#meditation program for kids

[beuxwhoyouare]

Raised You Better

My son Jasper was a good kid. He was a star soccer player in school and got a scholarship to play in college, so I only saw him on holidays. I missed him so much and looked forward to our quarterly reunions.

Well that was until his most recent visit. He was being so distant and when I finally inquired why he was acting differently, he finally admitted he actually dropped out to pursue being a personal trainer.

I was shocked. He's always been a model child and did all me and my husband expected of him. Maybe it was all our time away working? Maybe I should've been home more instead of being at the lab. It felt like a punch in the gut. I mean sure he knew what he was doing thanks to all his time training for soccer but that's not a way to build a life?

My husband and I did it right. We met in college and supported each other through our advanced degrees and worked our way up in an international pharmaceutical company. Personal training is just so...surface level. He's supposed to be better than us. That's what you want for your children. No no no this is no good. I'll have to set him on the right path.

I knew of a special program at work that was rooted in natural medicine and meditation with a mad science twist. I set up Jasper with the "Sports Nutrition" department at work but it was actually our new experiment. It looked like a TENS muscle stimulator on crack. Several wires shot out of a relatively large dark grey box with a screen and several sliders on one side. I sat connected on the other side of the wall connected with the pads all over the top of my head. All I had to do was wait for Jasper to get hooked up. We sold it to him as a scientific way to curb cravings for sweets and unhealthy things, like an ozempic shot for the brain. In reality, I was told that the machine would take positive attributes from one source and strengthen them in the weaker mind.

I saw the lights flicker and anticipated that he had already been hooked up to the machine. I just laid back and rested while focusing on the importance of getting a quality education. Eventually, I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again it was all so groggy. But I was sitting facing the opposite direction. I lifted my arms to wipe my eyes and gasped when I looked down. My boobs were gone and replaced with sizable mounds of muscle escaping a tiny white tank top. My arms and thick thighs now filled with tattoos....no?! This isn't supposed to be how it works

I told the lab techs who I am and that I was actually Meredith. They both looked at each other spooked but judiciously jotting down notes. After answering a few security questions, they agreed to believe that I was indeed not Jasper and it must be an unforseen side effect from the treatment.

That's when they explained the problem....When my body woke up, it also said it was Meredith. Could the experiment have basically overwritten the memory of my son with my own? I felt like I basically killed my own child. Grief swept over me. But then so did a bravado, a confidence, a giddiness? The two lab techs handed me a towel as they shyly avoided looking down at a tent forming in my shorts. Oh I guess the excitement led to a physical response.

In theory I get it as a scientist. I did in fact instill positive traits on my son. Granted, that also erased him seemingly. But also it's a chance at a new life full of new experiences. I'm a man now. And what a man indeed. I walked into the shower facility at the lab. I took off the outfit Jasper donned to the lab, if I was still a woman it'd be called skimpy and slutty. Tiny shorts with underwear built in and a virtually see through tank top. In two swift moves, I had taken everything off. I had seen my son naked as a child but this is different. He looked so much like his father....well I guess I looked so much like MY dad now. His genetics graced me well as I placed one hand on my pecs and another on my new dick. I squeezed both recoiling from the newfound pleasure. This was wrong right? Like I shouldn't be doing this....I felt disgusted with myself. No. This is for the betterment of Jasper's life. I'm going to let go of my past life....I'm Jasper now.

And what a life it will be. Years of playing sport and training, whew. I wasn't going to let him throw it away, I'll let it be a side job, maybe I'll own a business with a bunch of trainers under me but I won't be hustling like that. Not yet. I gotta learn the new me. I used my hands to trace the curves of each new tattoo, then moved on to each muscle. I poked and prodded before squeezing, then I remembered I had business to attend to. I took one hand and gently took hold of the warm fleshy rod under the steamy water pulsing down onto me. I pumped back and forth for a few minutes. Jasper was not sensitive at all...I shoved aside my reservations and gripped myself firmer and began jerking harder and faster. Eventually I introduced my other hand....oh he was girthy in the best way. I mean I am thick in the best ways. Harder and faster, it felt like I was floating outside of myself as my muscles took over almost like autopilot.

The steam radiated off my new musculature when it felt like I saw a flash of light. Shot after shot came out of my new rod. The lab walls had likely never seen a show like this but I was happy to christen them. The autopilot kinky thoughts continued to take over my new mind and body. I squatted down an licked the nearest wall as my cum dripped down. I knew Jasper was queer but I didn't know how he would respond to this kind of kink. I think he was a little freak because there was not one single butterfly in my stomach from this action. I quickly toweled off and headed to my apartment. I figured "Meredith" could find her way home.

The apartment smelled like a young male in college. A musk twirled around sweat and strong cologne. Foreign to me, but familiar to my new body. I couldn't control myself and ripped my clothes off...literally. My strength made it obscenely easy to tear them off in ways they weren't intended to. I wanted to try on all my new clothes. This body made everything look good.

My phone buzzed. It was one of "my" bros asking if I was coming down to the shoot. I played it off like I forgot and asked him to send me the "deets" again.

I threw on the nearest random shirt and bottoms and made my way to the warehouse address given. I guess "I" had agreed to help with the photoshoot to launch "our" new clothing line. A nearby table had Jasper's name on it and I quickly assumed the position taking off all my clothes and putting the skimpy clothing on. I channeled my new swagger as my bros began taking pics.

Oh I think I'm gonna like this. Hopefully I can find a cute twink or something soon. I really wanna put these thighs to work plowing someone's son or two.

[ghstyles]

I quit | Windows facing

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You try a 30-meditation challenge.Keyword: Try

Windows Facing Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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You sit cross-legged on your yoga mat, positioned perfectly in the center of your room. Soft morning light filters through your curtains as you adjust your posture, rolling your shoulders back and placing your hands gently on your knees. Your laptop is open in front of you, and the YouTube video "30 Days of Mindfulness Challenge: Day 1" is ready to play.

You take a deep breath. This semester has been overwhelming. Between your research project, your part-time job at the campus bookstore, and the constant distraction of a certain British frat boy across the window, your stress levels have reached an all-time high. Your psychology professor suggested mindfulness meditation, and you, ever the dedicated student, committed to the full 30-day program.

"Okay," you murmured to yourself, pressing play on the video. "New day, new mindset."

The soothing voice of the meditation instructor fills your apartment: "Welcome to Day One of your mindfulness journey. Find a comfortable seated position and close your eyes. We'll begin with three deep breaths to center ourselves..."

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. The tension in your shoulders begins to release as you focus on your breath. In...out...in...

Suddenly, the opening beats of "Eye of the Tiger" blast through your walls, so loud it feels like the speakers are in your apartment.

Your eyes snap open. "You've got to be kidding me."

The meditation instructor continues calmly: "Let distractions float by like clouds in the sky..."

But the music only gets louder, accompanied now by rhythmic thumping. You rise from your mat and storm to the window, yanking it open.

Across the gap, Harry's window is wide open, the source of the deafening music immediately apparent. Harry himself is on the floor, performing push-ups in nothing but basketball shorts, his back muscles flexing with each movement. He's counting loudly, perfectly in sync with the music.

"Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! THIRTY!" he shouts, jumping to his feet and raising his arms in victory, sweat glistening on his bare torso.

"STYLES!" you yell over the music. "Some people are trying to have a moment of peace around here!"

Harry spins around, not the least bit surprised to see you. He grins, reaching for a water bottle and taking a long drink, his throat working as he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before sauntering to the window.

"Morning, sunshine! Beautiful day for some personal growth, isn't it?" he calls, turning down the music slightly—but only slightly.

You gesture to your yoga mat, visible behind you. "I'm trying to meditate! Can you please turn that down?"

Harry leans against his window frame, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Meditation? You? The girl who color-codes your planner and drinks three espresso shots before 9 AM?"

"Yes, me," you say defensively. "It's good for stress management."

"Know what else is good for stress?" Harry asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "A good workout. Care to join me? I've got five more sets to go."

"I have my own stress management plan, thank you," you reply primly, though your eyes briefly trace the defined lines of his abs before darting back to his face.

"Suit yourself," he shrugs, reaching for his phone. "But fair warning, next up is 'We Will Rock You.' Great for squat jumps."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Can you just... wait thirty minutes? Please? I just need half an hour of quiet."

Harry studies you for a moment, his expression softening slightly at the genuine frustration in your voice. "Tell you what. I'll postpone my workout IF you have dinner with me Friday."

"That's extortion," you argue.

"That's negotiation," he corrects with a dimpled smile. "Thirty minutes of silence for two hours in your company. I'd say you're getting the better deal."

From your laptop, the meditation instructor's voice floats through: "If you find your mind wandering, gently guide it back to your breath..."

You sigh in defeat. "Fine. One dinner. But a real restaurant, not the frat house kitchen or a drive-through."

"Yes!" Harry pumps his fist victoriously. "You won't regret it, psychology girl. I clean up nice."

"Thirty minutes," you remind him firmly. "Starting now."

Harry makes a show of turning his music off completely, then places a finger to his lips. "Your zen awaits, princess."

You close your window and return to your mat, pressing rewind on the video. As you settle back into position, you can't help but notice that Harry has indeed gone quiet, but you can still see him through the window, now doing silent push-ups while occasionally glancing up at you with that infuriating smirk.

You close your eyes, determined to focus, but the lingering image of his shirtless form proves far more distracting than any music could have been.

Day 2 of the mindfulness challenge finds you better prepared. You've chosen early afternoon for your meditation session, a time when Harry typically has classes. Your yoga mat is positioned facing away from the window, and you've added a small essential oil diffuser that fills the room with a lavender scent.

"Welcome to Day Two," the instructor says soothingly. "Today we'll focus on mindful awareness of our surroundings..."

