#so my advice is just to look inward at the feelings and motivations behind your choices and use them to decide if you want to keep doing it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kemimariesworld · 2 years ago

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12 house profection year journal entry #4

I'm currently sitting with a lot of insights. Some of them are ones that continue to rise over and over. Like the fact that I am different. That fact is a guiding principal in my life and I've worked hard to transform this negative core belief into a positive one. Being in my 12th house year, I am realizing a lot and while many may turn inwards towards solitude, this year thus fas is encouraging me to step outward with my true inner self. I've come to a sad reality that I have hid so many worthwhile parts of myself for majority of my life. The eccentric beauty and differences within me have been kidnapped by a quiet tone and societal standard driven attitude.

The Pattern App says "its possible people have no sense of just how unique you are because its so repressed. As a result, you may feel alienated and blocked from being yourself." And holy shit.

I'm coming into this awareness that many people know me as a quiet, introverted, to self person because I've held a repressed mask over myself since I was young. Some people just see me as a spiritual guide they can go to. Others see me as someone they only come to for advice. I haven't fully allowed myself to be alllllll sides of me. I've niched down and my platform has allowed me to easily do so, hiding behind my content and continuously doing what others desired from me. January 2022 hit me hard last year because "all of a sudden" (it was spiritual), I no longer wanted to do what I do. There was something missing and I couldn't understand until December 2022, the very last minute. But last year was the beginning of this unravelling of who I thought I was. This happens to me often, actually. Every time I think I know and I finally settle into something, spirit kicks me out. I'm coming to realize that I am not meant to settle or be one way forever. I am meant to grow and continuously change. I am not meant to get complacent. I got very comfortable stepping into the work I was doing, but looking back, I would've stayed exactly where I was at... doing the same shit and I wouldn't have stopped to intentionally question my own desires. As this 12 house year commences, I'm finally becoming aware of what ive hidden and thats eccentric, unique me. A me that my partner has brought out of me and reminded me of.

The Pattern App classifies this as "unconventional outsider" and "intelligent outsider." It's true. My entire life I have felt like an outsider. Starting from age 8, I always felt like I needed to prove myself. I thought taking the traditional routes and being the absolute perfect best at them would make me valuable. I held onto meritocracy and grind culture. I did it all, and even in trying to stick the standard... I didn't. I graduated with a Bachelors at 20. I started receiving college credit at 16. Started college at 17. I gave birth at 18. Even when I tried to be traditional, I still did it differently. However, I was always motivated by criticism, doubt, and feelings of inadequacy. This perfectionism led me to be an overachiever. As the pattern says, "theres always the pressure to be better and do more." Yet, it was never good enough. "This is the most painful part of the process: discovering that even when you exceed expectations, it won't fill the void and relieve the pressure you feel. Nothing external will deliver the self love youre looking for-- only you can give that to yourself." I never felt seen and I haven't felt seen until this past year. I never felt seen because I never even saw myself. I hid myself. People only saw what I can DO for them and I trapped myself there for a long time. For majority of my life, I shut down my eccentric brilliance and traded it to essentially dominate social standards and all of the spaces I enter, because I thought that would make me worthy, desirable and valuable. I thought that's how I could be seen and recognized.

But my path is to cultivate a sense of self worth that doesnt rely on outside validation and that means I have to operate from a place of my true, different self. I am coming to terms with the idea that being different and expressing myself in such a way... means there is no knight in shining validation coming. That comes from being me and loving me. I've been doing the self love work for a while and I truly do love myself. I'm at a new place now though: expressing my true self and taking up space. Not repressing myself. Not shutting down. not hiding behind anything. The self that I love? I can display. I do not have to compartmentalize myself just because I feel like others will be harsh, critical and judgmental.

My self judgment tells me that I'm too out of the box. It tells me I'm too much. It tells me I'm too weird for others. It tells me that even though I love these things about me, others will probably hate it so just don't share. When I do share, I often feel like people judge me harshly and hit me with criticism immediately. I'm not often validated in my eccentricity and differences.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a creative artist but was quickly told that doesn't make money, and I have to choose to do something else with my life. I'm happy that the Universe proved those people wrong and moved me towards my inner child dreams without me even realizing it. Regardless, I constantly feel like I'm running against limits and it really shuts me down from being me.

People dont understand the way I think or appreciate the perspectives and then later on, people jump onto the bandwagon and get it. It happens in every space i'm in. My first year speaking on spirituality, I was met with resistance and hex groups from others in the community. But when I started growing on spiritual twitter, everyone suddenly wanted to be friends. People, typically of authority in a space, shut me down before they open up, so i've always felt shutdown when I do or say things. Courage is the only thing that keeps me going. I also know that I have an innate strength to be 100% fearless in a way many people just don't have and I think it's important that I show others that they can too. I see myself as an example. If no one else will, I will. That aries rising keeps me going.

I think for the past 22 years, I've let others validation and what they say I "should" be doing really take hold of my motivations. PSA: just because others applaud, doesn't mean you have to keep yourself in the box they congratulate you for being in. Do what you want, not just what others say youre good at.

The past 4 years, the grips of those boundaries have slowly withered away. Now, in this 12th house year, things are getting very real and its all dissolving. I'm at a place where I am fully letting go of others ideas. I am seeing the beauty in everything I've hidden.

Emotions definitely overwhelm me when I think about how I've shut myself down. It feels good to be realizing my true motivations and desires, but it's also sad, because I feel like I gave so many years away to negative doubts and beliefs. Imagine if we nurtured differences and divergencies? I always start crying thinking about the lies in which I've told myself and the boxes I've kept myself in these past 11 years. I've truly believed that my inner eccentric is different and bad. It's not true though.

"If you cling to the status quo, you'll likely continue to meet resistance or feel unfulfilled. You're supposed to explore your uniqueness and do things differently. You're the exception to the rule - ignore any judgment and find the courage to break free. You're meant to stand outside of whats considered normal."

Sometimes I read that last line over and over. This is something I've been in therapy for. I am meant to stand outside of whats considered normal.

That eccentric part of me was cast out and improperly treated. I want to nourish the differences within me and seek freedom at all costs. I am coming to terms with:

-the idea that I can't do what everyone else does because im not like everyone else. That is okay.

-the idea that anytime I go the standard, traditional route, the universe will kick me off of it.

-the idea that I'm not supposed to be easily digestible and understood. Coming to terms with the idea that you will never be fully understood is HARD and it can feel so lonely, but the tea is: you will be fully understood by yourself as long as you listen.

-the idea that holding onto traditionalism tightly will only cause me hell which means it's essential that I choose the unconventional path that my heart desires. Choosing that path means I must undergo the pressures, criticism, and judgments of everyone around me. Although I want to be accepted and loved, Saturn and Uranus say my existence and truth is supposed to challenge the shit everyone does. I am meant to enact change and show things that can be done. That never comes with ease. People like whats comfortable, not whats different. People dont like change.

So I'm coming to terms with so many ideas around my worth, my eccentricities, and sitting with the hard truth that if I want to live my most freeing and joyful life, I have to value my truth more than I value others criticisms and I cannot let those judgments get me down. (Thankfully, I've been blessed with a twitter platform which has most definitely taught me this first point.) I have to walk with my freedom instead of holding onto the pressures of others. I have to show myself and finally let myself take up space.

I see everything shifting everyday as I make intentional, conscious decisions to validate all the parts of me which are different. I validate my out of the box desires, my unpredictability, my intense impulses and drive, my desire to live on an island by myself, my exceptional drive and ability to make shit happen, my detached energy, my lack of texting response bc I'm actually present in daily life, my disconnect from pop culture, etc. I want things and I love things that most people don't want nor like and I am okay with it. How I define and view this world is very different. Even my choice to move out of the country is such a big jump for me that I've always wanted to make. My views of sex, gender, femininity, masculinity, luxury, healing, literally everything... is so fucking different. I am okay with that. I can share from that place.

I'm no longer pretending i'm like everyone else because that just leaves me feeling more alienated.

I am coming to terms with the idea that my existence is disruptive to the status quo and that is okay. No matter what, I can't conform. The universe is showing me that... its not going to work anymore. My goal is to pursue freedom and joy, release the pressures and ideas others have for the direction of my life.

I am realizing all these things about myself... all the boxes I've been in for so damn long. It makes me cry. I'm grieving. I'm shocked. It feels like I'm rescuing myself and its emotional. I'm finally allowing myself to step out into myself. Every time I face resistance or pushback, I feel a deep calling within, validating my goals and desires. I am able to receive others criticisms and ideas without internalizing them or thinking I need to shift anything. I am trusting in me. I am choosing me finally and I feel very good.

#astrology #12th house #12th house protection year

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the-hidden-pages · 4 years ago

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Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

“I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

“I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

Silence falls over the room.

Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

“You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend. And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

In her connection to himself.

His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before �� your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

“You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

“Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

“I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

You freeze. “Doctor-“

“Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

“Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

“You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps��perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

“I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

“Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

“How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

“Would you like to know what else was in there?”

Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

“My dear, I don’t –“

“I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

“I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

Fascinating indeed.

He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

“Wait, my dear, I-“

“Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

“Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

“Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

“I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

“Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

“You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

“You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

“Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

“Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

“My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

“Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

“Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

“Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

“You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

“Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

“Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

#x reader smut #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #Laszlo kreizler fanfic #smut #godpleaseletmerest #Ineedsleep

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argylemikewheeler · 5 years ago

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so this is a very specific prompt but could you write something where Mike thinks he’s homophobic like two years after will comes out as gay and goes to steve for advice on how to get over it and steve’s confused because mike’s never had a problem with being will or robin being gay and realizes that mike’s actually just jealous of will talking to other guys and helps mike realize he has feelings for will. Thank you so much!

part 2

By the fall of 1989, Steve’s BMW had been in three fender benders, had one headlight replacement, two flat tires in a week of each other, and a clutch replacement. No, Steve hadn’t suddenly lost sight in both eyes and all depth perception; he had been teaching the Party to drive. Max was really good at tailgating (and not stopping fast enough), El always got nervous and would slam on the breaks or pop a bulb with her powers, Dustin drove straight over railroad tracks way too fast, and Mike rode the clutch far too often. It was a strain on his wallet, but they were all really thankful. Mike more than anyone– which explained why he was wasting his Saturday afternoon sitting with Steve while he clumsily changed his oil.

They were in Steve’s driveway, Mike sitting by the front tires with his arms resting on his knees while Steve was under the car on his mechanic’s creeper. Besides just keeping him company, Mike also had the motive of wanting him alone to ask Steve something– maybe something that was safer to not ask while behind the wheel of a car, and possibly just under it.

“Hey Steve?” Mike poked his shin. Steve kicked his foot gently: he was listening. “Are you homophobic?”

Something clanged. “Am I what?”

