds out the joint.

“No!” He throws his hands up. “I’d rather let you hit me in the face or something.”

Azula frowns to herself, she has to ditch him somehow. She steals another blunt from Chan and takes a drag, in the hopes of getting a burst of inspiration. She watches the smoke trail up to the clouds. She snaps her head back down, she knows that if she looks up now that the clouds will begin to take shape and that she will end up watching them for hours. The smoke alone is hypnotic. She sways drunkenly back and forth with the smoke. The smoke… Her lips curl back into another wicked grin.

She lets a burst of fire erupts in her palm. Zuko gives a jolt and she does to. She thrusts the flame much too close to his face. “Look at this!”

“I see it.” He carefully pushes her hand away, the grimace never leaving it.

“LoOk aT It!!!” She repeats.

“I see it!”

“Why is my fire water?”

“What?”

“Why do I have fire that is water???”

“It’s…”

“wHY DO I HAVE FIRE. THAT IS WATER!?” She asks with more volume. Now she is holding the fire too close to her own face.

“Throw me.” The fire crackles. “Throw me and I’ll set you free.” She launches a ball of fire, it lands upon a tree and bursts into song. Azula gives a lopsided smile. “My fire can sing.” She declares.

“Why don’t we go home where it’s quieter and you can hear it better?” Zuko offers.

Azula chuckles. “I know what you’re trying to do Zuzu. But it’s not going to work because I’m smarter than you.”

“Maybe when you aren’t high.” He mutters.

Without warning she catapults herself into the air using twin jets of fire. She gives a yelp that is equal parts elated and fearful. She has never felt so free. She lands relatively gracefully and continues her mad dash away from her overbearing brother.

Her excitement subsides and she resumes her aimless wandering. She gets the feeling that she has strayed far from where Chong & The Singing Nomads are performing. She is growing anxious, if she misses them then she will miss her chance to make a name for herself. If she can’t sing then how the hell will she leave her mark on the world. If she can’t sing then she will be forgotten by society.

“You can do it.” A blade of grass reminds her.

“I can do it.” She whispers back.

A pungent spicy odor wafts in on the breeze. She doesn’t know where it comes from but it is rather enticing.

.oOo.

Zuko races through the crowd, people try to sell him banana juice, scented candles, butt scratchers, and something that looks curiously like his father’s favorite left sock.

“No thank you!” He says before the next merchant can speak. He is not interested in band T-shirts--he doesn’t even like this kind of music.

“And here I thought that you’d like some honor.”

Zuko comes to a dead halt. “Honor?” he asks. He clenches his fistrs. No. He doesn’t have time for this. He has to find Azula, if he doesn’t than he will lose more honor than he can ever hope to buy.

He makes his way around another tent as the man calls, “wait! It’s buy one get one free.”

He finds his nose graced with an absolutely heavenly aroma. It is strong and spicy and he follows it to a tent brimming with all sorts of luxurious foods. The meats go mostly untouched. That’s how he knows that Azula is not yet fully immersed in Fyer Fest culture, there is still hope for her. She stands by the roast duck with a fist full of fire flakes in her mouth.

He never imagined that her downfall would be a case of the munchies, but he will take a victory where he can get it. She looks up from her snack and makes eye contact. He isn’t sure if the look of horror in her eyes is because he has found her or if it is because he has caught her doing something far less than dignified. She finishes stuffing the flakes into her mouth and darts off.

.oOo.

The sun is on its way down and she knows that she is running out of time. But she no longer remembers what she is running out of time for. She doesn’t think that it matters. Why would it? She has water fire and encouraging blades of grass that say kind things to her in spite of all of her flaws. They also don’t seem to judge her for eating fire flakes in such a barbaric manner.

“Hey, man, you’re gonna miss the show.” Chan says.

“The show?”

He loops his arm in hers and leads her towards the main stage. Azula grins, she will finally get to see Chong & The Singing Nomads and she is going to do it with an absolutely gorgeous hunk of a man. He pats the grass next to him.

Azula takes a seat.

“Fire flakes?”

Decidedly, she still has the munchies, so she takes the bowl.

.oOo.

Zuko doesn’t find his sister again until Chong & The Singing Nomads begin singing their most popular hit. It is at this time that Azula rises. Like a phoenix out of the ashes, she propels herself up on a wave of blue fire. But only until she notices and gets startled by the color of her fire again. “If I’m a waterbender then why am I at Fyer Fest?”

“Because everyone is invited to Fyre Fest.” Chong calls up.

“Everyone?” Azula asks.

“Everyone.” Chong confirms as he plucks his instrument. “We’re all one, man. We’re all the same.”

The crowd claps. Azula claps. Mai does not clap, because she hates this band and she is enraged that Zuko has been gone long enough for her to grow concerned enough to arrive at Fyre Fest and find him.

“You are terrible at this.” She remarks. “It has taken you all day to find Azula and I’m able to find both of you in under ten minutes.”

“Just...just help me get her home!” Zuko practically begs. “She’s a mess and…” His eyes grow wide when he turns his attention back to her.

“Azula, don’t you dare!”