You follow along, eyes closed, focusing on the sensations around you. The soft mat beneath you, the gentle whir of the diffuser, the distant sounds of campus life outside.

For fifteen blissful minutes, you manage to maintain your focus, feeling a genuine sense of calm beginning to take root.

Then comes the knock at your door—three rapid taps followed by two slower ones. Harry's signature knock.

You consider ignoring it, but the knocking continues, growing more insistent.

"One moment," you call to the empty room, pausing the video with a sigh.

When you open the door, Harry stands there with an oversized shopping bag and a self-satisfied grin. He's dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his curls slightly damp as if he's just showered.

"Special delivery for the zen master," he announces, holding up the bag.

You lean against the doorframe, blocking his entry. "I'm in the middle of something, Styles."

"Your meditation thing, I know," he says, surprising you. "That's why I brought this."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a large scented candle in a decorative jar. The label reads "Inner Peace" in flowing script.

"Found it at that hippie shop downtown," he explains, holding it out to you. "The lady said it's got essential oils for tranquility and focus. Thought it might help with your... journey."

You take the candle, genuinely touched by the gesture despite yourself. "You bought me a meditation candle?"

"Well, after I so rudely interrupted yesterday, it seemed only fair," he admits with a shrug that's almost your pish. "Plus, I'm looking forward to Friday, and I figured a relaxed you is a you who won't bail on dinner."

You examine the candle, a small smile playing on your lips. "This is... actually really thoughtful, Harry."

"Don't sound so surprised," he says, leaning against your doorframe, mirroring your posture. "I can be thoughtful. When properly motivated."

Their eyes meet, and something shifts in the air between them—a moment of genuine connection that makes your heartbeat a little faster.

You clear your throat. "Well, thank you. I should get back to my practice."

"Right, of course," Harry says, straightening up. "Enjoy your... mindfulness."

He turns to leave but pauses. "Oh, and just so you know—I've got band practice with the lads tonight in Zayn's room. It's on the other side of the house, so you should have peace and quiet."

"You didn't have to tell me that," you point out.

Harry grins, dimples appearing. "Thoughtful, remember? I'm turning over a new leaf."

"We'll see how long that lasts," you tease, but there's no bite in your words.

As you close the door, you place the candle on your coffee table and return to your mat. You restarted the video, but your focus has shifted. The candle catches your eye repeatedly, and with it, thoughts of Harry and their upcoming dinner keep floating through your mind.

So much for mindful awareness.

Days 3 and 4 of the mindfulness challenge go no better.

On Day 3, you tried meditating at sunset, lighting Harry's candle, and setting the mood perfectly. You make it twenty minutes into the session when a water balloon sails through your partially open window, missing you by inches but splattering water across your floor. From outside, you hear Louis shout, "Sorry, you! Aimed for Harry's window!"

The ensuing water balloon fight between the frat houses effectively ends any chance of finding your inner peace.

Day 4 is your breaking point. Determined to succeed, you wake up at 5:30 AM, certain that not even frat boys would be awake at such an hour. You set up your mat, start the video, and close your eyes.

Three minutes in, your phone buzzes with a text. Despite your resolve to ignore distractions, the repeated buzzing eventually wears you down. You grab your phone to silence it and see multiple messages from Harry:

Harry: Morning sunshine

Harry: I see your light is on

Harry: Are you meditating again?

Harry: I'm making coffee if you want some

Harry: Hello?

Harry: Don't ignore me I'm bored

Harry: Did you know the average person can't meditate for more than 10 minutes their first week?

Harry: I just made that up but it sounds true

Harry: Y/N

Harry: Y/N

Harry: Y/NNNNN

With a growl of frustration, you type back:

You: I'M TRYING TO MEDITATE

His response is immediate:

Harry: I knew you'd answer 😏 So dinner tomorrow still on?

You throw your phone onto the couch and collapse backward onto your yoga mat, staring at the ceiling in defeat. The meditation instructor continues to speak soothingly about "letting go of attachments" while you contemplate the many ways you could murder Harry Styles and make it look like an accident.

Later that afternoon, Harry spots you leaving your building and jogs to catch up.

"Hey! How's the meditation challenge going?" he asks, falling into step beside you.

You give him a withering look. "I quit."

"After only four days?" he asks, looking genuinely disappointed. "But you never quit anything."

"Well, I've never had to meditate with the human equivalent of a car alarm living next door," you retorted, though there's more resignation than anger in your voice.

Harry runs a hand through his curls, looking uncharacteristically contrite. "Was I really that bad?"

"You were...distracting," you admit, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "But it's fine. Meditation isn't for everyone."

"Maybe you just need a better teacher," Harry suggests, brightening suddenly. "My mum's really into yoga and mindfulness. You taught me a few techniques that actually helped with my pre-show nerves for band performances."

You stop walking, turning to look at him with surprise. "You know how to meditate?"

"Don't look so shocked," he laughs. "I contain multitudes, psychology girl."

"So all this time you were sabotaging my meditation attempts, you actually knew how to do it properly?" you ask incredulously.

Harry has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "I wasn't sabotaging...intentionally. Most of the time."

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile. "You're unbelievable."

"I could show you," he offers unexpectedly. "The proper way, I mean. No distractions, promise."

You study him, trying to determine if this is another one of his games. "Why would you do that?"

Harry's expression turns more serious than you're accustomed to seeing. "Because contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy seeing you stressed. Just...flustered. There's a difference."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

"I'll think about it," you say finally.

"Good," he nods, his usual confident smile returning. "In the meantime, I believe you owe me dinner tomorrow night. Wear something nice. But not too nice. You always look better when you're comfortable."

Before you can respond to the casual compliment, he's jogging backward away from you. "Pick you up at seven!" he calls, then turns and continues on his way, leaving you standing there with the distinct feeling that your 30-day mindfulness challenge has evolved into something far more complicated.

You pull out your phone and delete the meditation playlist, replacing it with a new calendar entry for tomorrow evening:"Dinner with Harry (NOT a date)". You stare at the parenthetical addition for a moment before deleting it, leaving just "Dinner with Harry" on your schedule.

Some things, you decide, are better left unanalyzed.

Seven o'clock arrives with you standing in front of your full-length mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. You've chosen a simple emerald green sundress that you'd like to think brings out your eyes, paired with comfortable sandals with just enough heel to be dressy without sacrificing comfort. Your hair falls in loose waves past your shoulders, a departure from your usual practical ponytail.

You apply a final touch of lip gloss, then step back to assess the overall effect. Not trying too hard, but definitely not looking like you just rolled out of a study session. Perfect.

"It's not a date," you remind yourself firmly, even as you adjust the neckline of your dress for the third time. "It's...dinner. With Harry. Who happens to be taking me to a nice restaurant because I was blackmailed into it."

The knock at your door comes precisely at seven. You take a deep breath, grab your small purse, and move to answer it, mentally preparing yourself for Harry's inevitable comments about how you look.

But when you open the door, it's not Harry's tall frame and dimpled smile that greet you, it's Louis, looking uncharacteristically apologetic, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

"Louis?" you ask, confusion evident in your voice as you glance past him into the empty hallway. "Where's Harry?"

Louis rocks back on his heels, wincing slightly. "That's why I'm here, love. Harry's sick, like, properly sick. Woke up this morning with a fever and has been coughing his lungs out all day."

Your expression shifts from confusion to concern. "Is he okay?"

"He'll live," Louis assures you with a small smile. "Though his ego might not. He actually tried to sneak out about an hour ago to meet you, fever and all. Niall and I had to physically block the door and confiscate his keys."

"He was going to come anyway?" you ask, surprised.

"Said something about making a promise to a pretty girl," Louis shrugs. "We put him on house arrest for his own good. Liam's force-feeding him soup as we speak."

A small, warm feeling blooms in your chest at the thought of Harry attempting to keep their dinner plans despite being ill.You quickly suppress it, adjusting your expression to one of casual understanding.

"Well, that was...stubborn of him," you say, trying to sound neutral. "But you guys did the right thing. He should rest."

Louis studies you for a moment, a knowing glint in his eye. "You look nice, by the way. Harry will be gutted he missed seeing you all dressed up."

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. "It's just a dress. Nothing special."

"Right," Louis says, clearly not believing you. "Anyway, he made me promise to come apologize in person and to, quote, 'make sure she knows I'm not standing her up, Louis, this is important.'"

The warm feeling expands, and this time you can't quite tamp it down.

"Tell him it's fine," you say, fidgeting with the strap of your purse. "He should focus on getting better."

Louis nods, turning to leave, then pauses. "He also said to check your window later. Whatever that means."

With that cryptic message, he gives you a small salute and heads back down the hallway, leaving you standing in your doorway, feeling strangely deflated.

You close the door and lean against it, looking down at your carefully chosen outfit with a sigh. The rational part of your brain reminds you that this is convenient. No awkward dinner, no pretending you aren't enjoying Harry's company, and no dealing with whatever confusing feelings have been developing between you.

But another part, a part you've been increasingly unable to ignore, is genuinely disappointing.

"It wasn't even a real date," you mutter to yourself as you kick off your sandals and head to the kitchen. You open your refrigerator, staring blankly at its contents before closing it again without taking anything.

After changing into comfortable leggings and an oversized Northwestern sweatshirt, you settle on your couch with a textbook, determined to make productive use of your unexpectedly free evening. But after reading the same paragraph four times without absorbing a word, you give up and glance at your window.

Check your window later, Louis had said.

Curious despite yourself, you move to your window and pull back the curtain. Across the gap, Harry's room is dimly lit, but you can see a shape huddled under blankets on the bed. As if sensing your presence, the blanket-covered lump shifts, and Harry's head emerges, hair disheveled and face noticeably paler than usual.

When he spots you at the window, he perks up visibly, pushing himself to a sitting position and reaching for something on his nightstand. One of those small whiteboards that are used for door messages in dorms. He uncaps a marker with his teeth and writes something before holding it up:

SORRY ABOUT DINNER. RAIN CHECK?