“You know, homophobic?” Mike repeated, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A ‘phobe, if you will.”

“No.” Steve said, his voice muffled. “I mean, I try not to be bone-headed, but my mistakes are not because I’m an asshole.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mike nodded. He picked as his fingernail, waiting until he heard Steve put his tool down. “Am I homophobic?”

Slowly, Steve wheeled himself out from under the car. “Okay, where are you getting this word, Wheeler? Homophobic?”

“You know… around.” He muttered.

“Okay, well, Einstein. Did you bother to understand the definition?” Steve wiped his hands on his coveralls and sat up fully in front of Mike.

“It’s a compound word, Idiot.” Mike said, crossing his arms. “I know what it means. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I don’t think you do. Because you don’t show fear at the life and happiness of your friends– I mean, you’re not angry at them, are you?”

Mike bit his lip and bounced his head slowly side to side, the word slipping out. “Maybe…”

“About what? Because just because you fight with your gay friends doesn’t mean you fight with them because they’re gay. All my squabbles with Robin are because we were together constantly and sometimes, I’m a fucking idiot and can’t make change fast enough when there is a line out the door and she’s got a perfect SAT math score. Not because she’s gay.” Steve spoke quickly, sighing when he finished. His hands slapped against his legs, clearing the air for a moment and allowing Mike to meet Steve’s eyes. “That’s not homophobia, Mike.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Mike cried, pushing his legs down. “I got like, really really mad at Will the other week and I– I’m still probably really mad about it now. And I feel bad because…. he’s my best friend and I’m mad.”

Steve blinked at him. “That was the most explosively vague sentence I’ve ever heard. Give me more what happened?”

Mike twisted his finger, the knuckle popping quietly. “Will was over and we were just like, talking about our classes and stuff– he’s in this weird art class thing they’re offering kids who can like, draw and shit.”

“Which is Will.”

“Yeah, I know!” Mike snapped. No one was more proud of Will getting into the program than Mike. Absolutely no one. Mike stood by the main office, waiting for Will to come out of his meeting, and lifted him clean off the floor when Will walked out with a smile and a nod. Mike had never cried from smiling so hard before. He didn’t know it was possible before then. Before Will. “The class isn’t the problem… It’s who’s in it.”

Steve hummed and sighed. “Are they homophobic?”

“No! Still me!” Mike grumbled.

“Wheeler–”

“I am! He started talking about this one kid in his class, Charlie or some shit I don’t know– and I don’t care– but god every time he mentions this kid I get so angry. Like, I know Will’s gay and he’s gonna talk about boys but… when he does I just get so mad.”

Steve looked at Mike for a while, blinking and parting his lips only to abandon his sentence repeatedly. Oh fuck. That can’t be good.

“See? I am homophobic! I’m such a bad person! Fuck!” Mike scrambled to get to his feet, only to collapse back as Steve yanked his arm.

“That’s… That’s not what that is.” He said with a quiet laugh, shaking his head. It wasn’t funny, but Mike was missing the joke. “You aren’t hateful, Wheeler. You’re, uh, you’re jealous.”

“What.” Mike said flatly. “I don’t even know this Charlie kid.”

Steve stared at Mike, his jaw tight and lips rolling inward. He blinked and lifted his eyebrows. “Mike.”

“I’m not jealous! You know what? You really are an idiot.“ Mike rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure what was worse: being terrible to his best friend or having Steve lie to him and tell him he was just jealous.

“I didn’t say you were jealous of Will.” Steve said slowly. “But perhaps, of Charlie… for spending so much time with Will.”

“I mean, yeah.” Mike scoffed. “That kid doesn’t know Will. He’s not funny or like, as cool as, you know, his best friend.” Mike motioned toward himself and rolled his eyes again. “Why would he be spending time with Will? He’s not… like, I don’t know, worthy.”

Steve clicked his tongue and grabbed Mike’s arm carefully– tenderly, like his words were about to become violent. Mike leaned back, eyebrows furrowing. “Mike.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I don’t feel that way about Robin.”

“Okay…”

“I don’t feel that way about any of my friends. In fact, I only feel that way about girls that I like when they hang out with other men. And obviously like them better than me. That’s called jealousy.” He lifted his eyebrows, highlighting the word.

“I don’t get it. So you’ve got really bad game. What’s your point.”

“You aren’t getting mad because Will’s talking about another guy. You’re mad because you think Will might like this guy.”

“And that’s homophobia!”

“No, that’s called having a crush, Mike.” Steve was slow with his words, almost handing them over to Mike with cupped hands. In the silence, he held onto them until Mike was ready to take them.

Mike swallowed and it felt like he had inhaled the draining oil from Steve’s car. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m not gay.”

“Okay, valid response… but that doesn’t mean you can’t like other guys. You can be a whole bunch of things and still like guys, Mike. It’s possible.” Steve shrugged. “Sometimes the kid in your business 101 class is cute, and guy who always comes in and rents history documentaries that you stupidly love hearing the summary of the following week. Sometimes it happens.”

“No. No! I– I don’t… That’s scary. W-What I can just start liking guys? That’s… No. I’m not… Since when?” Mike sputtered, shaking his head.

He’d never considered the possibility. He’d always been so relieved to like girls; he’d never have to be what he’d heard so frequently was so terrible from his father. Mike was so fucking relieved when he’d realized that he had the ability to like and love women. There wasn’t a thought that the relief came from a place of worrying he’d ever actually like a boy. That wasn’t right. Mike wasn’t wrong.

“It’s not like a virus, Wheeler. C’mon. It’s just life. Crushes aren’t plagues.” Steve kept his hand on Mike’s arm. There wasn’t fear or even repulsion. Mike wasn’t sure what was happening. Everything felt like a lie.

“I don’t like Will.”

“You just said this boy wasn’t worthy of hanging out with Will. No one says that about casual friends.”

“Well he’s not! He doesn’t even care about Will… At least not… The way I do.” Mike admitted, setting his jaw as he heard himself say it. Steve sat quietly, waving him on.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know! I just… everything he does is… so cool and everyone just thinks it’s normal art or normal whatever, but it’s not, okay? They’re masterpieces and Will’s a fucking genius. At like, ev-er-y-thing.”

“Oh dear God, you poor fucking soul. You are so in love. I’m gonna hurl.” Steve laughed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Mike. He wasn’t sure why, but Mike felt like the hug was an admittance of pity, or failure. He was being coddled.

“I’m not in love. I-I’m not.” Mike argued, shaking his head. He was hoping to protect himself with a just a quiet denial. “That’s wrong.”

“It’s okay, Mike.” Steve held the back of Mike’s head, rocking them back and forth. For a moment, Mike was sure Steve thought he was actually holding baby, but accepted it the moment he felt himself start to cry. “You’re okay.”

“Why? Why do I care this much about Will? It’s stupid but he’s just… No, I don’t like him. There’s no way.” Mike pushed Steve away, wiping his eyes with a harsh swipe of his thumbs.

“Mike, this isn’t a bad thing. Crushes are supposed to make you feel good– what’s why we have them. We’ve found someone that makes us feel so good and so happy we just can’t stop thinking about them and how freaking cute and cool they are. That’s how it starts.”

“Well, I don’t…” Mike couldn’t even say he didn’t even feel that way about Will. He knew he did. He knew the prospect of seeing Will was the highlight of every single day. “I don’t want to feel this way.”

“Okay. That’s different. That’s okay too, but… Hm. Okay, so maybe homophobic is the right word.”

“What?” Mike blinked, sniffling.

“Maybe not towards Will though. Maybe think about how maybe you are– I don’t know– having that fear with yourself.” Steve mumbled, waving his hand around to stir up the words.

“… That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Mike said harshly. That wasn’t possible. Mike wasn’t scared, he just didn’t want to upset his father. Or his mother. Or his friends. Or his neighbors. Or his teachers. Or anyone at school… It was different. Mike wasn’t scared. He just wanted to not bother anyone. That’s all he had been hoping for his whole life; to just be quiet enough to disappear.

Steve shrugged and waved the thought away. “All I’m saying is let yourself feel happy.” Steve said. “And definitely get rid of this Charlie kid. He sounds like a snotty art kid.”

“He is!” Mike cried. “All he talks about is Monet.”

“The water lily dude? Oh, gross. Boring.”

“Hey. That’s Will’s favorite artist right now.” Mike said pointedly, crossing his arms. Mike had stared at that woman and her umbrella in that field for enough hours with Will to at least get it a little bit.

“Oh, so it’s okay when Will talks about him but not this other kid.” Steve chuckled. “That sounds… biased.”

“Um, no. Will’s like, super knowledgeable about him. And tells me all the names of his strokes and shit. This kid just like. Knows he painted that one bridge painting.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert.”

“Well, yeah. Because I listen to Will! He’s always showing me stuff.” Mike explained flippantly.

Steve positioned himself back on the creeper, lying down and grabbing the bumper of his car. “Does Will always talk to you about paintings and art?”

“Well, yeah. All the time.” Mike nodded.

Steve pursed his lips and nodded to himself. “Okay, so, my advice? Don’t worry about Charlie. Like, at all. He’s a red herring– absolutely a moot point. Complete bozo, nobody, nothing.” He rolled himself under the car as if that was enough.

“Wait! Why?” Mike grabbed Steve’s leg and pulled him out again. “What does that mean?”

“Will definitely likes you too.” He smiled. “He’s testing to see if you like him too.”

“He is? H-He does?” Mike gasped, tensing. There was that relief again, but this time it felt so different. It wasn’t a protective sinking that stuck Mike to the ground beneath him; it was a lifting, glowing sigh that made Mike feel like he was weightless. He was afraid to speak, to shatter the moment in which everything didn’t seem so terrible.

“Yeah. Totally. I may not know anything, but seriously. Showing you the thing he’s the most interested in? Man, Byers is crazy about you. Definitely.” Steve wiggled the creeper back under the car. “You should ask him to go to the movies.”

“We do that every week.”

“Offer to pay this time.” Steve said, moving his foot to nudge Mike’s leg. “Like a date.”

Mike had never heard of the simplistic joy and closeness he felt when he was at the movies with Will ever being linked to people like that– like Mike, evidently. The way he felt, brightly shining in his own pleasant happiness in the darkness of the theater, Will’s elbow nudging his own, was not something Mike ever thought gay people felt. He’d been taught differently. Granted, he saw Will being happy and brilliant every day of their lives, but Mike never thought it was eternal. There was never going to be a day that love was going to run out or joy was going to run dry.