She halts, mid pull, with her hands gripping the hem of her shirt.

“Father will kill me and then he’ll kill you, and then he’ll resurrect me with spirit water and kill me again!”

.oOo.

Azula’s eyes glimmer with delight, she loves a good murder! With that threat in place, she hastily tugs her shirt over her head and tosses it to the side. A steady stream of fire, from her feet holds her up right.

Zuko’s mouth hangs open in shock and horror. “Azula, put your shirt back on.”

She spares it a glance before lighting it on fire. She hated that uniform anyways. She feels so liberated! Everyone else at the festival is naked, she doesn’t know why she shouldn’t be! She has always wanted to feel the heat of her fire upon her bare skin. She is about to pull her pants down when a tendril snakes over her arm. “Don’t do it, princess.”

“Raava?” She asks.

“You will regret this later. Get down from there and go find yourself a shirt.”

She narrows her eyes, “don’t tell me what to do you gaudy, glowing, kite...thing.” She sputters.

Rava, growing tired of the princess’ antics, and already peeved from having to chase Zhao down, swats Azula out of the sky. She lands with a thud and Chong’s drummer plays a quick ‘bu-dum tiss.’

“You’re ruining my dreams!” She shouts at the offending god-kite. “I just wanna be free and no one wants to let me.”

Raava pets her head. “Shhhh...it’s okay. Have some…”

“More cactus juice?” She asks hopefully.

Raava sprouts herself a pair of eyes so that she can shoot the princess a judging stare.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Azula folds her arms across her chest. “You’re just jealous.” She doesn’t know what she thinks Raava is jealous of, but she knows that she is right in her assumption.

.oOo.

Zuko wraps a blanket over Azula’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home.” She allows him to walk her towards the festival’s exit. Now that she is thoroughly exhausted, she is a lot easier to manage. The biggest hassle she puts up is leaning into him as she walks. She does so until he is pretty much carrying all of her weight. “A little help, Mai.”

“Nope.” She replies. “I just came here to watch you struggle.”

“Come on, I have to get her out of here before father finds out.”

Mai shrugs. “Sounds like a you problem.”

.oOo.

“I saw Raava.” Azula murmurs sleepily.

“That’s what happens when you accept drugs from questionable lemurs.” Zuko replies.

“That lemur is the Avatar’s pet.” Azula defends. “I thought that I could trust him. It’s like Mai and TyLee all over again…”

“Don’t make me get your therapist.” Mai threatens.

Azula waves her off. “Raava was really there…”

“And you’re really a waterbender.” Zuko grumbles.

She crosses her arms and pouts. “I hate you.”

“I saved you--both of us--from dad’s wrath!” He declares. “I chased you all over that hippie…”

“Hellscape.” Mai fills in.

“I chased you all over that hippie hellscape, had my eyes assaulted by Toph’s free flowing armpit hair, and denied a chance at buying my honor to save yours.”

For a moment she considers thanking him, he truly didn’t have to go that far to save her dignity. But he is still Zuzu. And she is still his younger sister so she instead replies, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Dad would have killed both of us and you’re not even going to thank me?”

Azula sighs, she supposes that it is good that he didn’t let her embarrass herself and that her reputation and relationship with her father will remain unblemished. “You let me yank my shirt off.”

Zuko sighs. “Okay, most of those people were so high that they won’t even remember…”

“I remember and I was high.”

“Honestly, they’ll probably think that it was part of their trips. As far as they know, you’ve been here the whole time.”

A wave of relief comes over her. “Which means that dad will never find out.”

Little do they know, Ozai has already escaped prison and has been Chong’s drummer the whole time.

.oOo.

Ozai takes a long hit of his cactus juice joint. What a night that had been! And here he had thought that he would disguise himself as a nomad, escape prison, and resume his quest for world domination. And that is just what he intends to do. He is going to conquer the world with far out music and a funky fresh beat.

In his wildest dreams he had never imagined that the singing nomad life is for him. He has already grown the beard and long scraggly hair for it!

“So, man, you gonna talk to that lemur for us?” Chong asks.

Ozai shudders. He has faced the Avatar and has had his bending yanked away from his very soul. He had been given a vision of his death and an afterlife in the most horrific end of the Spirit World. But the fear he had felt then doesn’t compare to how looking into Momo’s eyes makes him feel.

“Nah, man. We’ll just pay up.” Ozai shrugs. “I’ll just get some gold pieces from the palace treasury.” He makes a note to do that after he yells at the absolute messes that he has for children. It is the only way to ensure that they never find out that he had attended Fyre Fest and will attend it again.

He doesn’t want to think too much about that right now. Instead he takes another hit of his joint as Moku threads another daisy into his beard.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Singing Nomads #Ozai #Crack Fic #Fanfiction

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damleon24 · 8 years ago

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#3 Learning to love my body

On Sunday I met up with Madison for our first date. It included all the usual awkwardness of first dates, but she seemed shy even beyond that. I jokingly asked how I could get her to rant about something; she told me a story of her mom giving her old backpacking gear and how she went on her first trip into the Angeles National Park alone.