Despite yourself, you smile. You grab a notebook from your desk and a Sharpie, quickly writing your response in large letters:

YOU LOOK TERRIBLE.

Harry reads it and clutches his chest in mock offense. He erases his board and writes:

STILL BETTER LOOKING THAN MOST PEOPLE.

You roll your eyes but can't suppress your grin as you write back:

HOW ARE YOU FEELING?

Harry shrugs visibly before writing:

LIKE I'VE BEEN HIT BY A BUS. WORTH IT TO SEE YOU SMILE THOUGH.

The simple comment makes your heart do a little flip. You shake your head at your own reaction and write:

FLATTERY WON'T WORK. I'M STILL MAD YOU GOT SICK AND RUINED OUR DINNER.

Harry's eyebrows shoot up, and he quickly scribbles:

OUR DINNER? SO YOU WERE LOOKING FORWARD TO IT?

You bite your lip, realizing your slip. You consider deflecting, then decide on honesty:

MAYBE A LITTLE.

The smile that spreads across Harry's face is so genuine that it makes something twist in your chest. He looks younger without his usual cocky facade, genuinely pleased by your admission. He writes:

I WAS REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO IT. LOUIS SAYS YOU LOOKED BEAUTIFUL.

You feel your cheeks warm as you write:

LOUIS IS A LIAR. IT WAS JUST A DRESS.

Harry coughs into his elbow, wincing slightly, before writing:

PROVE IT. SHOW ME.

You hesitate, then write:

NO WAY. YOU'LL HAVE TO GET BETTER AND TAKE ME TO DINNER TO SEE IT.

Harry's face lights up at the implied promise of a rescheduled date. He writes:

DEAL. NEXT FRIDAY?

You pretend to consider this before nodding and writing:

IF YOU'RE NOT CONTAGIOUS.

Harry gives you a thumbs up, then has a coughing fit that makes you wince in sympathy. When he recovers, he looks exhausted, and you write:

YOU SHOULD REST.

He shakes his head stubbornly and writes:

NOT TIRED. BORED. TALK TO ME.

You consider this, then hold up a finger in a "wait" gesture. You set down your notebook and disappear from view, returning to your kitchen. Twenty minutes later, you're back at the window with a new message:

HAVE YOU EATEN?

Harry shakes his head, looking confused by the question. You hold up another finger, then disappear again. This time, when you return to the window, you have a small basket with you. You open your window fully and gesture for Harry to do the same.

He complies, looking curious as he pushes his window open with visible effort.

"What are you doing?" he calls, his voice raspy and weak.

"Since we can't have dinner at a restaurant," you explain, balancing the basket handle with a broomstick basket, "we'll have dinner at our windows."

You carefully lower the basket from your window to his, the buildings close enough that it's an easy transfer. Harry takes the basket with surprise, peering inside to find a container of homemade chicken soup, a sleeve of crackers, and a small brownie wrapped in plastic.

"You made this?" he asks, looking genuinely touched.

"The soup is from a can," you admit with a small laugh, "but I did heat it up myself. Very labor-intensive."

Harry grins, coughing slightly. "Chicken soup from a beautiful woman. I must be the luckiest sick person in the world."

You roll your eyes but smile. "Eat your soup, Styles. It'll help with your throat."

You disappear again, returning with your own bowl of soup and settling cross-legged on the cushion you keep on your window seat. Across the gap, Harry arranges his pillows to prop himself up, the basket balanced on his lap.

"So," he says between careful spoonfuls, "is this technically our first date?"

"It's two people eating soup in separate buildings," you point out. "I don't think it qualifies."

"I don't know," Harry muses, his voice scratchy but his eyes bright despite his illness. "Dinner with a view, good company...seems date-like to me."

"You're delirious from the fever," you tease, but there's no bite to it.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the usual tension between them softened by the unusual circumstances.

"Thank you for this," Harry says finally, his tone more serious than you're used to hearing from him. "You didn't have to."

You shrug, suddenly finding your soup very interesting. "It's just soup."

"It's not just the soup," he says quietly. "It's...everything. Taking pity on a sick guy. Not being mad about dinner."

You look up, meeting his eyes across the gap. "Well, don't get used to it. Once you're better, I'll go back to finding you completely annoying."

Harry's smile is soft, lacking its usual cockiness. "No, you won't."

The simple certainty in his voice makes you pause, because you know he's right. Something has shifted between them, and there's no going back.

"Eat your soup before it gets cold," you say instead of addressing his comment.

They finish their improvised dinner, talking about classes and music and everything except the growing awareness that this, whatever this is, has evolved beyond their usual antagonistic banter.

When Harry's eyelids start drooping despite his attempts to stay alert, you gather your empty bowl.

"You should sleep," you say gently. "Real rest, not just passing out from exhaustion."

Harry nods, fighting another yawn. "Will you be at your window tomorrow? Same time?"

The hopeful note in his voice makes it impossible to refuse. "I'll be here. With more soup if you're good."

"I'm always good," he mumbles, the medication Liam forced on him earlier finally taking effect. "You just bring out the bad in me."

"Right," you laugh softly. "Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night, psychology girl," he murmurs, already half asleep. "Wear the green dress next Friday. It matches your eyes."

Before you can ask how he knows what dress you were wearing, his eyes close completely, his breathing evening out as sleep claims him. You watch him for a moment, a tender expression you would never allow him to see softening your features.

You close your window quietly, leaving the curtains open just in case he wakes up and looks for you in the night.

As you prepare for bed, you find yourself humming softly, a sense of contentment replacing the disappointment you'd felt earlier. It wasn't the dinner date they'd planned, but somehow, soup at their windows felt more significant than any restaurant meal could have been.

For the first time since moving into the apartment right beside the Sigma house, you fall asleep with a smile on your face, thoughts of Harry, annoying, charming, and surprisingly sweet Harry Styles, following you into your dreams.

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Taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @toosarcastic03 @practistyles @sstyleszzz @sassamanda77 @wheredidmyeyesgo @pbandnutella @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinemaa @bethiegurl19 @spinninc @spargelhund

[daretoassume]

how i counteract my negative beliefs.

over the years, i knew that i had lingering thoughts and beliefs that did not serve me. so, at the beginning of 2021, i started doing shadow work, which was very scary to me because there was a lot to uncover. i began to understand that those beliefs were programmed into me since i was a kid. i knew if i wanted to create my reality consciously, i had to let them go and change those beliefs. i did not deny that i had those beliefs. i acknowledged them so i could let them go.

like i said, i did shadow work first (which i still do every year so that i am always aware and can self-reflect on what needs changing). then i started doing affirmations, visualization, and commanding over the years. i do affirmations every morning right after my meditation. i feel them as if they were true while holding my chest with both hands. i always do my affirmations in front of the mirror and look myself in the eyes. sometimes it ends up as a whole conversation of affirmation, and i feel good the entire day.

next, i did visualization. since i love to daydream, i took that as an advantage but with full control. so i visualize myself with my desires showing up and getting into the feeling. "what would it feel like if my desires showed up?" i would try my best to feel my imagination in all my senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch) sometimes it takes just a few minutes to get into that feeling but i stop right after i feel it, and continue what i am doing. sometimes i fall asleep while doing it.

lastly, there is commanding, which i mastered this year. since i have worked on my self-concept over the years, it is much easier to command my brain. now, if a negative belief comes up and i feel it, my body would fidget, and my leg starts to shake. the moment this happens, i always catch myself and tell myself, "hey, if this negative belief is true/possible, how come the positive belief is a lie/impossible when they are both neutral?" then i choose to command my brain with the positive belief or thought instead of being anxious about the negative belief. then the negative belief is gone!

because i am aware

that i have the power,

my imagination is real,

and i am deserving and worthy of everything i want in life.

if i understand those 3 things, then why choose to believe or have that negative belief? if i truly understand those 3 things, i would embody the feeling of my natural self which is my divine self. and if all beliefs are neutral, then i would choose to believe the one that serves me more. this is how i discipline my mind.

it's not about having no negative beliefs at all but having to counteract and always choosing what serves me more. my inner conversations are always me discipling myself and filing it with so much knowledge, love, and compliments.

"walk in the assumption that you are what you want to be. if you feast on that and remain faithful to that mental diet, you will crystallize it. you will become it in this world." ♱ five lessons: thinking fourth-dimensionally, neville goddard

you see, there are no "magic" techniques. it is only a matter of choosing the best for yourself. nobody will do this for you. if you are not willing to work on yourself, how will you experience change in your reality in ways you prefer?

[emeraldcosmos1]

Trigger Point

The first time Bucky saw you, you were chained.

Not metaphorically—chained. Wrists in steel cuffs so thick they looked welded from tank parts, ankles shackled, a thick collar at your throat like a dog. Your head hung low, hair veiling your face like a curtain of defeat.

“Is she even human?” Sam had muttered when they brought you in.

You didn’t flinch. You’d heard worse.

“She’s one of HYDRA’s,” Natasha said, arms folded, lips drawn into a skeptical line. “They called her Ghost Protocol. Only active when absolutely necessary. Operative-class programming. Brainwashed.”

“She’s a weapon,” Steve said quietly. “Just like Bucky was.”

“She’s more than that,” Bucky muttered. He’d recognized the blankness in your eyes.

He'd seen it in his own reflection for years.

It took Tony three hours to remove your restraints. Not because he didn’t have the tech—he did. But because your vitals spiked every time anyone got too close.

You didn’t speak. Not for two days.

You ate only when left alone, slept only on the floor, and moved like a ghost. Half the team stayed on edge. When Wanda passed you in the hall, she felt something that chilled her spine—a void, sharp and quiet and precise.

“She's like a blade,” she whispered to Clint. “Cold. Waiting.”