A crush was just a beginning. It was part relief, part terror. Mike had never liked another boy before, never thought he would. And now he had to reconcile that he had been slowly falling for one boy his entire life. The crush wasn’t new; it had been constant and was familiar by then. It was a future Mike had come to expect and look forward to. Maybe it was time he started it.

ao3

#byeler #byler #will byers x mike wheeler #stranger things writing #bi mike wheeler #bi steve harrington #actually if you look close enough #i just can't write him straight sorry #prompts

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radrush · 5 years ago

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give YOUR nge thoughts

this is gonna be super filled with spoilers in case any of my followers still haven’t seen this show for some reason

don’t watch period | drop if not interested within 2-3 episodes | give it a go, could be your thing obviously it’s very intense and the lore is very confusing but it’s so worth what it demands | 5 star recommendation I've watched nge numerous times but it’s just one of those shows that’s filled with such detail and rich characterization that I seemingly find new things to consider every time I watch it

fav characters: Asuka is the neurotic queen and is probably the most entertaining character to witness on screen because of it but it also makes her the series’ most tragic character in my opinion. While she ultimately faces the same existential conundrums as Shinji (a sense of loneliness and isolation caused by lack of familial support, an anxiety created by a lack of assurance in one’s own purpose that contributes to low self-worth, and a fundamental difficulty with relating to others honestly because of these factors), unlike Shinji she has a variety of coping mechanisms to deal with these issues which give her the appearance of functionality but which are ultimately unsustainable and don’t allow her to be honest with herself about her real emotions, precisely because they work to repress the emotions that are too painful for her to feel fully. In an attempt to overcome feelings of worthlessness caused by her family’s rejection of her, she throws herself fully into the role of Eva pilot, turning her abilities as a pilot into a structural pillar of her self-worth which comes crashing down when Shinji proves himself to be as capable as pilot as her. She also acts rudely and boisterously in an attempt to avoid rejection, pushing people away from her before they have a chance to get close enough to understand who she really is and then reject her afterwards. This is also why Asuka is NOT a tsundere as so many people claim. Her coldness and “high and mighty” attitude are not borne out of an embarrassment with her “true feelings” of friendship or romance towards Shinji, but are rather a defense mechanism that she uses to protect herself from the pain of intimacy. Her open displays of disgust towards him are not an act which she uses to hide a secretly harbored positive view of him, she actually just hates his guts. She’s all tsun and no dere.

Shinji is a character whose experiences highly resonated with me when I first watched the series as a teenager but I feel like even if i didn’t heavily relate to his emotional struggles I would still end up talking about him here because ultimately the series is focused on his struggle to define himself on his own terms and through his relationships with others. Because Shinji lacks the dysfunctional coping mechanisms that Asuka has come to adopt, and instead has a tendency to turn inward and engage in torturous processes of reflective self-deprecation when he feels emotionally challenged it makes sense that he would be the focus of the show’s thesis on relational psychology. As a sensitive boy with a great deal of familial trauma, Shinji is intimately familiar with the emotional havoc that humans can wreak on each other in their relationships. Not wanting to have to deal with the burden of this pain any longer, he is constantly running away from his commitments because he views his relationships with others not as potential sites for growth and self-fulfillment but as avenues which only lead towards greater feelings of pain and misery. You can hardly blame him for feeling this way because of what he experiences before and during the series, but ultimately he must learn as a part of his growth process that while his relationships with others contain the possibility of greater pain, to live a fulfilling life it is imperative to look past the possibility for pain in order to find the hope for meaning and love that makes life worth living. Shinji’s story teaches us that as long as we remain true to ourselves and are cognizant of our own emotional needs in our relationships, there is no need to live in fear of the pain that others might deliver upon us out of their own wounding.

In many ways Misato behaves like a grown-up, more apparently functional version of Shinji. While she is more readily able to form emotional bonds with others, these bonds are often entirely surface-level, as evidenced by her preoccupation with appearances (wearing flashy clothes, driving an expensive sports car, introducing herself to Shinji in the way she does). The dichotomy between her clean, confident exterior persona and the slobbish, lazy way she lives when removed from the gaze of others reinforces the idea that while she behaves a certain way in order to be comfortable in social situations, she is inwardly insecure and deeply troubled by how her attempts at meaningful relationships have turned out, having never been able to reconcile her relationship with her father before his death and having run away from her relationship with Kaji when his presence caused those unreconciled emotions to rise to the forefront of her psyche. I also love how the Jet Alone episode frames her lifestyle in two drastically different ways. At the beginning of the episode we see her guzzling beer and eating instant ramen for breakfast in her gross apartment and react to those behaviors according to the humorous and quirky surface-level reading of them that the show gives us, but during the episode itself we see her forced to deal with the stupidity and recklessness of others in her profession as well as the unique challenges she faces in those situations because of her femininity, on top of seeing her take responsibility during a life-threatening situation when no one else will, causing her to undergo a near-death experience. After all of this, the narrative comes full circle and we see her again the next morning in her gross apartment, chugging an entire can of Yebisu and realize how much her lax lifestyle choices are really shaped by the kind of emotional stress she is forced to deal with on a daily basis and a need to have a space where she can be unconcerned with those stresses.

I like how although Ritsuko treats Misato as her equal in their personal relationship and they’re both at the same professional level, being heads of their respective branches of NERV, from the very first episode it’s clear that Ritsuko’s knowledge of the Evas and and the true purposes of NERV far surpasses Misato’s. As Misato begins to understand the amount of classified information that Ritsuko has access to and refuses to share with her their relationship effectively deteriorates until Ristuko can no longer shoulder the burden of her knowledge on top of her increasingly strained relationships with both Misato and Gendo and she essentially self-destructs.

Kaji is kind of a sexist jerk but he’s also the only character in the text who can operate as a positive male role model for Shinji because of how selfish Gendo is and it’s ultimately his advice to Shinji throughout the series but especially in episode 19 and the run up to it that spurs Shinji to take action instead of continuing to be a bystander while Rei and Asuka fight for their lives. I also like him because he’s a truth seeker. He does the bidding of Selee and Gendo because doing so allows him to get closer to the truth behind Selee, NERV, the Evas, the angels, and human instrumentality, and he eventually pays the ultimate price for his pursuit of knowledge.

least fav characters: I guess I'm supposed to say Gendo because he’s such a dick but even if he’s a shitelord he’s still a well developed character–consistently narcissistic and self-serving, only treating others as means to ends, not at all capable of the emotional vulnerability required to actually really love, although maybe he possessed it at one point in the past. He’s evil as fuck but ultimately a good character. I love how the first time we see him smile is when he gives the order to launch unit-01 it’s so good and makes me hate him so much.

Ritusko’s mom, Naoko, is like probably the only character in the show that i think is written poorly like it’s honestly just stupid to me that she would be so in love with Gendo and so heartbroken over him that she would literally kill Rei I and then herself over being taunted about the fact that Gendo didn’t really love her and was just using her but i guess bitches just be crazy amirite fellow redditors. Literally what is so great about Gendo that all these women keep getting involved with him?? Like for the credit you can give Anno for writing really interesting women in this series, he still is a bit of a sexist and it’s not just with Naoko.

fav relationship: Asuka and Shinji obviously have one of the most interesting dynamics in the show from the first time they meet. We know they’re not bound to get along well since Shinji is pretty reserved and not very confident and Asuka is incredibly boisterous and all too full of herself and in fact resents Shinji for his lack of self-worth and motivation. All of this is compounded by the fact that the source of Asuka’s massive self-esteem is her ability to pilot the Eva, a task at which she continually finds herself upstaged by Shinji, who at the same time can’t seem to decide whether piloting the Eva is something he even wants to continue doing. In episode eight she’s amazed when Kaji tells her that Shinji was able to sync with Unit-01 without ever having been inside it before but when Kaji brings it up again when all of them are together and openly praises Shinji’s “natural” capabilities as a pilot, Asuka is embarrassed and takes his praise of Shinji as an injury to her self esteem because being the greatest Eva pilot is so central to her self-identity. She vents this embarrassment by taking it out on Shinji, who meanwhile can’t help the fact that he has a natural ability to do this scary and dangerous thing he’s barely done before and doesn’t at all know what to do with Asuka’s frustration towards him. Rei operates as a kind of foil to this dynamic (is it still a foil if its three ways instead of two?) because she possesses very little of her own will in the early part of the series and merely pilots the Eva because it’s her designated purpose in life, what she was literally born to do. As all three of them grow through the relationships that they navigate with each other and the adults in their lives, these motivations, self-definitions, and reasons for being shift and evolve, are built up and broken down, and ultimately remain in flux because that’s just how that shit is

Shinji and Kaworu I obviously hold very close to my big gay heart because of how touching it is to see Shinji love and be loved by another boy but that being said their relationship is very intentionally one-dimensional because of the fact that Kaworu is less of a human character and more of a character representation of the abstract concepts of hope and love themselves. From Kaworu’s perspective too, his relationship with Shinji is just as much about knowing and loving Shinji as it is about knowing and loving humanity as a whole. Because Kaworu isn’t human, he doesn’t have any emotional needs or trauma which might preclude him from loving Shinji or make it difficult for Shinji to love him, which is why he appears to Shinji when he does: when Shinji feels most abandoned by those he feels he has tried and failed to form emotional bonds with and is in most dire need of someone who will attempt to understand him as he is trying to understand himself. In loving Shinji in the selfless, needless, and unconditional way he does, he gives Shinji hope that real love and real human connection are things that exist out there in the world for him to experience, even if his relationship with Shinji is only an idealized version of that. When Shinji is forced to kill Kaworu in order to save himself and humanity, this hope is momentarily shattered and by the next episode we realize that this has caused Shinji to lose his will to live, although ultimately Kaworu’s death is necessary not just for plot reasons but also because Shinji must eventually come to realize that while he can be in love and find meaning in his relationships with others, he can’t expect any other person to love him so selflessly the way Kaworu did because that’s simply not a reasonable thing to ask of another human being with their own emotional needs and trauma and baggage. In addition to his qualities of magnanimous selflessness, as a divine being in a mortal vessel who ultimately chooses to sacrifice himself to ensure the fate of humanity, Kaworu also operates as a sort of messiah figure within the narrative of the series. The fact that his love for Shinji is representative of his love for all humankind and that Shinji’s love for him is a reflection of the timeless and ephemeral concept of love itself, and the fact that Shinji must also bear the guilt of killing one he loved for the greater good of saving the souls of humanity also puts them squarely in the midst of a Judas/Jesus dichotomy.

fav moment: the direction in this show continues to amaze me and just the choices in the first two episodes alone are so fuckin awesome like I love how episode one ends on a cliffhanger and episode two begins with shinji recovering from the battle, completely skipping over the action and having us only deal with its fallout before finally getting to see how it unfolded when shinji is alone at night and has a moment to reflect on what he witnessed. also the shot during the battle flashback when the armor falls off of unit-01′s face and shinji looks out from the entry plug and sees the true reflection of the eva in the building next to him knocks me on my ass every single time.