When she finished her story I couldn’t stand my back pain anymore. She looked down at her phone, and although the date was going well, I asked if she wanted to go because the pain made it unbearable to continue sitting.

Yesterday I had an appointment with my chiropractor. I told him about the pain I’d felt on the date and he said, “You have to understand that you’re 23 with the back of a 50 year old. Everything is going to start hurting.”

In the first month of 7th grade P.E., my teacher, Mr. Monroe, called the boys into his office one by one to check us for scoliosis. I walked into the cold ass gray room, took my shirt off, bent over to touch my toes, and he made a passing comment about how it was minor. I put my shirt back on and walked out to join the other boys.

Soon afterwards an orthopedist took x-rays, measured my legs, and made molds of my feet. He told mami that my feet were completely flat, my left leg was a centimeter shorter than the right, and my hips were skewed by 30°. I didn’t know why any of it was significant, but he gave me a note saying I shouldn’t be forced to run during P.E. so I considered him a friend.

A few weeks later he told me he had a gift for me. He gave me two braces made of hard white plastic that covered my feet and went up past my ankles. I said thank you because mami raised me to be polite, but I wondered what kind of person ruined a child’s life and called it a gift.

I had to start wearing size 12 Jordans to accommodate the size of the braces. Other kids, especially an asshole named Fernando, told me I looked like a clown with big ass shoes. He pointed out the braces to other kids during P.E: “He’s so fat that his ankles need help to support his weight.”

My senior year of high school I joined a club swim team to prove to myself (and people like Fernando) that my body would not hold me back. The first moment diving into the pool always brought out a twinge of fear at the loss of sight and air, but when my mind finally settled, I looked around and saw other kids struggling to stay afloat or control their breathing. I didn’t have to wear braces to be anyone’s equal.

My sophomore year at Vassar College I returned to the swim team. I was the slowest on the men’s team, but I managed to make it through practices (and somehow was one of the fastest during running workouts). I felt out of place though. The other men on the team had stereotypically attractive white masculine bodies. They also had a penchant for shirtless parties, but I always felt uncomfortable in those spaces. I took to wearing the same pair of jeans to every swim party because they rested low on my waist and minimized the appearance of my belly and love handles.

The only other man of color was Pesanteur Dehaney. His body wasn’t the same white ideal: he was black and built like a bodybuilder. He didn’t need parties as an excuse to walk around shirtless (if anything he’s more comfortable without a shirt on). We weren’t exactly friends, but I saw him as an older brother. He was constantly laughing and making an effort to include everyone, and the rest of the team loved him. If not for him I would have quit again my sophomore year (and I didn’t swim my junior year because he was gone).

Friends asked me why I spent so much time swimming if I hated the sport and team so much, and I always answered: “I’m just spending two hours trying to drown myself.”

I started weight lifting seriously after graduating from Vassar because I wanted to look like Pesanteur. That summer I bulked up to 170 and squatted 260 pounds. Every time I ran into someone from high school they commented on how they didn’t even recognize me anymore. It made me wonder what exactly they meant when I looked exactly the same as I had in high school.

I kept pushing and eventually tried to lift a 315 pound deadlift. I got the weight up, but within an hour my back felt tight. By the end of the day I couldn’t even move because of the pain. I skipped work the next day because I started crying just trying to get out of bed.

My doctor, a bald muscular man, said I shouldn’t squat or deadlift anymore if I didn’t want to be in a wheelchair by the time I was 30. I kept lifting even after that injury, but focused on slowly feeling out my body’s limitations.

Mami told me to stop working out, that I was already getting too big. Since those first days of wearing braces and being left behind by other kids, I have dreamt of flying. I see the California mountains from above the clouds, travel down Highway 101 and then the 10 until I reach El Paso, and watch American cities give way to Mexican pueblos and dreams of greatness.

I’ve always thought of greatness as a body that others would look upon positively, but I’m learning that my own love for it is much more important.

Papi and my sister, Michelle, agree with mami about my weight. They both point out my recent weight gain every chance they get. Michelle in particular knows how much I have been eating and working out to try to bulk up, and she calls me “fatty” everytime I see her.

Last week I took her to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. We walked around hand in hand and quickly moved from exhibit to exhibit. We pointed at the fat faced fish, tried to entertain sharks, and shared pictures of cute otters. We didn’t get to finish seeing every exhibit because I couldn’t walk or stand anymore. I have never felt more limited by my body than when my 12 year old sister told me, “I know. Your back hurts. We can go.”

Despite all her mocking, Michelle knows that my body has limitations and she’s understanding of them. I’ve taken the negative feelings from people like Fernando in my childhood, my teammates in college, and now my family as justification for how hard I push my body; but I’ve never accepted the compliments or small moments of love.

I’m at a point now where it hurts to sit at my computer typing, and I need to start valuing the small victories with my body as heavily as the challenges.

I have never truly loved my body, but it starts with accepting that I’m differently abled and need to treat myself with more patience and love.

#52essays2017 #essay #essay writing #chicanx #differently abled #body positive #bodybuilding

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poisonbooknerd · 6 years ago

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FALLEN STAR by Susannah Nix is available now! Get your hands on this sexy Hollywood contemporary romance today.