Then came the training accident.

Peter had been in the gym with you. The kid was enthusiastic, fast, well-meaning. He joked too much.

“You know, you don’t have to look that scary all the time,” Peter had said, flipping onto a wall. “We’re all friends here.”

You looked at him. Didn’t speak.

Then he shot a playful web toward your leg. It was instinct, a dumb reflex. He meant nothing by it.

But in less than a breath, you moved.

You disarmed him, flipped him flat on his back, and had his own web fluid nozzle pressed to his throat before Bucky tore into the room and shouted your name.

You blinked. Dropped it. Backed up slowly, your shoulders trembling.

Peter gasped and scrambled up, wide-eyed. “Whoa. Whoa. That was awesome. And terrifying. But mostly awesome.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

The apology barely made it past your lips.

You didn’t want to like them.

But Natasha started leaving tea outside your door. Steve asked your opinion on tactical missions. Wanda once found you meditating in the dark and sat beside you in silence for an hour. Sam invited you to spar, no holds barred, and didn’t hold back.

And Bucky… Bucky was patient. Quiet. Steady.

You found him on the roof most nights, staring into the skyline. Sometimes you sat beside him. He never asked you to speak.

That was what made you speak.

“You knew what it was like,” you said once, eyes tracing the lights below.

He nodded. “I still do.”

You nodded too.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling like a loaded gun.”

He looked over at you then, dark eyes soft. “That’s the thing about loaded guns. It’s about who’s got the safety on.”

The trigger came on a Tuesday.

Tony was giving a tech demo in the common room, joking, tinkering, casually logging into the mainframe to show Peter something about the new security matrix.

But then everything—everything—froze.

The lights turned red.

The voice echoed through the building: “Asset [REDACTED] identified. Protocol Black Lotus. Activation Code: 绿火.”

Green fire.

You dropped the mug in your hand. It shattered.

Wanda screamed—because your mind went dark.

You lunged.

It was fast. Too fast. You struck Tony first, palm to chest, repulsor shut down in one jab. Then you turned on Steve, heel to throat, elbow to temple, dropped him like a sack of bricks. Natasha tried to subdue you—she ended up slammed through a wall.

Sam took to the air. You brought him down with a cable snapped from a support beam.

Peter shouted something, but you didn’t hear it.

You weren’t there anymore.

You were back in the cold. Back in HYDRA. The pain, the ice, the needles.

Execute. Eliminate. Survive.

Bucky intercepted you.

He didn’t fight. He just stood there.

And that… confused you.

“Y/N,” he said, voice calm. “Look at me.”

You struck—hard, a knife slashing out from your boot.

He caught your wrist.

“Look at me.”

You twisted, slamming your forehead into his nose.

He staggered—but didn’t let go.

“I know where you are,” he said, nose bleeding. “I’ve been there. You don’t want this. You don’t want this.”

Your breath hitched. The blade dropped. You sank to your knees.

And then you screamed.

Loud. Raw. Gut-wrenching.

The scream of a soul tearing open.

When you woke up, your knuckles were bloodied. Your ribs hurt. You were in the med bay.

Wanda was beside you.

“You dislocated your shoulder,” she said softly. “Tore your hands on the walls.”

“I could’ve killed them.”

“You didn’t.”

You turned away. “But I would have.”

“You’re not who you were made to be.”

You laughed bitterly. “Then who the hell am I?”

“You’re our friend.”

The word didn’t land at first. It hovered, unsure, like a bird afraid to land on a wire.

But it was real.

Later, Bucky visited.

He had a bandage across his nose.

“Nice move,” he said. “Forehead to nose. Got me good.”

You didn’t smile.

“I don’t know how to live like this,” you whispered.

“I didn’t either. Not for a long time.”

You looked at him.

He sat beside you, glancing down at your bruised hands.

“You’re not the only one with programming. The only one who got used.”

“I don’t trust myself.”

“I do.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

“Because you stopped. Because you came back.”

You closed your eyes.

“And if it happens again?”

“Then we’ll bring you back again.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

Bucky wasn’t shiny. Wasn’t whole. He was dented, tired, scarred.

But he was still here.

Maybe you could be too.

Weeks passed.

The Avengers kept their distance at first. But slowly, trust grew again.

Tony gave you access to the lower-level labs. Steve invited you to train again. Natasha asked you to co-lead recon. Peter brought you snacks. Sam teased you like a big brother.

Wanda braided your hair one afternoon and told you that she saw something in you no one else could: a light, buried deep. Not extinguished—just smothered.

You began to believe her.

One night, you found Bucky on the roof again.

He looked over as you approached.

“No more triggers today?”

You chuckled. “None that I didn’t disarm.”

“Good.”

You sat beside him. Let the silence stretch.

“You said I stopped because I wanted to,” you said quietly.

He nodded.

“You really believe that?”

“I know it.”

You exhaled.

“Then I think… I’m ready to try again.”

Bucky looked at you.

“You’re not alone.”

And for the first time since you left the cold, dark halls of HYDRA—

You believed him. And maybe, just maybe—

You weren’t.

[rubysapphrald]

in the real world rey is a high school dropout turned mechanic being paid $6.50 an hour by a crabby old man to work in a shitty garage. finn works for an internationally large insurance agency and is contemplating becoming a whistleblower for the insane amounts of fraud that occur there but his bosses scare him too much to do anything until one day he sees some crazy muckraker journalist getting arrested on tv for trying to break into the agency and steal evidence of the corruption so then he quits his job and uses a chunk of his savings to bail the guy out of jail. ideally the jedi are like luke’s weird meditation group that meet for yoga in the woods and mostly live as luddites because it’s good for your soul or whatever. they used to have a summer camp program for kids but it has since been discontinued. due to the incident. kylo is the son of a politician and a former drug dealing nascar driver and was responsible for the aforementioned incident which led to him fucking off away from home at age like sixteen to piss off his parents except it’s been ten years and he still hasn’t decided between his two top permanent job options which are either becoming a contract killer or starting a twitch channel

[poddle99]

Sam! My boy! I loveee drawing him so much, these are his designs from when he was in the demon world and after coming to the human world. You know the drill. Headcannons!

in the demon world, Sam was basically a gladiator. Someone who fought other demons and creatures for the entertainment of others.

this was mainly his father's idea. The demon lord was quite proud that Sam took on the most brute qualities and wanted to show it off. The demon lord challenged all who dared to try and defeat his third born son

Sam soon learned that loosing a fight carried some severe consequences, being starved, isolated and made to train until his body no longer functioned. Sam became basically conditioned to be the perfect mindless fighter.

Sam and Damien both have the most estranged relationships with their brothers, both having been isolated the most. They don't exactly bond over that fact but they do understand each other the most when it comes to being overwhelmed and put out by too much social interaction.

Once the boys get to the human world and Sam's relationships with his brothers start developing, Sam comes too deeply love his brothers. He doesn't show it a lot....or at all most of the time.

BUT! he does love them dearly and is very protective of them. Luckily for the boys, he's not protective in the way that James tends to be. He absolutely does not try to stop them from doing stupid shit or acts fatherly, he does protect them from the consequences of doing said stupid shit. Either by lying, using his powers or just straight up punching someone.

Sam and James also love getting into arguments with each other. James loves it because Sam makes it very clear that he's smarter than he comes off and enjoys bouncing off of that. And for Sam it's a way to learn to deal with his anger without feeling the need to break out into a fight.

That's not to say he never breaks into a fight ever again but luckily for everyone it's usually with James and he can handle it.

Matthew looks up to Sam quite a lot and Sam likes to indulge in this admiration. Both giving Matthew tips on physical prowess and meditation. Sam can tell Matthew is easily frustrated a lot of the time and it makes him kinda upset, knowing precisely how that feels and not wishing it onto his brother. So all the things he learns about dealing with anger and frustration he tries to pass onto Matthew.

After a lot of healing Sam becomes a PE teacher and counselor for troubled youth, setting up fitness programs and therapies for these kids.

[transgenderfabianseacaster]

hiding in the bathroom at my job and watching fhjy finale pt2 and thinking about what hobbies the bad kids do so. here you are

adaine: programming!!!! she also writes poetry sometimes. and she likes to research her hyperfixations and write essays on them (nerd /aff). also meditation, which she started when her anxiety was really bad and continues still even though she’s doing better in that front

riz: cooking, during the times he is not hyperfixated on his investigations (said times are few and far between, but sklonda and his friends are fighting the never ending battle of helping him not always be burnt out lol. which means they eat Lots of nice homemade meals)

kristen: she is the artist of the bad kids. her favored mediums are watercolor and sculpture. she has painted all the bad kids many times and her art is hung up everywhere in mordred and her friends houses

gorgug: besides drumming, he is always taking things apart and building new contraptions. he and adaine like to work on computers together. he also doodles a lot

fig: tbh her biggest hobby is writing/practicing her songs, but she also likes customizing her clothes and making patches and accessories. all the other bad kids have customized clothes from her. also skateboarding!! she does a bunch of cool (dangerous) tricks

fabian: i mean canonically he does a fuckton of expensive rich kid hobbies like calligraphy and glassblowing lol, and dance and fencing ofc. i think he also likes to try out his friends hobbies, so he’s adequate at a bunch of those things. except programming he can’t do that 🫶🫶

[hotvintagepoll]

Don Knotts (The Incredible Mr. Limpet, The Ghost and Mr Chicken, The Reluctant Astronaut)—Just look at him. He’s just a lil scrungly guy. Also he started entertaining as a ventriloquist, and there’s nothing scrunglier than a ventriloquist. In all seriousness, Don Knotts’ career is singularly unique. His speaking voice was iconic, and he used it to his advantage and played it up – see also the included YouTube link to his small role in No Time for Sergeants [link]. He not only played second fiddle comedic character roles, but also played leading comedic character roles. He didn’t need a sidekick for his movies but he could *be* the sidekick if needed. That’s key to Scrungly Little Guy™ behavior, in my opinion. Knotts undoubtedly influenced many comedians and sitcom characters in both his lifelong film and TV career – and I do mean lifelong, as his final role was in 2006, the year he passed away! In the 70s, he became a frequently used actor in live action Disney comedy films for kids like The Apple Dumpling Gang and appeared in many children’s programs. Knotts was said to be one of the nicest guys in Hollywood, which is important for Scrungly Little Guy™ lore.