in episode one when shinji gives misato the letter that his father sent him and its creased as shit and the whole thing is redacted aside from the words “shinji, come”

whenever gendo’s glasses reflect the massive screens in the command center

rei smiling after she and shinji defeat ramiel and he opens the entry plug hatch

“You’re just as much a kid as I am”

When Ritusko hacks into a human brain and honestly just the whole Magi design has such a killer aesthetic i don’t even know what to call it its like cyberbiomechanicalpunk but the cyber tech isn’t futuristic it’s like 1995 technology complete with ribbon cables on the keyboards

“You apologize to people as a reflex, so that you won’t have to confront them” “I’m sorry”

Literally everything about episodes 19-24

THE ELEVATOR SCENE

“I loved him too”

When Asuka synchronizes with unit-02 at the bottom of the lake in EoE and the whole fight with the eva series

Why not just say all of EoE cause holy shit

headcanons/theories: As far as the lore itself is concerned, it feels like there aren’t that many mysteries that haven’t been explained either through actual dialog in the show or peeks into what was left on the cutting room floor, it can just be hard for first time viewers to wrap their heads around it all because of the convoluted way it's presented in the show and how everything has dramatic biblical names (which do have meaning for the record, anyone who says all the religious symbolism in eva is fake deep is not paying close enough attention. the constant use of the latin and greek crosses in explosions and in various design elements like lilith’s crucifix are obviously not always rife with distinctly religious meaning but I already talked about how Kaworu is literally a messiah figure so give me some credit here). When I do see shit on youtube like “the 26 timelines of evangelion explained” though it just makes me roll my eyes. Also I think that the lore is really cool and well developed in general but a lot of it is somewhat tangential to the real dramatic meat of the series which consists of the development of the characters and their relations to one another so it is kinda lame to me that the popular view of the series for so long was focused more on the mysteries of the super weird convoluted world building than on the exploration of humanity that makes the show what it is although that might have changed now that more people have dipped their toes in the series with the netflix localization

one thing I’ve been thinking about recently is rei’s ghostly appearance to shinji at the beginning of episode one which I believe to be connected to the ghostly appearances she makes in EoE to the dead and soon-to-be sublimated (or i guess more accurately, liquified) NERV staff after she merges with lilith and ultimately to her final appearance to shinji floating above the lcl sea at the end of the film. All of these appearances are made by the rei that merged with lilith during EoE, even the one in episode one. This is possible because after merging with lilith, rei becomes a being with quantum characteristics, able to exist everywhere on earth at once to collect the souls of all humanity and gather them together. Since it’s also heavily implied that rei is a vessel for the soul of lilith in the same way that kaworu is a vessel for the soul of adam, this is likely lilith’s “true form,” having finally reunited her body with her soul. To those still alive for this process, she appears to them as a manifestation of their heart’s desire, bestowing upon each soul a momentary embrace of hope that will last a lifetime. This is what Gendo understood about instrumentality from the beginning and was always his plan to be able to see Yui again. I think rei’s final gift is also sort of a riff on modern scientific explanations for the experience of heaven, how we now understand that the chemicals that are released in your brain when you die can give you a euphoric experience that some might be inclined to interpret as heaven-like. But anyway, since rei no longer has to obey the laws of time and space, and she makes it a point to make a final appearance to shinji in her quantum form at the end of the film it feels right that she should choose to go back and make a first appearance to shinji to signify the beginning of the end as it were. After all, “the beginning and the end are found in the same place.” Anno himself has told us that “eva is a story that repeats” with reference to the pervasive visual and verbal self-references that are prevalent throughout the series and I think this is perhaps one of the most shining examples of that repetition.

Related: Also a fan of the theory that Gendo’s last words to Ritsuko were “I need you.”

unpopular opinion: Episodes 25 and 26 provide the necessary(?) conclusion to the show’s thesis on human relationships which make them more or less key to understanding how those ideas are present in the work as a whole but the last time I re-watched the series I skipped them and went right to EoE because that’s the better dramatic experience and also I think EoE works to wrap up the ideas from the show, albeit not as cleanly and moralistically.

this is also probably a popular opinion but the rebuild movies fucking suck. they completely gut like half the thematic content from the original series and they even feel bland visually at times like everything is so glossy and shiny i like the saturation, contrast, and thicker line art of the original series way more. literally there’s only one good part per movie in the first one it’s ramiel in the second one its the aquarium scene in the third one its piano kaworu and that’s it. I can hope the fourth movie isn’t completely gutless but i can also set myself up for disappointment but if evangelion teaches anything it’s that we can’t let the fear of disappointment or sadness bar us from seeking the joys and loves that life has to offer us so i’ll see y’all again in 2020 i guess

random thoughts:

youtube

#lesbianbakugou #props to anyone who actually read my essay-length post about an old anime #nge theory #answered #poast

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akaluan · 6 years ago

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A Token, My Liege? Pt4

((So things start getting a bit more light-hearted from this point on. There might be a couple other scenes that get tossed onto akaluan-dark, but that’ll be strictly because of violence and/or gore due to war, if I get that detailed about things. I’m not expecting to, but the potential is there.

This is also like twice the length as usual, so lol, enjoy.))

The instant Kisuke hears footsteps approaching his lab, he carefully sets aside the dagger he’s been experimenting on and turns around. He has his suspicions about this upcoming visit, and braces himself to face an infuriated Ishida.

(Braces himself to lose the young man’s friendship.)

(He may have kept his promise to the letter, but certainly not to the spirit, and he knows how Ishida Uryuu feels about promises.)

“What did you /do/?” Ishida demands as he stalks into Kisuke’s lab and absently closes the door behind him. “Ichigo-sama showed up unexpectedly in the knight’s hall not long after I left here. /What did you do?!/”

Kisuke observes Ishida, mind scrambling for the best way to explain his actions. But how can he explain that he’s /afraid/ for the young man? That the growing darkness in Ishida’s eyes worries him? That the brief glimpses he has of Ishida’s ever-contained — and increasingly violent — magic /infuriates/ him?

(It infuriates him that Ishida feels so outcast, so /in danger/, in his own home. That he feels the subconscious need to be on alert and ready to retaliate at all times.)

“Well?!” Ishida snaps, stalking closer and tilting his chin up. There’s violence in his gaze, but there’s also /fear/, and Kisuke hates that he’s the one who put that there.

“Maa, maa, I didn’t tell anyone, if that’s—”

“Then how— no. No. Urahara, please, tell me one of our Lords wasn’t— that I didn’t—”

“I can’t,” Kisuke whispers reluctantly, wincing at the betrayal that races across Ishida’s expression before Ishida forces his expression blank. “Ishida-kun, please, I—” he hesitates, then carefully edges back and kneels in front of Ishida, pulling off his hat and keeping his eyes trained on the floor. “Forgive me. With everything they’ve put you through in the past years, and the coming war, I feared… but I should not have gone behind your back like that.”

Ishida moves restlessly, tiny steps back and forth that take him nowhere. Kisuke watches Ishida’s steps, but doesn’t lift his head or look up.

(He doesn’t want to see the moment Ishida decides to leave.)

(The memory of Ishida’s cold expression is more than enough.)

“Did you plan this?” Ishida asks abruptly, breaking the uneasy silence between them.

Kisuke starts, glancing up at Ishida in surprise before he looks away again. “No,” he admits readily enough, because he /hadn’t/ planned it. He’d simply made a snap decision, taking advantage of an opportunity and thinking little of the consequences.

(But he’d still do it again. Anything to see Ishida survive, even if it means losing his friend.)

A soft whine escapes Ishida’s throat, and Kisuke squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his chin to his chest, shoulders hunching inward. No matter his intentions, /he’s/ the cause of Ishida’s current pain, and nothing he says or does can truly fix what he’s broken.

(He’s always been inordinately weak to the unhappiness of those rare few he treasures.)

(Being the /cause/ is even worse.)

“Stop,” Ishida protests softly, stepping cautiously forward and tugging at Kisuke’s haori with one hand. “Stop /kneeling/ like that. You— why would you kneel to /me/? I’m not… I’m nothing important, and you /are/, and…”

“And I have done something unforgivable, no matter how I judged my own intentions,” Kisuke says firmly, not budging from his position. “I’ve betrayed your trust, instead of bringing my concerns to you.” He cautiously lifts a hand and ghosts his fingertips over the back of Ishida’s hand — a reassurance he’s uncertain Ishida will accept — and continues, “And you /are/ someone important.”

Ishida scoffs and pulls away, though he doesn’t swat Kisuke’s fingers away. “Just because of my father—”

“No. Because of /yourself/,” Kisuke presses, then gives himself a mental shake. He knows Ishida’s opinion on this topic, and bringing it up now won’t win him any favors; that Kisuke is kneeling must burn the young man horribly as it is.

(But it’s the only way Kisuke knows to show the depths of his feelings. To kneel when the rank he was gifted as a young man means only his Lords may command him to kneel.)

Ishida takes a deep breath, pulling further away from Kisuke as he does. He’s still not heading towards the door, however, and Kisuke isn’t sure how to take that. Instead, Ishida steps past Kisuke and begins to pace in the more open area behind his back.

The hair along Kisuke’s neck prickles, but he forces his body to remain still. He trusts Ishida, even now, even though his early training insists he’s in danger.

(He won’t give in to Ishida’s attempt to force him to rise.)

“What were your concerns,” Ishida finally asks, voice hard.

Kisuke licks his lips and tries to keep from crumpling his hat too obviously. “Escalation,” he says, thinking of the chaos of battle, and the way plans so easily fall apart. The way plans falling apart are so rarely questioned. “That the others could use the chaos to separate you from the army. To put you in a position you couldn’t escape from. That… that I couldn’t rescue you from.”

Ishida freezes behind him. “They wouldn’t,” he whispers in denial, an edge of pleading to his voice.

“They would,” Kisuke gently says. “They’ve gotten away with everything else so far, and they resent you already. How much more will they resent you when they see your abilities on the battlefield? When they see your strength, your skill?”

Ishida murmurs a soft string of denials as he steps further back, and Kisuke can no longer bear to kneel, to remain in place when his friend is hurting. Kisuke rises slowly and turns to face Ishida, setting aside his hat and stretching a hand out in a silent offer of a hug.

(He doesn’t know if Ishida will accept. If he’s done too much, broken too much trust between them, but— he hopes—)

“These young knights have not seen war,” Kisuke continues, when Ishida merely stares at him blankly. “Not like you and I have. They don’t have the mindset for it, not yet, and instead of realizing that they /cannot/ have that mindset until they have /been/ through war… they will blame you for their supposed shortcomings. For showing them up once again.”

“But still… surely they won’t…”

Kisuke sighs and lets his hand drop back to his side. “Most of them, probably not. But can you tell me for sure that Matsunu wouldn’t? Or Shoya? Or maybe one of their more zealous sycophants, wanting to win points with them? It only takes one person, Ishida-kun.”