About FALLEN STAR

The second he walked through the door, she could tell he was trouble.

Grace knows better than to fall for a Hollywood bad boy like Scott Deacon. An arrogant movie star with a troubled past and a big honking chip on his shoulder? No, thank you. He may be sex on wheels, but beneath the charming facade he’s just another cocky jackass destined to make her job more difficult.

Except...

The more time they spend together, the hotter the fire between them burns. With every flirtatious smile and brush of his hand, she feels her defenses crumbling.

She wants to hate him, but instead she’s in danger of losing all control.

Get your hands on FALLEN STAR now!

✦Amazon https://amzn.to/2tI4l07 ✦Apple Books https://apple.co/2sUEguf ✦B&N http://bit.ly/2sRkmQV ✦Google Play http://bit.ly/2sQKECQ ✦Kobo http://bit.ly/2sS1HEJ

Add FALLEN STAR to Goodreads now: http://bit.ly/2sRkm3n

Read an Excerpt from FALLEN STAR:

Tuesday they were shooting on location in Jackson Square all day. The call time was two hours before dawn, so they could wring every second of sunlight out of the day, and Grace could not stop yawning on the transport van to the location.

“Wakey, wakey,” Scott said, leaning over the back of his seat to shake a plastic tumbler filled with something thick and green and disgusting-looking in front of her face.

“Ugh,” Grace grumbled. “Get that away from me.” She couldn’t help but smile a little though, even through her sleep-deprived crankiness.

An hour later, as the first streaks of light were glimmering in the sky above the river, Scott showed up at the pop-up tent where video village had been set up, and presented Grace with a white paper bag and a tall styrofoam cup from Café du Monde.

“For me?” she asked, perking up considerably. “Did you seriously walk over there and buy me coffee?” He didn’t seem to have gotten anything for anyone else. Just her. Her brain filed this information away to obsess over and analyze later, when he wasn’t standing two feet away grinning at her.

“Café au lait,” Scott said smugly. “And beignets.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Did you make one of the PAs do it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did it all by myself. And I had to take a picture with the employees, so I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do!” she said, beaming at him. “You’re officially my favorite person today.”

He blinked at her, his smirk fading into something else entirely. Whatever that expression on his face was, it sent Grace’s stomach tumbling into a free fall. Rather than examine it more closely, she focused her attention on the bag in her hand. Inside was a mountain of powdered sugar, and buried beneath it were three pillowy squares of fried dough. “Don’t inhale while you’re eating those,” Scott warned her.

“Not my first rodeo,” Grace told him, excavating a beignet. “Want one?”

“Noooo.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “I’m doing a water cut for that fight scene on Thursday.”

Right. He’d be shirtless, which meant the Abs of Glory would be on full display. Grace found herself looking forward to Thursday with a little more enthusiasm.

“Sucks for you,” she said, giving him a taunting grin as she bit into a beignet.

His eyes homed in on her mouth with laser beam focus. “That’s fine. I’ll just enjoy them vicariously by watching you eat.”

“Does this get you off?” she asked archly and took another bite. Scott licked his lips. “Not gonna lie, it kind of does.” Grace couldn’t help laughing at his retriever-staring-down-a-dog-treat expression, which led her to make the fatal mistake of inhaling with the beignet in front of her mouth. Coughing sugar out of her lungs, she clapped a hand over her mouth as a cloud of fine white powder billowed out in front of her.

Scott sidestepped the powdered sugar typhoon and patted her on the back, chuckling. “Told you not to inhale.”

About Susannah Nix

Susannah Nix is the author of quirky contemporary romances about smart women and swoony men, including the Chemistry Lessons series of romcoms featuring STEM heroines and the Starstruck series of movie star romances. She lives in Texas with her husband, two ornery cats, and a flatulent pit bull. When she’s not writing, Susannah enjoys reading, cooking, knitting, watching too much television, and getting distracted by Tumblr. She is also a powerlifter who can deadlift as much as Captain America weighs.

#book release #fallen star #susannah nix #release day #excerpt

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hayaisreal · 6 years ago

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sakura “sasha” vasilisa akiyama

iii

February 23rd, 2015.

1:34 AM PST.

They kiss and it’s electric, Harry gasping against her mouth. Sasha’s own lips, spit-slicked and bitten raw, split open in response, her taste on the tip of his tongue. It’s desperate and frantic, his body slamming hers into the door behind them, dark-stained wood rattling in its frame. His hands explore everything he can reach feverishly, tugging on the fabric littering her skin, seemingly far too much of it, suffocating them both. A seam rips with his uncoordinated movements, the tear of it echoing through the guest house presently sheltering them; the thin lace of her bra is torn open at the cup, and Harry swallows, feeling the point of her nipple pebbling against the pads of his fingertips when he rushes forward to touch her, pinching it with two fingers. She moans and the noise is like music to his ears. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes for the ruined garment, breath heavy, even though he really isn’t apologetic in the slightest, wedging his thick, muscular thigh between her two lithe ones. She rocks down against him, and though the thick denim he wears separates him from her directly, the thought that she’s rubbing herself on him still makes his trousers grow impossibly tighter.