Margaret Hamilton (The Wizard of Oz)—oh you KNOW she scrungled. and she has one of the top ten most beautiful noses of all time, in my objectively correct opinion. and look how her face lights up when she smiles in the wicked witch screen test!

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Margaret Hamilton:

Terrifying legions of children as the Wicked Witch of the West, sure, but I would argue that Margaret Hamilton was also Peak Scrungle as Miss Gulch. She also had a long career as a character actress, showing up with her distinctive profile to add a little zip to any film she was in!

was typecast in homely, shrill, and creepy character roles because she wasn't hollywood-attractive but was always so fun to watch

I feel like she's gotta be a shoo-in for scrungliness, but just in case people have lost their minds I'm submitting her. From Wikipedia, here is an intriguing meditation on the difference between scrungly actors and their scrungly roles: "When Hamilton reprised her role as the Wicked Witch in a 1976 episode of Sesame Street, 'the show's producers were flooded with letters from parents saying it was too frightening for children.' She appeared as herself in three episodes of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, between 1975 and 1976, because Fred Rogers wanted his viewers to recognize the Wicked Witch was just a character and not something to be afraid of."

Don Knotts:

TBH, I was first introduced to Don knotts in things like three's company, the og Scooby-Doo cartoons, and later on that Disney chicken little movie. He's probably most remembered from his time on the Andy griffith show. But just look at him! Don't you just wanna put him situations?

When you say scrungly his face is just what immediately pops into my head

Don Knotts plays in most if not all of his filmography someone who is kinda dull-witted, afraid of his own shadow, or kind of cowardly. He is the scrungliest of scrungly people!  

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

askbox said requests open so in would you be open to doing like Corrie guard x teen reader (platonic/familial obv) where reader is just a troublemaker? Any Corrie is fine

“Of Course It’s You Again”

Corrie Guard x Reader

“You’re banned from five speeder shops, two undercity hover clubs, and a noodle stall, all in the same week. Impressive.”

Fox didn’t even look up from the datapad as he listed the offenses.

“I can explain the noodle stall,” you offered weakly from the holding bench.

“No need.” Thorn leaned in from the doorway, smirking. “The surveillance footage already went viral in the barracks. Who knew you could do a somersault over a steaming vat of soup?”

“It was more of a dive, really,” you muttered.

Fox sighed and finally looked up, helmet tucked under one arm, expression unreadable except for the twitch at his temple. The twitch meant you were pushing it — again.

“You’re fourteen. You should not be on Coruscant’s lower levels alone, let alone swinging from fire escapes with a stolen repulsorboard.”

“I didn’t steal it! I borrowed it. Temporarily. From a rich kid who told me I couldn’t land a trick over an alley gap.” You crossed your arms and tilted your chin. “Joke’s on him. I nailed it.”

“Then crashed through a skylight,” Thorn added helpfully.

“Into a meditation class,” Stone chimed in from the hallway, holding up your scratched-up backpack like it was evidence. “Disturbed twelve people’s inner peace.”

“They weren’t meditating that hard if my landing broke it.”

Fox pinched the bridge of his nose.

You didn’t mean to be trouble. Trouble just seemed to… find you. Or maybe you found it, like some kind of chaos-seeking missile disguised as a scrappy teenager.

Your parents? Gone. Some Senate program dumped you in the Core with a half-decent stipend and no real oversight. Which meant you ran wild. And after the third or fourth brush with disaster — usually involving unauthorized tech or questionable shortcuts through restricted zones — the Coruscant Guard had become a permanent fixture in your life.

Oddly enough, most of them knew you by name now.

And, you had to admit, you kinda liked it.

“Alright, let’s recap. You: jumped a restricted gate, repulsorboarded through a construction site, outran local security, crashed a meditation session, and then somehow ended up hiding inside Commander Thire’s speeder. Which you locked. From the inside.”

“You guys leave the keys in the ignition,” you said with a shrug.

“You hotwired it.”

“…I was trying to turn on the radio.”

Despite it all, they didn’t throw you in juvie. Or hand you off to CSF. Or abandon you to the undercity. No. Fox made you sit in his office with a data slate full of regulations and a mug of caf you weren’t allowed to drink because it was “stunt fuel” for someone like you.

Thorn let you mess with his blaster (unloaded, obviously) while telling you war stories with just enough exaggeration to keep you fascinated. Stone taught you how to rewire a security panel without frying it. And Thire?

Thire let you ride on the back of his speeder once — one time — and immediately regretted it when you whooped like a feral Tooka and tried to stand up mid-traffic.

⸻

It became a routine.

You got into trouble. They found you. Gave you a lecture. Sometimes scolded. Sometimes laughed. Always made sure you got home — or somewhere safe — in one piece.

And somehow, you started sticking around. More than you had to.

Helping Fox sort inventory (“Don’t touch the detonators.”)

Racing Thorn to the mess hall for late-night caf (“You cheat, kid — I saw that shortcut!”)

Even shadowing Stone during his rounds like some kind of half-official, half-feral cadet in training.

⸻

One night, after a quieter-than-usual stunt involving zero arrests but one unauthorized rooftop laser tag game, you found yourself in Fox’s office again.

Only this time, he wasn’t reading you the riot act.

He was quiet, typing something on his terminal, before sliding a small holochip across the desk.

“It’s a training access code,” he said. “To the sim rooms. Restricted hours. You want to waste all that adrenaline, might as well learn to use it properly.”

You blinked. “You want me to train? Like… seriously?”

“You’ve got good instincts. And you keep not dying, which is impressive. Might as well teach you how to not die more efficiently.”

You stared at him, for once, speechless.

“…Don’t make me regret it,” he added gruffly.

“No promises,” you grinned.

⸻

Months Later

You were still a menace. Still pulled dumb stunts. But now?

Now you had a Coruscant Guard ID badge clipped to your belt.

Now you ran errands for the boys during shift change.

Now you helped calibrate stun batons for practice.

Now they called you cadet half-joking, half-proud.

And when one of the shinies asked, “Who the hell is that gremlin in the mechanics bay?”

Stone just shrugged and said, “Ours.”

⸻

It started, like most of your bad decisions, with a dare.

It was supposed to be harmless. A quick dash across a speeder platform mid-rush hour. In and out. Show off a bit. Prove you still had it.

Only… the timing was wrong.

A repulsor malfunctioned. A speeder clipped another, and before you knew it, the skyway snarled into chaos. Shrieking brakes. Flashing lights. Civilians ducking for cover. Someone got clipped trying to pull their kid back.

All because you thought a five-second stunt would be funny.

⸻

“You could’ve killed someone.”

Fox’s voice was low. Worse than yelling. Worse than angry.

His helmet sat untouched on the desk as he paced in front of you, gloved hands clenched into fists.

You sat on the bench in the guard precinct like always — except this time, your hands were shaking.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Do you?” Thorn snapped from the doorway, arms folded tight across his chest. “Do you really? Because we pulled a woman out of a pile of durasteel who wouldn’t have even been there if you hadn’t been playing reckless little kriffing hero on a skyway meant for high-speed traffic—!”

“Thorn,” Fox said sharply. But he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t, yet.

Your throat closed up.

You weren’t crying. You weren’t. You never cried.

But the pressure behind your eyes burned like hell, and your lip wouldn’t stop trembling no matter how hard you bit it.

You’d messed up before — lots of times — but not like this.

Not with people hurt.

Not with Fox looking like he didn’t even know what to do with you.

“I didn’t mean—” your voice cracked. “I didn’t think it’d go that wrong.”

“You never think,” Thorn bit out. His voice had the sharp edge of fear tucked behind the anger. “That’s the problem.”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt!” You stood up suddenly, voice rising in raw panic. “I swear I didn’t—I just—I just—!”

Fox turned. His face was hard, but his voice came softer this time.

“You wanted to prove something.”

You froze.

“You wanted to remind them — remind us — you could still pull a trick. Still cause a stir. Still be ‘that kid’ everyone talks about.”

“I just didn’t want to fade out,” you muttered, eyes on the floor. “All the regs coming back from the war, all the shinies taking over, people forget me. I didn’t mean—”

“People could’ve died,” Fox said again, voice tight. “You’re lucky they didn’t.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than armor.

Then Fox exhaled, long and tired.

He knelt slightly so he could look you in the eye.

“And you’re lucky that woman only broke her arm. That her kid’s okay. That we were close enough to help.” He tapped your chest gently with a gloved finger — not harsh, just firm. “You’ve got too much heart and not enough sense sometimes, kid.”

Thorn walked closer too, rubbing the back of his neck like he hated what he was about to say.

“We like you, di’kut,” he muttered. “But karking stars, you scared the hell outta us today.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare us for you,” Thorn said. “You scared us for everyone else. That’s what being responsible means — it ain’t about staying out of trouble. It’s about knowing your actions don’t just hit you. They hit everyone around you.”

You wiped your eyes before tears could actually fall, but Fox saw it anyway.

He stood and sighed again, this time with less weight.

“C’mere.”

You hesitated. Then stepped forward. He pulled you into a quick, solid hug — armor and all — and Thorn gave your back a solid thump.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” Fox said into your hair.

“I figured.”

“You’ll be doing sim-room drills at 0500 for a week,” he added. “And writing apology letters to the civilians caught in the crash.”