In fact, depending on how Ichigo and his brothers decide to handle it, Ishida might be in /more/ danger now. Revenge is a wonderful motivator, Kisuke knows, and he’s just handed /all/ of them all the motivation they could ever need.

(No. No, he can’t afford to think like that. He’s brought Ishida to the attention of their Lords. Things will… things will work out.)

He can see the despair growing in Ishida’s gaze, the fear that /Kisuke/ put there expanding to /everything/.

(His fault. All his fault. If only he’d left well enough alone…)

Ishida braces himself against the table behind him and scrubs at his face, setting his glasses aside when he knocks them askew. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits reluctantly. “I thought… I thought they’d just… drop it. Out there. They always just… it was just words, and making me look clumsy when afoot, and I hated it, and them, but…” Ishida’s breath hitches in his throat and he sends Kisuke a pleading look. “And now our Lords /know/, and… and not just about /that/, but about my /crush/, and they’re probably laughing about it — about me — and—”

“Woah, hey,” Kisuke interrupts, taking cautious steps towards Ishida until he’s settled at the young man’s side. He waits for Ishida to protest, to shove him away, but when he doesn’t, Kisuke carefully pulls Ishida in until his head is resting on Kisuke’s shoulder. “Even if it /was/ just words and making you look clumsy, they had no right, and we both know it. And from what you’ve told me, they’ve begun to branch out in the last few years.”

Ishida slumps against his side, body shivering and breathing uneven, one of his hands gripping Kisuke’s haori tightly. Kisuke makes sure to let a bit of his magic out, fire-warm and protective, in order to trigger the wards throughout the room, then lets it linger in the air around them.

“As for any of our Lords laughing at you, they would never,” Kisuke tells Ishida. “They’ve never found their entertainment in the humiliation of others.”

“But they still /know/,” Ishida protests, burying his face further in Kisuke’s shoulder.

Kisuke chuckles and brings his free hand up to comb his fingers through Ishida’s hair. “They do, but there’s nothing to be ashamed about. They’ve /all/ had crushes. If you don’t want them to acknowledge it, just… pretend they don’t know. Shiro might watch you more closely for a while, but he won’t try anything unless you start it.”

“They— he already knows,” Ishida says shakily, then takes a deep breath. “I… maybe I could… try? If he’s not… disgusted by me already…”

“He’s not,” Kisuke says with confidence, because he knows Shiro, and he knows what it takes for Shiro to be disgusted. The /other/ knights are going to have a long way to go before Shiro ever even considers forgiving them, but not Ishida. “And if you want to get his attention, hm… let me think.”

Kisuke tips his head back, mentally rolling his eyes at giving his friend advice on how to catch the attention of someone Kisuke considers his /son/. This is utterly ridiculous, and at the same time he’s been waiting for it to happen for /years/. He wishes it wasn’t happening now, on the eve of war, but given how dramatic both Ishida and Shiro can be, he’s entirely unsurprised.

(The dangers of befriending someone so much younger than him, honestly.)

“Be bold,” Kisuke settles on after a moment’s thought. At Ishida’s curious noise, he elaborates, “Try to treat him like just another warrior. I know he’s always frustrated that no one will ever give him decent spars, beyond those of us in his family. And don’t be a yes-man to him, he has more than enough of /those/ and he’s always trying to chase them off.”

Ishida gives a snort of laughter. “I’ve noticed,” he admits with a touch of amusement. “It’s always fun to see him snarling at his hangers-on. Especially when he starts playing up the ‘I’m a terrifying Dark Flier, fear me’ angle when they won’t go away.”

A soft squeak pulls Kisuke’s attention away from Ishida and towards the partially-opened door to his lab where Shiro is currently standing, wide-eyed and frozen, pale skin shading red.

“W-well,” Shiro stutters, swallows, squares his shoulders and tries to force his voice to be even. “I’m glad some’ne ‘preciates it.” When Ishida jerks back from Kisuke’s side and stares wide-eyed at Shiro in turn, Shiro grins, waves, then address Kisuke, “So, uh… was gunna ask ya t’help make some plans, but, uh… seeya, bye.”

“See?” Kisuke asks in amusement as Shiro beats a hasty retreat. “You’re already winning him over. Congratulations.”

“Oh, kami,” Ishida moans in despair and slumps against Kisuke’s side again, face burning almost as red as Shiro’s had been turning. “Oh, kami. I’m doomed. I just— I can’t— oh /no/.”

Kisuke can’t help it. He leans back and /laughs/, even as Ishida’s fist thumps lightly against his chest and the young man moans about heartless people and demands that he /stop laughing, already, it’s not funny/.

It just makes him laugh harder.

#bleach #liegelord au #Ishida Uryuu #Urahara Kisuke #drabbles #my fic #unedited #flustered uryuu and shiro are the best #gotta admit #also ven kept wanting me to toss Shiro back in so whatever it worked out pretty well I think #XD #I'm playing fast and loose with the Dark Fliers #or at least Shiro's version of a Dark Flier #first bc Dark Fliers are a pegasus unit and Shiro rides a wyvern #and second bc Awakening says that pegasus units are traditionally female #FE lore tends to have pegasus disliking (most) males #which I'm going to kinda keep except for a couple of exceptions #anyway in this au Dark Flier traditionally just means a mage unit riding a flying unit #the Quincy tend to be the Most Traditional re: Dark Fliers which is hilarious because Shiro is half-Quincy #(aka black or soot grey pegasi as the mounts for Dark Fliers and nothing else)#there are exceptions but idk if they're going to specifically come up #we'll see

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darnedchild · 6 years ago

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Universally Monstrous - The Phantom of the Opera

It’s Sherlolly Halloween. This year I’m playing around with short ficlets loosely based off the classic Universal Monsters.

Universally Monstrous

The Phantom of the Opera

It was a well-known secret that New Scotland Yard was haunted.

Or “haunted” if you talked to certain people.

The Phantom—as he had been christened by someone who obviously spent far too much time reading paranormal fiction and not enough doing their job—seemed to favour the basement level of the building.

Whispered tales of a rare disembodied voice offering biting criticism and unwanted advice routinely made the rounds through the locker room.

“He said it was criminal that I was allowed in the lab,” Anderson had groused over a shared bag of crisps during an impromptu gossip session after a departmental meeting.

One of the lab techs rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the Phantom isn’t the only one who thinks that. Have you talked to Donovan lately or are you two still fighting?”

Anderson ignored the other man. “I’m not kidding, Hooper. When I checked the shadows to find the owner of the voice, they were empty. The Phantom is real.”

Molly might have scoffed if she hadn’t heard the voice herself.

The first time she’d thought it was a prank, one of the other’s playing a joke on the new hire.

She’d been sitting at her desk during her lunchbreak, working on the first draft of the fictional crime novel (with a hint of romance between the feisty pathologist and the gruff cop with a heart of gold and abs of steel) that had been screaming “Write me!” in her brain for the last few years.

Molly had been slogging away at a particularly frustrating scene, one that delved into the mind and motives of the murderer, when the need for something caffeinated and bag of crisps grew too great to ignore. She’d minimized her document and headed toward the cafeteria. When she’d returned twenty minutes later her manuscript was open on the laptop screen, front and centre, and someone had left a long and detailed paragraph of where she’d left off.

“What the hell?” She’d been extremely annoyed that one of her co-workers had invaded her privacy like that and was mentally preparing the bollocksing of the century when the Voice spoke.

“That’s not how he’d think. Your killer.”

Molly had jumped, “Who are you? Where are you?”

“Don’t be dull,” the Voice admonished her as if it—he—was disappointed in her response. “You know who I am, I hear you lot chattering on about me all the time.”

She huffed. “We don’t chatter.” Molly was met with silence for several seconds. “Well, I don’t, at any rate.”

“True. You do tend to hold your tongue when the some of the others begin to wax poetic about the most ridiculous things.” She’d thought the Voice had been coming from the left before, but now it was clearly coming from the right.

Molly turned a full circle to look for someplace an adult (for he definitely had the deep, smooth voice of a man) could hide. She even ducked to look under the desk.

“Your villain’s thoughts are far too chaotic and disjointed for the methodical serial killer you’ve set him up as.”

“How would you know?” Could the stories be true? Was there really a ghost haunting Forensics? “Is this what you did in a past life? Get into the minds of criminals? Did you work down here, or maybe as detective?”

She thought she heard him laugh, and the husky sound caused a sensation like the touch of warm fingers softly brushing up her spine. She shuddered as he spoke again, “Something like that.”

“So, is this one of those ‘unfinished business’ things, or…”

Molly held her breath and waited but silence was her only answer.

Two weeks later she was sitting at her desk, transcribing her notes from the latest autopsy when she heard, “Excellent catch on the Marshall case.”

“Thanks. I thought it was a long shot, but what could it hurt to run an extra test or two so-“ Her body recognized his voice before her brain did. Her skin tingled and something at her core warmed even as she spun in her chair to search the room with her eyes.

Three days after that, she’d been working on her novel during another lunch break—she’d taken the Phantom’s advice and completely reworked the scene with her villain’s inner thoughts—when she realized she wasn’t completely alone. Her hands stilled on the keyboard. “Hello.”

Molly heard him draw in a startled breath somewhere behind her. “How did you know I was here?”

“You’re not as stealthy as you think.” She slowly turned, completely unsurprised to see that the room was empty. Still, she felt that he was nearby. “I noticed a . . . scent after your last two visits.” It had been clean and masculine, not clouded with cologne or the musky bodywashes that were popular amongst the male staff. “And there was a creak, something shifted under your weight this time.”

He was silent for so long she began to worry he might have left again. “Interesting.” She got the feeling he was watching her, studying her.

“You, uh, you’re not a ghost, are you?” Molly almost tripped over her words.

“Of course not. Didn’t you know, ghosts don’t exist.” He seemed amused.

She heard another creak and her eyes darted around the room, hoping to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. “So you just lurk, then. For fun, or . . .”

“I observe.” As if that explained anything. “Some of your co-workers are idiots. Most of them.”

Molly opened her mouth to argue then shrugged. He wasn’t exactly wrong. “Still, I’m pretty sure what you’re doing isn’t exactly legal. For a vast number of reasons.”

He laughed again, and it made her shudder just like the last time. A good shudder. The kind that was going to keep her awake thinking the sort of things she shouldn’t. “I’ve never been worried about legalities.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to run upstairs and report you?” she asked.

“Are you?” The Phantom’s seemed to come from directly behind her, which was impossible as her desk was set against a wall. She didn’t bother turning around as he continued to speak. “Would it make you feel better to know at least one Detective Inspector is aware of my secret, and has been for nearly as long as I’ve been ‘haunting’ the halls.”