Harry hadn’t anticipated snogging Sasha when Liam and Lily offered the two of them his guest house, but he can’t say he’s complaining.

“Please,” Sasha whines, voice barely audible between pants. He isn’t sure what she’s pleading for exactly, but he’s resigned to give her whatever it is she wants. Her hips pick up, thrusting, angling down against his thigh, and Harry’s tongue matches her speed with exploratory finesse. She’s dripping, already a wet spot formed in the lace panel of her knickers, and it’s seeped through the fabric and onto his jeans. The filthy sight makes him groan, though if anything, the noise resembles more of a growl than anything else. Harry’s dizzy, dizzy on the Krug champagne that had bubbled down his throat earlier, dizzy on the scent lingering in the strands of Sasha’s hair, dizzy on the way her mouth tastes. It’s all too much, a type of sensory overload he doesn’t wish to stop, and he feels her delicate hand reach between them, palming the hard bulge rutting into her stomach.

“Harry, y’feel so big,” she murmurs, tone alight with wonder as another whimpery moan slips out, high-pitched and louder than they probably should be, especially when Liam and Lily’s bedroom window opens directly into the courtyard in front of their private sleeping quarters. But that’s always been a turn on for Harry, doing what he isn’t supposed to, girls being louder than they probably should. Though it’s usually some fame-hungry groupie instead of another musician, his now technical employee. “Can’t believe you’re my boss now,” she adds, almost as if reading his mind. Her own fingers, shaking, timid, work on the buttons trailing down his tattooed chest. Once the fabric parts from his skin, her palms replace it, skirting against his abs. “Bet Jeff didn’t quite have this in mind when he drew up that contract for me, did he?” The contract she had signed more than willingly, Harry recalls, though he ignores the thought of Jeff, especially when it threatens the stiffy he sports.

“Mmm-mm,” Harry shakes his head, breathing deeply against where her collarbone dips and meets her throat, the gust of air it creates leaving goosebumps in its wake. He rips her bra the rest of the way off, torn from her frame, thrown casually over his shoulder, discarded, unnecessary. Like the rest of what she wore. He’s obsessed with her chest, mouth dipping lower, inching against the swell of her breast, tongue laving around the peak of it. Sasha grips the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer. “Dirty little thing you are, hm?” He inquires, glancing up to meet her stare in the darkness, the two of them bathed only in the fleeting moonlight filtering in through billowing curtains. “Naughty enough to get off on the thought of your new boss chewing on those pretty little tits, yeah?” His words make her moan and the sound is all the encouragement he needs.

Six hours earlier.

There’s something about Malibu that has always captivated Harry, even if Liam’s towering estate is technically nearing the Pacific Palisades instead. It’s the view that enthralls him most, a haphazard, careless sea he watches from a wrap around balcony, waves sometimes calm, sometimes not, crashing repeatedly against sand. Something about the repetition of the ocean’s cycle comforts him, the predictability of it, he’s sure. When everything in his life proves to be muddled by his destructive moodiness and the chaos that lies beyond his control, the ocean is a constant. So maybe he should be inside, socializing with Liam’s guests and entertaining, like he’d always been good at, but instead he downs the rest of his Krug and remains by himself.

He hears a door slide open behind him, though he doesn’t turn to see who it could be. He’s greeted by the sound of high-heels click-clacking against the pavement beneath the soles of his own Gucci loafers instead. “I invited her, y’know,” Lily moves into place besides him, leaning against the railing, sipping from her own pristinely waxed wine glass filled with Malbec. “Asked Jeff for her number. Figured she makes you happy… a lot happier than those other girls do.” Lily may have been quiet, but she was always observant, a watchful eye following Harry whenever Liam brought her in tow. And maybe, just maybe, she was better at reading his emotions than he was at hiding them. He doesn’t speak nor argue against her point, simply bathes in the timbre of her words and the silence that follows. She invited her, Sasha. He knew without even having to hear her name. His heart rate picks up, racing. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, but I’m sure the whole situation is intimidating. Her… that… guy…” Harry’s thankful Lily doesn’t utter his name. “But you’re a good person, Harry. Despite how hard you try to change that, you are. And I think you don’t let yourself be happy. But you should.”

Lily finishes her wine, as if the act itself is all the punctuation she needs, before turning and retracing the path she had woven only minutes before, leaving Harry to ponder her assertion.

He needs to fuck her. Immediately. Yeah, he liked taking things slow with girls that mattered like she did, especially when he hadn’t felt so wrapped up in another person in so long, maybe ever, but he didn’t have the patience for it, not when she was that willing and ready and his dick was as hard as it was. With her back still pushed up against the wood of the door and her legs splayed open for him to fit between, he works on unfastening the loops of her leather belt, yanking her patterned skirt down to her knees, past her ankles, her barely-there panties following suit. Her lips suck on his jaw when he turns to his own trousers, the sensation nearly derailing his current train of thought. It takes him longer to undress himself, tangled in his own jeans when they slip down his thighs, though he leaves his pants on, the front of them sticky with his own arousal. “How bad d’you want it, little one?” He taunts, rutting his hardness against her where the two fit together, the friction nearly too much and not enough all at once. “Gonna need to use y’words.”