You winced. “Even the one who called me a goblin?”

“Especially that one.”

“Ugh.”

“Welcome to consequences,” Thorn said dryly. “They suck. But you’ll live.”

⸻

Later, as you sat in the barracks with a steaming mug of stimcaf and an ice pack for your bruised ego, Thorn plopped down next to you.

He didn’t say anything for a minute. Just nudged your shoulder.

“Y’know… some people would’ve run.”

You glanced at him, confused.

“After something like that? You didn’t. You stayed. Took it on the chin. Faced it.”

“…Didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“You did. And you made the right one.”

“…Does this mean you’ll let me ride the speeder again someday?”

“Don’t push your luck, menace.”

[avidhousehusband]

what are your thoughts on fiddleford and/or ford still being religious? I enjoy the idea of old queer characters reconciling with it, especially after the kinds of things they’ve been through

Ooooh here we go. Ok, so I've thought about this quite a bit. But i'm gonna try and keep it on the lighter side. Having typed this beast out, it's under a read more 😳

I think a lot of Ford's path with his faith can be attributed to this quote:

A little science distances you from God, but a lot of science brings you nearer to Him. -Louis Pasteur, Founder of microbiology and immunology

Ford went from a Jewish childhood, to an observant-for-the-sake-of-his-ma teenager, then a no nonsense, man of science who assumed there could never be an overlap between science and faith.

But after the Portal, after Weirdmageddon, after everything he's seen, I don't think he could really explain his full feelings on his faith. I think he keeps it to himself most of the time, except for late night talks with Fiddleford about it.

Because he's seen so many things he doesn't understand. Things that shouldn't be, but somehow are. And during his time through the Portal, he's realized how little he actually knows about-- Everything. And it makes him consider things.

He says he doesn't know what to call that feeling. But there's a part of him, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind that he's afraid to address.

And while I don't think you'd see him voluntarily attending weekly Services in person, I do see instances where he does go. But I think his first service back, that only Fiddleford knew about it. He was really in his head about it, and didn't want it to be a whole "thing" that he had to explain. He didn't want it to mean he was making any grand statement, or declaration of any kind. He just wanted to go attend a service. They end up going to the Yom Kippur evening service at a Reform Synagogue.

As a kid, everything about going to Temple was uncomfortable. He didn't understand what they were reading or why, the clothes were a sensory hell, he wasn't allowed to bring one of his own books to read, and Filbrick always tended to be more irritable than usual.

But now that he was grown. He was wearing clothes he could actually breathe in. He and Fiddleford sat in the back (because he wasn't sure if he'd actually sum up the nerve to go in if he went alone.) He mostly observed, mumbling through the prayers he could remember. But he was shocked to realize how similar to meditation it all felt (bc it totally is, dude).

And I think that after services ended, they both sat there for a while while Ford tried to figure out what it was he was feeling.

He still doesn't go to services every week. In fact he rarely goes at all. But when he's having a bad time (think 'hasn't slept, PTSD brain fog, and his executives have stopped functioning) he does go. It helps. He still feels weird about it at times, but Fiddleford's a good conversation partner to have. I'd like to think that the biggest religious display Ford has is a Magen David that he wears sometimes. He fiddles with it, which helps too.

Fiddleford though!

Tennessee in the 60s? The McGuckets were Southern Baptist, baybee. But I'd like to think that his family attended a rural church that wasn't in support of the, then in Vogue, "Jesus Movement", an outreach program that ultimately led a lot of young hippies to Christianity.

Fiddleford liked it, thought it looked loose and fun. But his parents, while not actively hateful, were definitely the brand of Christian parents of the time that believed "there was a right way to do things." That didn't include people dancing barefoot in the aisles at church. So they looked askance towards that kind of progressive Christianity.

So Fiddleford was a good farm kid, got good grades, then went to college, found BMU's Christian hippies and fell in with them when not with Ford. He met Emma-May through them and saw an opportunity to check that box and be a good son, and a good husband.

(If we're still goin with Trans man Fiddleford, which is my favorite, not much changes. But after the Supreme Court victory in 1976 allowing a trans woman to marry a cis man, he immediately got married to Emma May and moved to California so they'd be safer (and yeah Im going to ignore that they required full reassignment surgeries for that sshhh) )

He did his best, and was struggling with the classic guilt that one gets growing up in a conservative country church. Especially as a closeted queer man. He gets the call from Ford, drives up to Oregon, and bing bang boom, 30 year cognitive spiral that still found him seeking shelter in places of worship (I see you Land Before Swine).

After all's said and done, after Weirdmageddon, I think he spends a lot of time thinking about God. Especially in those ten months where he lived alone in the mansion. (I'm going with my fic timeline btw)

It gave him a LOT of time to think, and process. I think he grieved. I think he was confused, Angry. I think he went back and forth between apathy and pleading, confused prayer. But I also think there's ultimately still a lot of comfort to be found for him in faith.

I think on paper he goes to an in-person service much quicker than Ford does. He looks online and scours the county for the most safe, affirming, radical love church he could find (Cough* Episcopalians)

The first time he goes, he sits in the back and Just barely makes it through the opening hymn before he scrambles out the door.

It takes him a while to go back. But eventually he does.

And sure, after taking Eucharist for the first time in thirty-something years, he has a massive panic attack in the back pew and doesn't go back for 4 months. But he still goes back eventually. Not every week, not even every month, but he goes sometimes. He really likes the choir, and their priest is kind.

If you asked him about his faith, I don't know what he'd say. But I'd like to think he'd just shrug and carry on with whatever he was doing.

And uhh, the end.🤷‍♂️

This was super fun!! Thanks for the ask!!

[vlly-of-despair]

Ok but like, we need to talk about Alice and the ‘victim’… (spoilers for TMP)

I’ve been kicking around the theory for a little bit in my head now that the Magnus Institute program for gifted children is meant to find children who have an aptitude to act as conduits for the Fears via meditation practices that can transport their consciousness to the ‘Somewhere Else’, aka the layer of reality in which the Fears resign.

I made a past post about this, but for a summery: In the Magnus Archives, the Fears are described as gods from another realm, not necessarily from another universe, but rather in a different layer of reality we usually can’t see or comprehend, but can bleed into our world in the small weirdness of the statements we see throughout the narrative, and humans being able to harness gifts derived from the warped reality of these beings via becoming an Avatar. In the Magnus Protocol, people may channel the powers that may be from the layer of reality through becoming an ‘External’ or by an object, or environment. They categorize cases regarding the Somewhere Else as subjects being viabilities as subjects, agents, or catalysts (see ep 9 as an example of this cataloged on record).

Now, I personally believe whatever the Magnus Institute was cultivating, they wanted to specifically target areas of greater knowledge.

In TMA 127, John describes to Basira the ability to see into the minds of others as:

It’s like there’s a, a door, in my mind. A-a-and behind it is, is the entire ocean.

Before, I didn’t notice it, but now, I ��� I know it’s there, and I can’t forget it, and I can feel the pressure of the water on it… when I’m around p-people, or.. places, or.. ideas? A drop or two will push through the cracks at the edges of the door. And I’ll… know something.

Now both Sam and Gerard both applied to the Magnus Institute program, but were not accepted. When we saw the ARG Mag Testing sheets from past children’s names, as well as the criteria they ranked the children on, many being less so on their intelligence, but on their empathy, obedience, and conformity. So my best guess is that they find the most obedient children of high intelligence, those who may be able to harbor great ‘knowing’ and ‘seeing’ about the intellectual comprehension of most people, and that are apathetic enough to endure the possible… casualties tapping into the Eldritch horrors may call upon. Then they train them to become figures similar to the Archivist, but to the degree in which they can ‘open the door in their minds’ completely. This didn’t go so well… like at all… taken by the fact that the ‘protocol’ was enacted and the whole institute burned to the ground. Did they open a rift to this dangerous world? Is the OIAR fighting against those who try to push too much of these Outer Gods into our material world? To ‘see’ too much?

Curiously, there is a child in the ARG spreadsheet listing the children involved with the ‘gifted kids program’ with the name Connor Dyer, the same lat name as Alice. Many people, including myself, think this IS Alice and her deadname, prior to transitioning.

So, Alice was involved with the program, and her denial of the fact and urging Sam to stop researching the institute raises some big red flags. Where am I going with this? Well, if we go back to MAGP 15: WELL RUN, we see the victim that approached Gwen being compelled to spill out her fear as she is ‘drowning’ on land, trying to grab Alice as she whispers about seeing an endless, dark sea. Alice’s reaction is sooo interesting to me. At first it seems normal, she sees a dying frantic woman, reacts in panic and calls the ambulance. However, once she sees the tape recorder, she becomes utterly terrified. She says, “ I’m sorry, I can’t-.” And runs.

Alice, what about the tape recorder specifically triggered you so much? Is it because perhaps you remember this scene? Using a tape recorder, as a child in the Magnus Institute program, to document your decent into that same vast ocean beyond our world? Is if because if suddenly clicked what this is, what has happened to this woman, that she was compelled? That her thoughts were spoken with far more clarity after death because her corpse is being puppeteer by a power which unlocks the minds and fears of others beyond their mind alone? Why are you working at the OIAR? And why did you invite perhaps the only other person you know who could have the abilities the Magnus Institute searched for in youth?…

[oneatlatime]

The Crossroads of Destiny

Strap in folks it's finally finale time!

I'm getting a bad feeling from the 'previously on' segment.

*gasp* Song's bird horse!?!?!

Toph gets some serious speed with that earth tongue walking.

Ty Lee's flattery gets less and less subtle. I get the feeling that a lot of Azula's more worrying tendencies could have been curtailed if someone had stuck her on stage as a child.

Is Zuko taller?

The cuts between these scenes are getting ridiculous. Some of these scenes are maybe 15 seconds long.