It did actually. “Do I know them?”

“Possibly. His name is Lestrade.”

“Oh, I’ve worked with him!” He’d come looking for her six months before, requesting her assistance with a particularly brutal double homicide. “Wait, did you-?”

He hummed, a noncommittal answer if she’d ever heard one.

“Am I allowed you know your name? You obviously know mine and I can’t keep calling you the Phantom like some 1920’s horror movie.” She bit her lip.

After a long moment, he answered. “It’s Sherlock.”

“Sherlock,” Molly tested the word, rolled it around on her tongue like a decadent treat. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “So now that I know you’re real, are you going to show yourself?”

Silence. He was gone. “Okay. I’ll take that as a no.”

Over the next few months she slowly stopped joining her co-workers in the cafeteria for lunch or the afternoon break, telling herself she was choosing to stay in her office to work on her novel.

That Sherlock had become a semi-regular visitor at those times had nothing to do with it.

Right?

She often found herself verbally working out plot points and dialogue, smiling when the disembodied Voice occasionally replied to offer suggestions or encouraged her to think through the moment with only a bit of gentle prodding and praise. Even better, as far as she was concerned, they’d begun to speak of other things. Her life outside of work, bits and pieces of his (although he still kept a tight lip on most everything), books they’d read (they were both voracious readers), all sorts of little things that had begun to add up.

“So this is going to be one of the really difficult bits for me to write.” Molly leaned back in her chair and pushed away from her desk on the squeaky wheels so she could spin around in a lazy circle. They’d been talking for nearly half an hour. “There’s been this building sexual tension between Brandon and Rachel almost from the moment the first met. Now they’ve just survived a near death experience, emotions are high, the attraction is there.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything and Molly sighed. “I know, it’s a cliché but it just seems right at this point in their relationship. But I’ve never really done that. Well, I mean, I’ve done that; just not the passionate, all consuming kind of . . . that.”

He still remained silent. She couldn’t help but fidget. “It’s just, it’s been a long time and even then it was more of a ‘let’s scratch this itch’ than a ‘take me against the wall right this second’ thing. God, I think my ex Tom would have hurt himself laughing if I even dared to suggest it. If anything it was boring and I just wanted to get it over with so I could see if there was anything good on the telly. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you any of this.”

“I’m not really sure why you’re doing it, either. What is it you want from me, Molly?” He sounded almost as uncomfortable as she felt. Not for the first time, she wished she could see his face to better read his emotions.

“Well, you’re . . . You’ve got that voice. And you’re smart. And you have a wicked sense of humour. I know you hang around here most of the time, but surely you-you’ve . . . I can’t imagine there would be a mad scramble for the remote with you. That is, with you and-and the person you were with. So, I was hoping you could help reel me in if I get a little too . . . unrealistic? With the scene?” That was it. She was going to go home and drown her embarrassment in a carton of cookies and cream ice cream and try to pretend she’d never started this conversation.

He sighed. “Molly, I don’t know what you imagine I do when I’m not here, but I am absolutely positive it isn’t whatever you think it is.”

“What?”

“Fuck it,” Sherlock sighed. The large shelving unit that was bolted to the wall slowly swung inward to reveal a dark doorway. She could just make out a tall figure standing in the shadows.

Molly got to her feet as he stepped into the room and she saw him clearly for the first time. He was tall and fit, dark but impeccably tailored clothes, a mop of soft looking curls, and a strange black mask that covered the left half of his face.

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” she asked. She’d referenced the old Phantom of the Opera movie before, did he take that as a challenge? Was he making fun of her?

“I wish it was.” Sherlock lowered his head and reached up to carefully remove his mask. He took a deep breath before he lifted his face and turned toward her fully.

Whatever had happened to him had ruined half of his face. He was lucky he was still able to see out of his left eye. “How?”

“Acid. I’d barely begun working with Lestrade as a Consulting Detective—you wouldn’t have heard of the term, I invented the position—and the abusive husband of one of my clients decided to get his revenge. It could have been worse. As you noticed, I was able to keep my eye and my mouth and vocal cords were virtually undamaged. Believe it or not, I was even more of a socially inept arsehole and my interest in relationships had been virtually non-existent before the incident. And then this happened.” He gestured to his face. “You can see how off putting this is to another person. It was easier to seclude myself than deal with people every day.”

Molly had questions. A lot of questions. “Okay, I get the wanting to stay away from other people thing, but how in the heck did you get a secret door in the basement of Scotland Yard?”

“Doors, plural. I have a contact in the government and a massive trust fund.” He blinked at her. “Why haven’t you run off or retched on your shoes? Why are you pretending this doesn’t bother you?”

“Last week I had to do a post-mortem on a floater who had been in the Thames for several weeks. A disfiguring facial injury and healed scar tissue is nothing in comparison.” She bit her lip and took a step closer. “Could I-Would it be all right if I-“

“Touch my face?” Sherlock asked at the same time Molly worked up the nerve to say, “Get a tour of your underground supervillain lair after my shift ends?”

They stared at each other for a long moment before he nodded. “I guess that would be acceptable. As long as no one saw you roaming the halls after you were supposed to be gone. As incompetent as most of the idiots upstairs can be, they are trained law enforcement officers.”

Molly smiled. “One more question, and this one is super important. Can you get wi-fi down there?"

#sherlolly halloween at 221b #2018 sherlolly halloween #sherlolly

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chasekimberly1994 · 4 years ago

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Save Marriage From Divorce Books Awesome Tricks

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shewhowantsmouseears · 7 years ago

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The Son Of Scheherazade, 1

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors Drucilla and Blueshifted - who helped with Pete's evil motivations and taught me the word Sultana!

This is a project I've held on dearly for years,so I hope you all enjoy it! Like all my previous works where Mickey has folks, his parents are made up characters, so imagine away! Do you think you know the story of Scheherazade? Not to mention all the other mysteries I'm going to pepper throughout this sandy tale...

For the curious, the Sultan's name means "Heart-broken" , Pete's last name means "Cat", and the Kingdom's name is "Mouse" in Arabic! Thank you, google translations!

Story Summary: In another Disney AU twist of tales, Prince Mickey is the son of the most famous storyteller in the world. But when his beloved parents are kidnapped by dark forces, he'll learn that not all fables are falsehoods, and it's time to begin his own story!

Chapter Summary: There was once a young prince who had more riches than he knew what to do with. But he did know he'd never be anything more than a reflection of his mother. Was there no one in the world who could see him for who, not what, he was?

Once upon a time – that's an odd way to start a story, isn't it? How do you decide where “once” took place? Is it when the action bursts forth? Is it when love enters the scene? That brings forth another question – if you're talking about someone else's story, where in their life do you pick up? Maybe it's just when their normal life was disrupted and the changes began. Yes, perhaps this will do. But who am I to define such qualifications?

Maybe you've heard of me. Maybe you haven't. It doesn't matter. The important thing is this is a story about a boy who took hold of his own destiny. I'd like to think sharing his epic journey will help those seeking their own place in life... or at the very least, bring entertainment to those who desire it. Isn't that the job of all good stories?

But in order to properly tell you this tale, it might be best if I start over. Let's skip that 'once upon a time' nonsense, and I promise to keep all bias out. This story begins one day before the boy's eighteenth birthday. That boy is prince Mickey of the Rao Kingdom.

~*~

On that morning, the day before he was to become an “official man”, as his father insisted, Mickey was awake before the sun was up. He wasn't feeling particularly lazy, but he was in no hurry to get up either. He stared at his ceiling, which was a large mural depicting several stories that his mother had told. He faintly remembered being a young child and being asked what stories he wanted shown up on the ceiling, and he had shouted “Sinbad, Sinbad, I wanna see Sinbad!”

So there was Sinbad, the famous sailor and hero fighting an array of villains – a monstrous kraken, undead creatures of the night, and rival pirates trying to steal his bounty. Treasure laid at his feet, and he was apparently saving some beautiful women from utmost disaster, his sword thrust out in his hand, a winning grin across his face. Every night before Mickey went to bed, his mother would come and tell him more stories of the sensational Sinbad, and Mickey would stare up at the ceiling, imagining that the painting was coming to life and acting out his mother's words. Tonight she'd do the same thing, and this made Mickey frown.

He was almost an official man, and official men didn't have their mommies telling them bedtime stories. It was time to grow up and leave the world of fairy tales behind. Mickey wasn't exactly sure how one did that, however – how you just snapped your fingers and went from being a child to a man. He didn't feel any different than he did a year ago or the year before that, and he doubted he would feel changed tomorrow. The only idea he could come up with was leaving the childish fantasies back in the past where they belonged. Maybe he could order the councilor, Pete Qut, to paint over it in white – no, black, black was the color of grown-ups! Sure, he would miss the painting, but he'd get over it, surely.

Maybe then Pete would show him actual respect – not the respect to a prince or the son of the world's most famous storyteller, but because he was Mickey. Just Mickey.

Traces of sunlight began to filter into the room, and Mickey slid out of bed. He needed to bathe and change before he could have breakfast with his parents, but first, as with many mornings, he went to the balcony and pushed aside the billowing curtains. From his room, he could see the furthest reaches of Rao, and spotted specks that he knew to be villagers ready to start their day.

He smiled as he watched them, enjoying the scene of a passing stranger assisting an elderly woman with her wagon. Children were running about before their elders would yank them to their classes. Warm greetings floated on the soft wind. Mickey loved the people here, and he loved all of Rao very deeply. It was often why he ran away from home to be among them, as he planned to do after breakfast.

After he bathed and put on his freshest robes, he walked out into the hallway, passing servants who bowed once they saw him.

“Good morning, son of Scheherazade.”

“Highest of blessings unto you, son of Scheherazade.”

“May tomorrow bring you nothing but joy, son of Scheherazade.”

“Good morning,” Mickey replied each time, his once strong smile weakening with every greeting. They meant no harm, but gosh that got annoying over seventeen years. Living in a gigantic palace that had almost ten servants to every room meant that every hour on the hour Mickey was constantly reminded of who he was and why he was so important to them – as if he needed to be reminded! There were days he nearly forgot his own name, he heard it so little.

With an inward sigh, he approached the dining hall, knocking on the big blue doors twice before walking inside. “Morning, everyone...” He braced himself, biting his lower lip.

“Good morning, son of Scheherazade!” A choir of no less than twenty servants replied, as well as the councilor. His parents had already started eating, and Pete was between them, going over notes on a flaky scroll. Mickey quickly walked to his chair, and as he passed each servant they continued to tell him the same things he'd heard year after year after year -

“Your new robes shall be finished by tomorrow, son of Scheherazade!”

“Shall we replace your linens? Yes, excellent, wise choice, son of Scheherazade!”