Sasha gulps, nails digging into his taut shoulders, pinpricks of pain nearly as enthralling as the pleasure rocketing red hot through his stomach as she grinds against him. “Please.” Mewling, Saya lifts one leg to wrap entirely around his waist, positioning her center perfectly over his, like two pieces of the same puzzle locked securely together. She’s still wearing her shoes, platformed sandals that grant her a few extra inches and allow her mouth to reach his perfectly when her neck is slanted upwards, lips pouting for more. “I’ll be your good girl, make you feel so so good, Har. Wanna ride you and suck you and make you cum. Please, let me be your good girl.” She’s almost as skilled with her words as he is, like it’s a personal competition between the two of them, who can rile the other up more, and he swears, he’s met his match in her.

“Wanna be my good girl?” He asks, not expecting an answer.

Swallowing around nothing, she nods. “Please, daddy.”

He had never gotten off to the name before, but for some reason, coming from Sasha, he had never wanted to hear anything else. It makes him moan, a filthy, booming noise that vibrates through his ribcage against her own, shaking Harry to his very core. He relents then, unable to resist her begging, especially when she begs like that, and tugs his underwear off as quickly as he can muster, erection springing free from its confines.

“S’really big,” Saya speaks in marvel, irises wide and clouded with lust when she touches him, bare, for the first time. She grips him and moves up and down in slow, calculated strokes, spreading his pre-cum. “And pretty too. Cock’s aren’t supposed to be pretty, but yours is.” It’s like she knows exactly how to get under his skin, feeding his ego and forcing his eyes to roll back into his head.

“Up,” he orders, tapping against her hip.

“You sure you can hold me?” She blinks at him in question. He nearly laughs. Of course he can. But he doesn’t say that, only nods. Sasha follows his instruction, lifting her other leg until Harry’s fully supporting her weight in his hold with ease, arms wrapped around her lower back. She isn’t much, tiny and thin and lighter than some of the weights he can deadlift at the gym, and he feels his bareness slide between her wet, slippery folds, the sensation nearly too much.

“Y’ready fo’ me, pet, hm?” He pauses, sentence slurring with the thickness of his accent, transformed into something far more Northern in his desire. He tucks a loose, dip-dyed curl behind her ear, finger smoothly running against her curved, pierced cartilage. It’s a simple, modest embrace, one he doesn’t think too much of, but it shows his forethought, his concern. Harry wants to make sure she wants this as much as he does.

Though Sasha doesn’t answer him, instead reaches between them again and slips his hard cock inside of her, bare, without any hesitation. Harry nearly sputters, choking against her. He’d never had sex without a condom before, not when sex usually meant something a lot less significant and instead proved to be the greatest risk of all. He couldn’t be bare, not when he could barely even trust that his partners would keep his sexual tastes and impulses to themselves without signing an NDA beforehand, a precaution he hated but took every time. Every time except this one. Almost sensing his worry, she placates him simply, hushed. “Got an IUD. Can’t get pregnant.” The last word broken in two as Harry pulls all the way out before rushing balls deep again, hips snapping quickly, passionately into hers, filling her entirely. His minders had told him never to trust a girl with her own birth control, but like she trusted his opinion on Jeff, he trusts her. “Fuck. You’re the biggest I’ve ever had.” Another stroke to his ego that forces him to thrust in her quicker and harder, offering her entrance all he has, a physical manifestation of all his pent up yearning.

He’d wanted her so badly. And now he had her.

Two and a half hours earlier.

He sees her after she disappears for a while, an endless stream of legs prancing through Liam’s sitting room in her impossibly short mini skirt, and maybe Harry was getting considerably more pissed as the night wore on, but she kept glancing at him with that gleam in her expression, like a shared secret just between them, and he could hardly take her teasing any longer. He didn’t care if Drake was her boyfriend, or just some rich jerk she fucked. Harry would make her forget all about the wanker.

He grabs Sasha by the waist as she floats by, pulling her down into his lap with a shrill squeak of undoubtable cuteness, the hem of her skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. She laughs, hitting his shoulder with an open palm though settling into his hold quite effortlessly, neither moving to free herself from his grip nor shifting out of his lap. Rather, she nestles back against his chest. Her cheeks were hot and twinged pink and he’d noticed she’d been the one splitting those indulgent bottles of Malbec with Lily, and, much like him, had to be sporting a pretty solid buzz. Her giggles never cease as she shakes her head.

“You’re a real tease, y’know that?” She admonishes him, and he can’t help but to chuckle.

“I’d say you’re the proper tease, love. Do you have any idea how incredibly ravishing you look in that little outfit?” His thoughts worm their way from the deepest, darkest corner of his brain to spew out of his mouth now, of all times, but surprisingly, the girl in his lap, whom he’d only known for a few days, at best, was hardly perturbed any. Instead, her flushed cheeks darken further as she avoids meeting his eye contact. Harry had always been a big fan of eye contact. Saya could barely bring herself to look at him.