Zuko knows what's up. He and Iroh have teamed up on that particular fire breathing party trick before.

"It's time I face Azula." Buddy. No.

"You're so dramatic." POT. KETTLE. BLACK.

The last time Iroh and the Aang Gang teamed up, it was also against Azula. She has a way of uniting enemies.

The longer I stare at this the more I giggle.

"Good inside him isn't enough. Why don't you come back when it's outside him too, ok?" Congratulations to Sokka for articulating one of the fundamental human truths. Intentions can go take a hike when all that's visible are actions.

I love that! Iroh says he brought someone along in a tone that very much implies that he asked for help from a friend! Then you go outside and see he kidnapped a dude! And then they just leave him there!

I see your fake meditation. No one as rotten inside as this guy actually meditates properly.

The Dai Li be like

Katara? Why are you ripping into Zuko? Why is Season one bitchy Katara back? I don't want season 1 bitchy Katara to come back.

"No offence." "None taken." Iroh loves his nephew, but Iroh knows his nephew.

The one time Iroh's advice is explicitly solicited is the one time his advice is corny crap. That sucks.

Ba Sing Se is a tel? That's neat.

Hey Toph? Now would be a great time for that new metal bending trick of yours.

Avatar inadvertently validating my fear of subway grates.

I know this is life or death serious and all, but isn't the Sokka and Ty Lee dynamic cute?

MOMO!

This episode's thesis statement boils down to "what happens when you cancel arts programs and theatre kids don't get a chance to monologue in controlled conditions."

Honest question: Is Azula actually so deluded to believe that Divine Right of Kings crap she just spouted, or is she saying what the Dai Li needs to hear to side with her? Usually I think everything out of Azula's mouth is a calculated statement for manipulating others, but the way the show framed that monologue makes me think she actually believes what she's saying.

This conversation between Katara and Zuko, aside from showing that Katara is as capable as Sokka at sticking her foot in her mouth, is actually showing Zuko's growth well. So many of the things that he waves away with an "it's ok" are things that would have made him explode back in season one. It's about time he redefined that scar of his too.

"Aang! I knew you'd come!" "Uncle! The fuck?" Zuko truly has a way with words.

Hey Iroh maybe save your heart to heart until after you've exited the prison?

Wait so this episode is named after Zuko's arc? It's Zuko's destiny this finale is dealing with? Poor Aang's not even the main character in his eponymous show's season finale? Dang.

What was I saying about waiting to chat until you're outside the prison?

So every word out of Azula's mouth here is definitely a lie. She doesn't need Zuko at all. She's got a whole army and already has possession of the throne. What does she need with someone she considers to be an inferior firebender?

Father's love? That guy who burns off faces? The audacity.

"You are free to choose." Is it really freedom of choice if choosing the answer Azula doesn't want to hear ends with Zuko in a crystal cage?

Gotta say I'm intrigued by how quiet Zuko's being for this whole episode. Compare it to the volume of his confrontation with Azula at the Spa place at the beginning of the season.

This is so awful. This is so skin crawly. This is so going to end badly.

Toph can turn doors into ping pong balls. I like that. And what does she need Sokka scouting for Dai Li agents for? She can sense people for miles.

I love the line read on the "I'm not leaving without Bosco!" But does this guy really think he's in a position to make demands, after all the stuff he's ruined in the last, what, two days?

This is a cool move. Full body air bitchslap.

Katara cut her hair! That's kind of like what she did to Pakku with the ice disks.

How has no one been knocked out yet? Everyone in this fight should have at least 5 concussions by now.

I don't know what to make of it, but when Zuko says "I have changed" he sounds more calm and confident than he has all season.

I love the dynamic between Sokka & Toph and Mai & Ty Lee. Everyone involved knows they're second string and no one's really that invested. So they're all kind of chill.

I don't know what's going on in this fight, but Zuko is far too talented and Katara and Aang are both going down too easily.

And this right here is why this fight is only going to end badly for Aang. As soon as Azula's tired of playing, she'll call in reinforcements. Aang doesn't have those.

I hate Azula so much, which means I'm very annoyed to say that she and Zuko actually make a good fighting team. Did they practice drills together or something back in the day? They way they tag out and back in, and exchange fights, flows so well.

Jesus

Crap ok

She nerfed him in the power up sequence! That's not allowed!

So help me god if the writers hook these two up after pulling this crap I will riot.

Iroh could have been helpful if he'd been there earlier. Guess it takes a while to break out of crystals. Although I do like the detail that he stops fighting as soon as Aang and Katara are out & safe.

I was wondering why the magic water was randomly brought up earlier after disappearing for the entire season. I figured it had been lost in the desert with the rest of the stuff on Appa's saddle.

I'm so sorry, but the way Aang's arrow flashes once to confirm that Katara's saved him makes him look like an external USB device confirming successful connection.

I'm loving how immediate the regret from Zuko is. Proof that he has learned over the last two seasons.

"The Earth Kingdom... has fallen." AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT? This King rubs me the wrong way. Consistently.

I'm fascinated by the fact that they managed to securely transport a bear on Appa's back.

Final Thoughts

Poor Aang has been demoted to secondary character in his own show. This finale was all Fire Nation.

Well done Azula. No matter which way you look at it, she won. If Azula was the main character, this episode would be the crowning glory series finale.

Sokka and Toph spent the whole episode running around putting out fires, only for five more to spring up in their place. I honestly don't know how they and Appa reconnected with the rest of the Gaang to fly out at the end. There's this feeling the whole episode of being consistently one too many steps behind, and I think it's most obvious in their incessant side quests.

Poor Katara went through about seventy billion emotions this episode. I take back my anger at her bitchiness. She deserved a vent session, although I don't think Zuko quite deserved to be the recipient of it. But he took it well.

Congratulations to Zuko for falling backwards into the only right choice for all the wrong reasons. This episode was only going to end with Azula victorious. She recruited an army and successfully executed a coup without breaking a sweat - that is not a level of enemy that Aang and friends has ever faced before, and not one they can realistically win against. Like with Long Feng, this is not a threat you can hit. You can't bend at ideologies and loyalties.

Zuko was going to end this episode siding with the Fire Nation as a free man, or in Fire Nation custody. This way, someone with an actual semi-functioning conscience now has access to the upper levels of the Fire Nation. This could be really interesting.

To be clear, I fully believe that Zuko chose to side with Azula because he swallowed her offer hook, line & sinker. For the guy who invented "Azula always lies" he sure does fall for her lies a lot, especially when she's saying exactly what he wants to hear. I believe Zuko believed her about getting his honour back bla bla bla, chose to follow her because of that belief, and has already realised at least some of what she said was lies by the end of the episode. Which is promising! It looks like there's potential for a Zuko mole next season!

I'm worried for Iroh. Firelords who burn their children's faces off with no shame don't strike me as the type to shy away from executing their brothers.

The Aang fakeout death at the end was not remotely believable unfortunately, mostly because kids' cartoons don't ever pull a Psycho and kill the nominal main character half way through. It probably would have freaked me out if I'd seen this episode as a kid though.

Azula hitting Aang during his power up sequence was inspired. A very well done subversion of expectations, which finally validates my frustrations with the concept of power up sequences in general. Few things bug me more than the mooks politely waiting their turn while the good guy does a quick wardrobe change.

So... is the war over? The Earth Kingdom's fallen, the Southern Water Tribe have been functionally out of the game for a while now. There's only the Northern Water Tribe left, which are only still standing because of a Hail Mary that I very much doubt Aang can pull off twice. So is next season's focus going to be defending the Northern Water Tribe from a final Fire Nation push? I think that's the only place that isn't conquered by the Fire Nation in name at least. On the bright side, this means the Gaang won't be returning to Ba Sing Se. Good riddance. I hate that place.

I've never seen a show with a finale that focuses so intensely on the conflict of someone other than the main character. I don't really know what to make of this episode. I think I liked the one before it better. To be clear, everything that happened made sense - characters were in character, events unfolded as expected (if you handwave an elite force of earthbenders preferring a 14 year old over their seasoned leader), but something about this episode is just a bit boring to me. Maybe they telegraphed it too hard in the previous episodes? I don't know. I'll have to chew on this one a bit.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

sinister thoughts @honey-minded-hivemind

--

Sinister simply hums, slipping Remy’s glasses off his face. His puffy eyes are no longer hidden, but Remy feels no shame for his earlier sobs. 

“I see. Well then, moving swiftly on. I need you to let me into your mind. You promised access to observations of the other mutants' training and power use. So clear your mind of other stray thoughts and being those to the forefront. Your stronger shields suggest meditation. Am I incorrect?”

“Non. You right. I be meditatin’ a lot. Helps with flares.”

Remy mutters at the end and then closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and then another. He pretends he is anywhere else.

…

Pretends that he is near Sabretooth or his papa. He feels Sinister’s mental hands, cold and coiling, but makes himself forget them. He focuses on memories of a training session, where Lance had a small break through and the pride Remy had felt as the kid started a earth tremor with very little strain. So little that it could have been easy to think Lance has nothing to do with the shaking. 

The memory is warm. Comforting. Then cold leaks into it, grasping tightly and forcing the scene to rewind and slow and focus on the actions rather than the emotion of the memory. It makes Remy feel hollow. Carving out all but the bare bones of the memory to be analyzed over and over till their is nothing left to learn and the once bright spark is now a dead ember. 

Then the next memory with Toad. Then blob. Then Pietro. Then Sabretooth. All cold all analyzed. His mind slips and he accidentally brings forward a memory of gathering in the kitchen, with one of Sabretooth's bloody kills laying on the counter as he and Sabretooth worked together to prep it. The cold seems to pause as Remy scratches Sabretooth's ear and causes the man to purr. Then Remy comes back to himself and shivers a bit as he sits on the table. 