“We've prepared nothing but the best for your meals today, son of Scheherazade!”

Mickey was tempted to stick his fingers in his ears to try and drown it all out. He managed to climb into his chair and bowed his head respectfully to his parents. “So, uh,” he began a little nervously, unsure how to approach the subject in his head. “Tomorrow's the big day, is it?”

“Tomorrow?” his father mused, Sultan Muhtim Algalb of Rao – often shortened to just Al – stroking his long black beard. He was a tall man, tall in everything – long arms and legs, a long neck with a long face, and even his beard was long, reaching all the way down to his stomach. Mickey was the exact opposite – short in everything, with short arms and legs, short neck, short face, and any attempts to grow a beard were short-lived. “What's so special about tomorrow?” the Sultan joked, rapping his fingers on the table and turning to his wife. “Most beloved, can you think of anything that occurs tomorrow?”

“Nothing comes to mind, my sweetest,” Sultana Scheherazade was beautiful, with dark eyes that drew in all that looked at her, and wavy night-dark hair that rolled past her shoulders. Her every move was elegance, her every word a poem. Mickey remembered his mother once saying she had a face for stories – that her hair was like a curtain, pulling back for a stage, and her lips were the actors. The play today was “Teasing Our Boy”. “I wonder whatever he could be talking about, my sun on the brightest day.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, hoping this teasing wouldn't go on for too long – or the flirting. “Are you two ever going to stop acting like newlyweds?”

“It's easy to criticize when you don't understand!” Al laughed, reaching over to ruffle his head between Mickey's ears. Mickey was fond of the gesture but put on a pout – official men shouldn't enjoy snuggles from daddy. “One day, you'll find your special someone, and you'll moon over her the same way I moon over your mother!” Mickey doubted this, he hoped he'd sooner step in camel dung. Him giving lovey-dovey petnames to some woman – that'd be the day! But such comments would sound childish and he kept his mouth shut, allowing Al to laugh again and then slap Pete on the back. “Say, Pete! Would perhaps you know what's so special about tomorrow?”

Pete wasn't enjoying this back-and-forth any more than Mickey, although he had his own reasons. 'Councilor' was really only a title – no one needed to advise the wise Sultana, and the Sultan always took his advice from the Sultana, so in reality Pete was more of a bookkeeper and babysitter. He didn't want to be roped into the game, so he grumbled and checked something off his list. “It's the kid's birthday tomorrow, last time I checked. Now, as I was saying about these farmers-”

“I'm not a kid,” Mickey interrupted with a glare, but then fumbled. “I mean, I won't be, tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll be eighteen. Why, I'll be an adult!” He put his hands on his hips, hoping to instill some authority between him and Pete, but Pete just snorted.

“Your birthday!” Al threw his hands up with joy, smacking Pete in the face and ignoring the “OW!” that came with it.. “My son, my one and only son, now he's becoming a man!” Without any warning, he shoved his hands under Mickey's arm and lifted him up, and the Sultan danced around the long wooden table. “My son, the man! The Prince of Rao, one day soon to be Sultan of Rao!”

“Pa, put me down!” Adult men who were to one day be Sultans shouldn't be so easy to lift like rag dolls! “Ma, make him stop!”

Scheherazade had taken up a napkin and was dabbing the corners of her eyes. “No, it can't be already! Why, just yesterday you were in your swaddling clothes... and now, eighteen? I refuse to believe it!”

“Believe it, lady,” Pete growled quietly, rubbing his sore nose. “About these farmers-”

“But it's not just any birthday!” Al went on, putting Mickey down so that his son was standing on the table. “It is the birthday of the son of Scheherazade! This must be celebrated throughout the land! We will have a party that lasts all day and all night!”

“Ma... Please...” Mickey groaned, sitting down on the table, hoping to get some sense into this oddball conversation.

Scheherazade allowed herself a few more sniffles before standing up and lightly touching her husband on the shoulder. “Perhaps we should reel back, dearest. We can't throw an impromptu party whenever we feel like it... Our people need to work, they would all be quite upset if their busy days were suddenly interrupted.”

Al clicked his tongue to his cheek before nodding, reaching over to squeeze the hand on his shoulder. “As always, you see through the dark clouds of my foolishness. Whatever would I do without you, my earth and air, my life and wife?”

“You shall never know, my other half and reason to be.”

His lovesick parents were just about to kiss and Mickey was just about to gag when Pete thrust his scroll in between the smooch. “DO YOU MIND LISTENIN' FOR A COUPLE OF SECONDS?!” he bellowed, his anger bouncing off the walls. He was one of the very few people who didn't bend over backwards to praise the royal family, mostly because he didn't see anything praiseworthy about them. He yanked the scroll back, pointing hard at his lines. “You gave the farmers twice the land they asked for! That's going to double the amount of money they'll need from our – er, your treasury!”

Scheherazade took the scroll from Pete to read it over before giving it an affirmative nod. “Yes, we did. It was to make up for the terrible loss in crops last year. It's hardly their fault we had such awful growth. Besides, we have more money than we know what to do with. The best way to spend it is on our people.”

Pete huffed, crossing his arms. “Aw, who cares about a bunch of peasants? If they were so great, they'd have their own treasury! The more you give them, the more comes out of my salary!”

“Which is still more than what 5 villagers combined make in a year,” Mickey quipped, having grabbed his bowl and begun eating his breakfast.

Pete easily turned on Mickey, close to snarling. “And how do you know how much a peasant villager makes?”

“... Uh... ” Mickey paused, food in his mouth, eyes going anywhere for a better answer than the truth. “...Lucky guess?”

Al sighed deeply, crossing his arms as he faced his son. “Have you been sneaking out into the kingdom again? How many times have I warned you against that? It's more than I have hairs in my beard! It's too dangerous out there for a prince!”

“It is not!” Mickey insisted, putting the half empty bowl in his lap. “I like being out there! It's fun! You never let me do anything, you always tell me that son of Scheherazade should need for nothing!” His mother looked guilty, her eyes darting away for a moment. “Well, what about what I want? That's different than a need!”

His parents exchanged silent looks, and for a time Mickey was distracted with envy. Though he certainly didn't want a sappy romance, he did wish he could have a relationship with someone where they could understand each other merely through eye contact. If he wanted a lady love – and this was a pretty big if – he wanted someone who knew him better than anyone else did. But that would mean someone would want him for being something else than the son of Scheherazade, and there was nothing else. Mickey had no amazing stories or dashing adventures to speak of. He was a plain, boring prince.

Al exhaled heavily, waving a hand in an attempt to dismiss Pete. The Councilor only went so far as the doorway, wanting to complain some more about the money he felt the villagers didn't deserve. “All right then,” the Sultan started up again. “What is it that you want? You name it, and you shall have it! You are our son, you can have anything you desire!”

Mickey hesitated. “How is that different than any other day?” Every day he was given the best clothes, the best food, the best toys, the best books, the best of everything. He didn't even have to ask for it, his parents showered him with gifts all the time. It had instilled guilt within Mickey as he had felt he'd done nothing to earn these treasures. His was a story with no words on the pages. He'd never done anything exciting, anything worthy to be hailed over, and the closest he'd ever come to having anything remarkable in his life was...

… was something he didn't care to think about. He rubbed the scar on his neck, one that was hidden by his fur, a habit whenever he was nervous. “What I want is to be treated like an official man. I want to be a real adult. So the only thing I'm asking for on my birthday is...” He drew a breath, still reluctant about the idea but knowing he had to go through with it, “... is to get rid of the mural on my ceiling.”

“Of Sinbad?” His mother balked, a hand to her heart. “Are you serious? You love his stories! You said you wanted to be just like him when you grew up!”

“Well, I'm grown-up now. Or I will be, tomorrow.” Putting the bowl aside, Mickey hopped off the table. “And it's time I put these made-up stories away. I can't go on believing in magic and pirates and bad guys that want to take over the world.” He looked back and forth between his parents, mustering up a stern look he had practiced in his bedroom mirror. “Starting tomorrow, no more stories, and no more Sinbad. That is all I want for my birthday. Understand?”

He expected his mother to look heartbroken, and perhaps for his father to be angry. It wasn't easy for their parents to have their children thrust the demands of adulthood in their faces. Yet these weren't the faces of disappointment. Al was sucking onside of his check, his fingers knotting together nervously. Scheherazade was chewing on her lower lip, and she had a hand to her chin, as if mentally debating a serious matter. Pensive, that was the word Mickey decided on, even though he couldn't understand why they'd be like that over this simple matter.

Whatever was in their heads wasn't in Pete's, he was bored by the entire talk. He didn't care if Mickey was treated as an adult or a child, because in the end he'd still get the royal treatment. The constant adoration in the family aggravated him to no end. The brat got everything for doing nothing, whereas Pete had to work for every single scrap of food he'd ever eaten. It was Pete's bad fortune to have poor parents. Now here he was, a combination of difficult effort and pity, living the high life in the palace while these lovebirds frittered away their coins on people who clearly never worked as hard as Pete did. Not that Pete ever checked such matters – his worldview consisted of “me, myself, and I.” Now that he had his, he didn't care if anyone got theirs.

The Sultana came to a decision, a thumb to her lip, trying to resist the urge to bite her decorated nail. “Tomorrow... yes, lots of things will happen tomorrow. If you still want your wish granted by the end of that day, then it shall be so. If that is what will make you happy... and you know that is what we desire most of all.”

At this Mickey finally relaxed, and his little smile returned. He hadn't thought either of them would say no to his wish, and he bowed graciously. “Thank you.”

Al cleared his throat then, suddenly uncomfortable. “Tomorrow is tomorrow, today is today, and today you need to go to your lessons. Councilor, escort the prince.”

“But what about my money? … Your money?” Pete tried again, but the Sultan held up a flat hand, signaling the end of the discussion. He grumbled in his throat, opening the door for Mickey to confidently walk through. “Yeah, yeah, gods forbid we keep our treasure in the treasury, let's just hand it out to every dirty hand that reaches out...” he continued to mutter even when he left the room.

Once they were alone, Scheherazade picked up Mickey's bowl, silently staring into it. Al approached her, his arms out. “You don't have to tell him tomorrow... why, you never have to tell him at all! No one need ever know the truth about your stories!”

“No,” she lightly protested, putting the bowl back down. “It's time he knew... It's time the entire kingdom knew. Even if it means my cherished son thinks differently, he deserves the truth. And tomorrow, he will know everything.”

Al's gentle arms came around his wife's waist. “No matter what, he will always be our son. He will always love you, no matter what you tell him.”

She smiled and leaned on his chest, closing her eyes to take in his warmth. She didn't want to expose her secrets – until she met the Sultan, she had thought she would carry them to her grave. But like any good story, there had been twists and turns that made her rethink her values. When she married her one true love, she wanted him to have all of her, including the things she'd hidden. When Mickey was born, she felt another sense of love wash over her, and she wanted to tell him when he was old enough to understand. Eighteen... an official man... There would be no better time.