She clears her throat, voice dropping lower, for only Harry to discern. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Harry.” It’s a warning and Harry’s undoing all at once.

Laughing at his own joke before he even says it, he presses his face closer, releasing the words into her hair. “Promise, love, I definitely’ll be able to finish.”

He knows he isn’t going to last much longer, or at least, not as long as he’d like to, not when she clenches impossibly down onto his length, and the thought of cumming too soon nearly kills him. Harry doesn’t relent his movements though, instead holding onto Sasha tighter as he fucks her against the guest house’s front door, one hand gripping the cheek of her ass and the other slowly wrapping punishingly around her neck. He isn’t sure why he does it, fingers pressing into her jugular, tight enough to force the air out of her, just the way she had begged him too. He had never done it before, never gotten off to the idea of choking someone like he was now, but the sight of Sasha, breathless, urgent, calling him ‘Daddy,’ rushes him faster and faster over the deep end. She begins to cum first, catching him off guard, her body twitching beyond her control with the force of her orgasm ripping through her nerve endings from head to toe. Harry releases her neck, instead tracing figure eights against her sensitive clit. “Feel good, yeah? Your little cunt’s gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak m’cock and make me all filthy?” He hums.

She’s panting, wheezing as he works her through her pleasure before she speaks again, egging him on. “Yes, daddy. Want you to cum too. Wanna feel it in me. Please.”

And Harry, ever the gentleman, could hardly say no to that, not when she asks so nicely. He mashes their lips together, a sorry excuse for a kiss but one that suffices the need for one in the heat of the movement. “Love a little girl with manners,” he growls against her lips before releasing inside of her, a thick stream of cum that makes her feel impossibly full, all of him, like he was breeding her. He knows she can’t get pregnant, but even just the idea of it makes his dick twitch from its place within her.

They’re silent for a spell, Harry still supporting her weight propped against the door before she speaks, fingers carding through his hair. “Don’t think I ever came so hard before.”

He laughs. “Me neither.” Moving, he slips from inside of her and watches as his release drips down her thighs. The sight nearly gets him hard again.

“You’re amazing,” he mutters, offering her a concise peck. “And I think you’ve got me pussy-whipped.”

She grins back up at him. “As it should be.”

#saya 2.0 story III #smut #lmfao

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morningmindsetpodcast-blog · 6 years ago

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MM091 - Who is Your Spotter?

The term “spotter” in the fitness world means to have a person to help you lift the weight. If you are under a heavy bar on the bench you need a spotter to keep you safe in case your muscles fail. When do you need a spotter? When it is easy or when it is hard?

Episode Transcription

[INTRO]

♫ Trenches by Pop Evil ♫

*Alex*

Welcome to Morning Mindset. A daily dose of practical wit and wisdom with a professional educator & trainer, Amazon best selling author, United States Marine, Television and Radio host, Paul G. Markel. Each episode will focus on positive and productive ways to strengthen your mindset, and help you improve your relationships, career goals, and overall well-being. Please welcome your host; Paul G. Markel.

*Professor Paul*

Hello and welcome back, and I've got a question for you guys out there. How many of you are still thinking about the glass half empty/glass half-full analogy that I made yesterday? How many of you shared it with somebody else and it broke their chi, and they're like “that's, that's different, from what I've been hearing my whole life. I cannot accept that” or maybe they did.

Either way, we're going to continue on with Morning Mindset, and once again, thank you for sharing this episode. Thank you for sharing this show with other people that you feel May benefit from it, and Thank you, once again to my producer Zachary who takes the audio recording that I do in the studio, and he puts it all together with the intro music and the outro music and he puts it on the interwebs out there in in the cloud so that all you guys can hear it. If it wasn't for my producer Zachary, you wouldn't be able to hear any of this. (Awww, thanks)

Thank you Zachary for making this actually happen. Otherwise, I’d just be a guy sitting in a padded room talking into a microphone. “Who is your Spotter?”, and you say “Paul, I'm not like you, I don't lift weights and stuff and I don't need a spotter. I don't need a spotter.” Okay. Well a spotter, in case you don't know, most of you probably do, a spotter in the Fitness World means that you have a person to help you lift the weight or multiple people depending on the exercise you're doing but in the standard Fitness and strength training world, if you have ever been to a gym that had free weights barbells and a bench.

Even if you've never participated in yourself, I bet you that you were over there on the treadmill and you were watching the guys over in the bench press area and their you know working on their testosterone, and there's a guy down on the bench and he's underneath the a bar and then there's a guy standing over him and he's like “come on, you could do it”. But loud, obnoxious spotter's aside, why is that person standing over close to and over the other guy that's on the bench? Or girl or whomever and happens to be. Well, because of all the exercises that you can do with barbells, whether it's rows or squats or presses or whatever, the one that is the- or deadlift.

The one is most dangerous to humans safety is the bench press, and the reason is, and as you if you're looking at someone on a bench and they've got that big heavy barbell that's loaded with all kinds of weights and you can smell the test the testosterone in the air, you can smell it and you can hear it and or well if that gets too heavy.