“Victor Creed from the Weapon X program lives with you. Fascinating. And you are still in one piece.”

Remy pulls a face, a little disoriented and huffs.

“Sabretooth don't do nothin’ that goes against his survival or self-interest. I help feed him and he helps feed us, why would he hurt us? Hurt me?”

“Why indeed.”

Sinister says with a little look of consideration.

[neiviele]

I think Sophie is imagining a world where everyone is a tulpamancer or plural and everyone's getting along and the whole world's left-leaning, but what I think might actually happen:

Some people start freaking out about the dangers of tulpamancy; other people think "wtf are you on about"

Jaystation-esque videos where people try to dramatically impose their tulpas (they start meditating and then start screaming, going "oh my God I see it I see it")

Tulpamancy gone wrong (gone sexual) click bait videos

Outright discrimination of some people due to acting suspiciously plural

School fights where kids pit their headmates against each other

"yo man send Bakugo over to my system for a moment, I need him to help me pass this test" "that's not how it works" "yeah it is"

Articles reassuring parents that tulpamancy is a harmless form of roleplay that means nothing more

Psychologists touting the benefits of tulpamancy to skeptical onlookers

"Do you need tulpamancy to get ahead in the workforce? Ten reasons why having an alter ego can boost production in the workforce"

"Why tulpamancy is modern day demonic possession"

Tulpamancers invited to news programs and talk shows to talk about their experiences

Conservative tulpamancers who are pro-tulpa but anti-everything else

Or at least we're going to be heading there on the way to the pro-tulpa plural-positive utopia

[blackcatnip]

The blue sky in your eyes

Soukoku Ok, you know about when you are crying and it’s the most beautiful day outside, so you think like, “the sky should be as sad as I am”. With that in mind this scene came up, and it’s more of Dazai having that thought, and deciding to latch on another anchor to validate his mood.

Dazai doesn’t remember when it changed. One day, before he could realize, he wasn’t looking up to calm him down anymore.

It was a thing that had stayed in his body almost like a program inside a robot. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, trapped, or just wanted to be gone, he would look up. And see the sky.

It was a dangerous gamble. He knows that, but what is life without a little danger? Look up when you want to burn the world, and if the world apparently wants you to burn it too, it would respond with a shitty sky.

For some really annoying reason, it was rare, and when faced with the most common blue sky sprinkled with some clouds, he would just decide to lay down and do some cloud watching. — If sometimes he happens to be in the middle of the road, what can he do? It’s the system.

It was in that situation that Chuuya appeared one day. Thinking about it now, Dazai is almost sure it was then that it changed.

It was a bad day. He had fucked up, big time, he had too many subordinates killed, the drug he was suppose to retrieve was shattered on the floor, all that piled up, with the dooming notion that, on top of everything, he would have to report back to Mori at the end of the day. He was not afraid of the man, never. But, and with a lot of buts, Mori was his boss, and he, despite how Dazai hated to admit it, had power.

So he laid down, this time in a park, and looked at the sky. Cussing once more at the view of the overwhelming blue with those stupid fluffy clouds.

“What are you so angry about?” A voice popped up beside him and Dazai just closed his eyes.

“I’m meditating, could you please leave? It would be nice.” The guy just hummed at that.

“You fucked up real bad this time uh.”

Leaning on his elbow he glares at Chuuya.

“I did not. They were incompetent and now the one facing the consequences is me.” He groans and lays back down. “I’m here, alive, in the shit while they managed to die, how is that fair?”

After some minutes of silence he hears some shuffling beside him and when he looks over, Chuuya is laying down at his side.

“So? Why are we angry at the sky?”

“We?”

“I hope he didn’t do much, cause it really sucks to fight, the… you know, the infinity blue.”

Dazai chuckles. “You can attack it at night when it’s black then.”

“But I have to see to make it a good fight.”

Dazai looks up at a little cloud with a beautiful shape, he pulls his arms up and tries to grab it.

“I know what you are thinking, that does not look like a hanging rope”

“You are so mean, if it wasn't, how could you know that was what I was seeing, hm?”

“Because I know how crazy you are.” The boy puts his arms in the back of his head and continues to scan the sky. “You want backup?”

“For what? To talk with the boss?” He scoffs at that. “We aren’t kids being reprimanded by our fathers.”

He can sense Chuuya shifting to the side and staring at him.

“No, it’s worse.” He waits some more minutes and when Dazai doesn’t dare to respond he continues. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” At that Dazai looks at the redhead. And is caught by the depth of his eyes.

They are more gray than blue now, even with the sun right upon them. Somehow, that was comforting, to look at them and see something other than just clear blue. Chuuya seemed mad, probably at Dazai, but at the same time it didn’t feel quite that.

“Just a crappy day. It will pass eventually, like any other.”

“You can talk shit about crappy days you know? Instead of..” He waves his hand at Dazai. “Picking a fight with the sky.”

Dazai gaps at that and puts his hand dramatically on his chest.

“For your information, he was obviously taunting me.” Chuuya rolls his eyes at that. “He should be suffering just like me, with rain pouring on us, or with fog, or at least cloudy, this-” He points accusingly at the sky. “Is just outrageous.”

He sees Chuuya slowly getting back up and brushing off some grass from his clothes before walking to him and offering a hand, to which Dazai just glares suspiciously.

“You are blocking my view.”

“Come on, nothing will come out of just sulking in the park, the weather forecast says it will be a sunny day all the way up.”

“And what do you propose?”

“Get it over with and then, I don’t know, open a bottle of wine.”

“I prefer whiskey.”

“I’m not drinking that.”

“So you are drinking too?”

“Well, duh.”

Good enough, Dazai takes Chuuya’s hands and they both start walking to the Mafia building. Before entering he takes one more glimpse of the sky, and sighs, blue as always. And so he turns to Chuuya’s eyes that were already changing their shade again.

So much better.

[respocked]

I'm thinking about work anyway so fuck it

Star Trek Public Primary School AU 🛸 !

Kirk

-the headmaster!

-went into education because of his own unfortunate childhood

-has an uncanny ability to tell which student has a bad home life

-remembers everyone's name, even if you went to his school 5 years ago for 2 months

-misbehaving teenagers send to his office get some candy and a motivational speech that changes the course of their lifetime

-most days can be found hovering suspiciously outside of spock's classroom

-way better with older students, 12-13 - has absolutely 0 idea what to do with young children

-which is awkward when while waiting for spock outside his classroom he tries to make small talk with them (-so... son... read any good books lately? -i can't read!)

Spock

- teaches early education, 6 to 9 year olds

-greatly overqualified for the position, had a human psychology degree, interspecies child development degree, highly regarded in scientific community

-could be teaching university but prefers to spend his time sitting on carpets with children drawing clouds

-his class is extremely nontraditional - no desks, sitting on the floor, tons of meditation, classes in nature

-does not adhere to the program at all but somehow his classes always score the best on all exams

-turned down a position in a trendy montessori school for a public one

-parents either go out his way for their child to attend his class or request someone else - either from homophobic or xeniphobic reasons

Uhura

-the school's cultural assistant!

-also runs student exchanges with other countries and planets

-speaks every minority language that has representation in the student body

-also a substitute teacher

-she can give a super interesting lessons

-but takes 0 shit from students who won't respect her

-runs an extracurricular activity with spock when she teaches immigrant and refugee students to express their emotions with music

-is the best at pitching a project idea for funding, which is why her office and spock's classrom are the best equipped ones in the school

-spock's bestie, they hang out after work (gay/lesbian solidatity)

-still lives with her parents, they're super close

-wants to date but it's too boring compared to writing another lesson plan

Bones

-the school nurse! & in charge of nutrition

-teenagers are afraid of him

-small children absolutely love him

-takes his daughter to work and lets her draw with crayons on his important papers

-also constantly in spock's classroom, but to complain

-"damnit, spock! give them all the vulcan cuisine you want, but don't send them crying to me after they get an allergic reaction!"

-"meditation? maybe have them meditate on doing some real work for once"

-but when parents with pitchforks come to complain abt spock's methods he defends him like a lion

-he sends them piles after piles of scientific proof of why spock's method are actually the bestest and most efficient

-when kirk thanks him for stepping in he pretends like he doesn't know what he's talking about

Chapel

-teaches sex ed!

-the sweetest teacher ever

-one of those teachers that noone is intimidated by but noone disobeys because noone wants to makes her upset

-uses her Blonde White Straight Pretty Woman priviledge to convince reluctant parents to sign up their kids for sex ed

-goes All Out on halloween tho

-you know she is there, dressed like a witch, running an educational halloween themed activity! paper bats hanging from the ceiling!

-has gluten free and vegan candy in case the winners have a food sensivity!

-has a secret crush on Uhura and Spock both

Chekov

-teaches IT

-burned out miracle kid

-graduated university when he was younger than his current students

-lets students play roblox on the computers

-and teaches them how to torrent

-somehow noone from the faculty knows where he lives

-background check turns up nothing

-"did you know computers were invented in russia?"

-puts 0 effort in but somehow his students love him

-little girls take sneak photos of him to edit in a flower crowns

Scotty

-teaches a woodworking & engineering class and does janitor duties on the side!

-like kirk, absolutely 0 idea on how to treat younger kids

-strict

-has to be, no joking around power tools!

-but you know praise from him hits different

-will tell students he's proud of them when they make theit first little table

-can fix everything

-say "this interactive blackboard is broken!" three times to summon him

-marries to his career, teaching fulfills his paternal calling

Sulu

-teaches biology!

-rule follower

-stressed out about exams 3 years before his students

-not very inventive but everyone wants his class because there is a hamster in the classroom

-classroom full of houseplants

-if you agree to water them when he's away you will receive a 50 page manual on proper misting techniques

-not strict at all but will give a dressing down to a student who is seen treating a living thing badly

-can be bribed with plants