And there is this real, real uh thing called muscle fatigue or muscle failure. Now the trick with trying to grow your muscles as you have to push them you have to push them hard. You have to push your muscles farther than you ever thought you were going to because that's how you make them grow, right?

I'm talked about this previously. The answer is yes ball that is how you make your muscles grow. You make your muscles grow by overloading them by loading them to the point where they feel as if they're going to fail and there is a very real situation where people can be on the bench and they are pushing the weight and their arms say no mas.

Their muscle say “no mas. I cannot push this up off of my body”. Now in most exercises, like I spoke of before, you can just let go of the bar or step out from underneath it and it'll fall to the ground and it'll make a horrible crashing noise, but nobody will get hurt, right? I mean if you're deadlifting and you can't get it up, you just let go and it falls to the ground.

Uh, you know, if you're if you're doing an overhead press and you can't get it you just push it back forward into the rack, or if you get to complete muscle failure. You just let it go and you let it drop to the ground. Like I said, it'll make a horrible crashing noise, but no one will be injured.

That's just some of the standing right behind you where they shouldn't be but for the bench, press what is very close to your pectoralis muscles your throat your neck. You're esophagus, all that good stuff. if you are underneath a heavy bar, and your muscles fail and it pushes that weight, gravity is always in effect pushes down on your chest, what happens?

Uh, you could die there have been people who have died because they benched real heavy with no Spotter and they got trapped under that weight. That's no good. Now who is the spotter in your life? I don't know Paul I can tell you who my spotter is. My spotter is my wife. Now, my wife has been my real spotter.

She's actually stood over the bench and helped me to get that bar off of my chest, but she isn't just the spotter for my actual physical exercising my wife who I've been married to for. Uh, well. Going on three decades now. We're coming up on our anniversary here pretty soon. Uh, my wife. She has been my spotter in life.

Now. When is a spotter needed. When do you need a spotter? Do you need a spotter when you're warming up with an empty bar? Well, probably not right. Do you need a spotter when the weight is light and when the exercise is easy? When things are going well and you're all jacked up and you're pumped up and your who do you need a spotter then?

Yeah, there might be one standing there. But do you does that when you need the spotter? No, you don't need the spotter when things are easy. You need the spotter when the weight is heavy when things are hard when that weight wants to crush you. That's right. The weight wants to crush you at wants to to push you down into the ground in the weight doesn't care about your feelings.

The weight doesn't care that your mommy and daddy think you're a special little boy. The weight doesn't care about any of that the weights going to crush you and that's why you have a spotter now does the spotter lift the entire bar off of you? No, the spider doesn't have to lift the entire bar.

And that was when I asked my wife to spot for me and she looked at the weight that was on this she I can't lift all that. I can't pull that up off of you. And I said that's okay, honey. You if my if I can't get it up there all the way if I get to that point of muscle failure or muscle fatigue. I'm not going to be dead.

I'll show gonna have you know, Oxygenated blood flow into my muscles. I just can't get that much weight. What you need to do is grab the bar and you need to remove maybe in essence 10 15, maybe 20 pounds. You need to pull 20 pounds of that off of me and I'll get the rest but you need to help me do it and she does and she has and for well.

Almost three decades not quite 30 years where we're pushing 30, but we're not there yet. But for the last three decades, my wife has been my spotter. She has been that person who's been there not when things are you know, I mean she's been there when it was easy to when it's easier spotter just stays off the side and looks at their phone and you know, listen to you grunt but.

When it's hard when the weight is there and it's trying to crush you. Do you have a spotter in your life? And I don't know who that spot or maybe maybe a best friend. It may be your spouse and maybe somebody that you have served with in the military. If you are a recently discharged military veteran or if you're still active.

There may be that one person that you know that you can trust to help that weight come off your chest and you're just going to have to uh, you have to forgive me for that because apparently my children need to text me while I'm in the middle of doing morning mindset. I didn't want to miss it.

So that's what happens. That's what happens. All right, ladies and gentlemen, I want you to consider that as you go through your day. Who is your spotter or better yet? Are you available to be a spotter from for someone else? Is there someone in your life that you see over there on the bench of life struggling?

Can you walk over there and be there Spotter and help take some of that weight off their chest? I don't know. I bet you can I bet you that you have it in you to be someone's Spotter. And if you have a spotter if you have a person who has uh pulled that weight off of your chest. Thank them take a little bit of time today and say hey thanks for being my Spotter and pulling that weight off my chest when was really heavy.

All right, ladies and gentlemen, we went a little bit long today, but what the heck I think you're worth it. I am your host Paul Markel and I will talk to you again real soon.

[OUTRO]

♫ Trenches by Pop Evil ♫

*Alex*

Thank you for spending time with us today. To get show notes, submit a topic request, for more from your host Paul G. Markel, visit MorningMindsetPodcast.com. That’s MorningMindsetPodcast.com. Please leave a review of this podcast on your favorite podcast player, we appreciate your time & effort, and we look forward to reading your honest feedback.

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