Al rubbed her shoulders, trying to perk the conversation back up. “Come. Let's work on our gifts. There's plenty more to do.” He took her by the wrist and pulled her along, trying to delay the uncomfortable business as long as possible. His wife obliged – yes, if there was an option to concentrate on more joyful things, of course she'd jump at it.

The Sultan and his wife loved each other very much, and they loved their son just as deeply, and they loved their idyllic family life – if only things could stay that way forever.

~*~

Mickey had no intention of going to his lessons, and Pete knew this. The cat was checking around for windows and doors that Mickey could run through, any curtains that could be used as ropes, any stairs Pete could be made to trip over. He was used to Mickey's tricks, and Mickey could feel Pete's eyes on his back with a hard, intense glare. Mickey wasn't really sure what he'd done to deserve such hate – surely a few sneak away tricks wouldn't cause such deep dislike! But then Pete was always grouchy for one reason or another. He supposed that was why his mother picked Pete as the Councilor, like a pet project, a man she could reform, the same way she had reformed the Sultan.

Mickey then decided if he was an official man-to-be, it would be best if he took charge. In the middle of their walk, Mickey turned around, hands on his hips, puffing out what little he had of a chest . “You know, Pete,” he began, trying to make himself as tall as possible. “You really need to listen to my parents! The treasury is meant to be used however we see fit, and if you've got a problem with our spending, it has to be a bigger problem than us helping people!” Yes, good, that sounded very man-like, full of self-assurance and dignity!

Yet it fell completely flat on Pete, who blinked down at Mickey as if he was nothing more than a bothersome gnat that kept hovering around the same meal. “Maybe it's high-time you learned that helping people helps no one! They'll just depend on you forever for every problem! Do you want to spend the rest of your life helping people?”

“...Yes?” What kind of a silly question was that?

Pete, he of a dark mind and selfish heart, hadn't expected that response. “I don't get you people at all,” he huffed, poking his stubby finger into Mickeys big black nose. “You have all the riches in the world, all the power, but you waste it on every crybaby you pass by! It's a dog-eat-dog world out there! If I was the Sultan, you'd never see me throwing good money to anybody who just asked for it!” Pete would spend it wisely - Fancy clothes, fancy food, fancy girls, it'd be nothing but fanciness for the rest of his life, and who cared what happened outside of the palace? If they didn't work hard enough to be that rich, that was their own fault. Nobody helped him, so why should he help anyone else? In the end, everyone only cared about themselves. Anyone who thought otherwise was a pushover that deserved to be pushed. Maybe he could build a big wall to block everyone else out. He'd dreamed about this scenario far too many times.

Mickey roughly shoved Pete's hand away from his face. “Good thing you're not Sultan, in that case!”

Then came a second surprise. Mickey expected Pete to sneer and huff and puff and whine all about how unfair it was that the royal family was so nice, and indeed, Pete was slowly moving his jaw around, looking ready to go into his standard spiel about poor people deserved to be poor and other nonsense. But instead of going into the tirade, Pete began to smile – not a friendly one, not one that understood the all encompassing love that the royals had, but it was still a happy smile. Like he was imagining some far off fantasy and what happened now didn't truly matter. It sent a chill up Mickey's spine.

“No,” Pete finally said, nodding once. “No, you're right, I ain't the Sultan. And a'course, you're not the Sultan either. Even if you are the big one-eight tomorrow, you're still just the prince. Why not spend the last day of your youth goin' out into the kingdom and having fun?”

“...Huh?” Mickey wasn't sure he heard right. It almost sounded like Pete was encouraging him to run off.

“Come on, skedaddle, while the sun's still out!” Pete waved his hands, chuckling merrily. “Think of it as an early birthday present, from me to you!”

The prince considered that perhaps this was a joke or a prank, but Pete couldn't master subtlety like that. He scratched his head, still puzzled, yet tempted to take up the offer. “Gee...you really mean it?”

“I absolutely mean it!” He then shrugged with one shoulder. “I'll just tell your tutor you got lost, or were busy doing something else... Don't worry about it! You go enjoy your last day being seventeen. Everyone deserves being happy on that day!” He clapped again and again, stepping forward, as if using his body to encourage Mickey to get going.

Mickey was not one to look gift horses in the mouth, nor really consider the consequences of his actions. Perhaps his mother's work was finally getting through to old Pete. A smile began to form, a laugh followed it, and Mickey turned on his tail. “O-Okay!” he shouted through pleased laughter. “Thanks a million, Pete! You're not such a bad guy after! I'll see you later!” Not wanting to risk his luck a second further, Mickey bolted down the hall to the nearest door, kicking his heels in glee.

Pete kept up his lively applause until he could no longer see the young prince. “Yep, that's right, I'm not the Sultan...” Then came that wicked smile of his once more, the one that knew of things that even the so-called wise Sultana was ignorant about. Let the boy have one more day of fun before his life came crumbling down. “...Not yet.”

~*~

Mickey rarely had a plan in mind whenever he flew away to the kingdom outside, save for one place and one person he made sure to visit every single time. He decided to start his day there, and with that he made a beeline for the butcher. He could already hear trouble brewing – a dog was barking, a man was yelling, there was clanking and clamoring. Mickey grinned – his only friend in the world was in trouble again.

He slowed down as he approached the shop, almost missing the blur that dashed out and sped into the nearest alleyway. The butcher came out next, smashing his teeth and waving his knife in the air. “That lousy pain in the butt!” he howled, unaware of who was watching him. “When I catch him, I'll make him into mincemeat! That mangy no good rotten-” His cavalcade of insults stopped abruptly when his eyes fell upon the prince. The butcher faltered, and then bowed deeply, one arm under his chest. “Oh sacred son of Scheherazade! You honor me with your presence!”

Unfortunately that annoying nickname followed Mickey wherever he went. He put his arms behind his back, the picture of innocence. “Is somethin' the matter, old pal?”

That lit the butcher's anger again, and he raised his fists in the air. “It's that thief again! I'll tan his hide and make six sandwiches out of his fat belly!” He exhaled hard, and then eyed his visitor. “Have you seen him?”

Mickey knew exactly where the culprit was. “Nope, can't say that I have.” He lied easily – small fibs were simple if you thought of them as stories. “But if I do, I know right where to send him!” Nowhere near the butcher, that was for sure.

“Of course, of course, you're a very good boy.” The butcher sighed, acknowledging his defeat. “But... it's not a total loss. I have the son of Scheherazade at my doorstep, this must be a sign of luck from the gods.”

“Let's not go nuts here,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

“Here, I'll give you my finest work today!” Not having heard Mickey's remark, the butcher speedily returned to his shop to pull out a gigantic steak. Once it was securely wrapped up, he proudly strode up to Mickey and placed it in his hands. “Please enjoy! Nothing would make me happier than to have my meat be the reason you grow up healthy and strong!”

Mickey began to smile, and sincerely hoped the butcher would leave it at that. “Thanks a lot! Your place is always the best!”

But the butcher didn't leave it at that, no one ever did. “Please give your divine mother my blessings! And I would be overjoyed to see you here again, son of Scheherazade! Your presence always brings cheer to all!”

Mickey's lips still held an upward curve but there was coldness underneath. Any kindness bestowed upon Mickey, be it gifts or idle flattery, was always because of his mother. Mickey didn't bring cheer to anyone. His mother did, and he was nothing more than a reflection of her, a reminder of the amazing things she'd done. That wouldn't end no matter how old he turned. “Yeah... thanks.” His enthusiasm died out, and he made sure to turn away before his face fell. “I'll tell her.”

He heard the butcher wish him well and fondest goodbyes, and once he heard him go back into his shop, Mickey ran to the alleyway, hearing a familiar voice pant heavily. Now Mickey could smile a genuine smile, for this was someone who was always genuine with him. “I told you to stop stealing, you nutjob! I always get something nice for you. You gotta learn some patience, that's what you gotta do!”

His companion walked on all fours out of the shadows, unable to respond – not that any dog could, although Mickey liked to imagine those fervent pants sounded like “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”, always agreeing with what Mickey said. This was a mutt true and true, no purity to its blood, its mangy fur perhaps once proudly gold but now a dusty yellow. His thin black tail wagged with excitement to see his friend, and ignoring the stolen sausage he'd nabbed minutes ago, he jumped onto Mickey and covered him with slobbery kisses.

Mickey collapsed with laughter, hugging the dog tightly. “I missed you too, Pluto!” The first time Mickey had run away, he'd found a little puppy shivering all by its lonesome, hidden under rags that grannies had thrown away. It didn't belong to anyone, or to put it more accurately, no one wanted it. Mickey had instantly taken pity on this creature so much smaller than himself, and after politely asking around in the marketplace for leftover scraps – and instead was given giant baskets of food, being a certain son and all – he had let the pup eat until it could eat no more. The puppy instantly rewarded Mickey with wet licks to his cheek, and in that moment Mickey understood that here was someone who liked him without knowing or understanding where he came from.

He had taken the puppy into his arms and ran straight home, begging his parents to let him keep it – look, he already named it, after one of those lessons from his tutor, please please pretty please- but they had declined. It could be carrying vermin and disease, and they simply couldn't take risks anymore, not after the day he'd gotten that scar. Mickey had no choice but to let the dog return to the village – but he would visit again, and again, and again, and here they were now, rolling around in the dirt with so much cheer they felt their chests would burst.

Mickey finally managed to push Pluto off, scratching his ears affectionately. “When I become Sultan, you're going to live in the palace! I'll get you a nice collar and your own pillows and everything!” Pluto yapped, nodding its head. “A-huh, and we're gunna play fetch every day! You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Mickey kissed Pluto on the head, giving him a few more adoring scratches before getting to his feet. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, pretending to be haughty, “since you've already gotten yourself a pretty big treat, I'm giving this steak to someone else! Someone who really needs it! Maybe next time you'll wait for me, and then you'll get your big, fat, juicy steak, huh?”

Pluto smiled sheepishly, picking up the links of sausage and dutifully nibbling. Mickey didn't know much about dogs, but he liked to think Pluto was smarter than most. He whistled, and Pluto obediently stepped up to Mickey's side. They walked out into the sunlight, Pluto still chewing on his victory and Mickey whistling a merry tune. Just like inside the palace, anyone who saw Mickey greeted him with that atrocious name, but at least out here they didn't ramble on about it constantly, as they had lives that didn't revolve around him. Mickey would often stop by a shop or a school to peek inside and make sure all was well. If all wasn't well – if a rowdy ne'er-do-well was harassing a shopkeeper or a crying toddler couldn't find their mommy – then he would make it well. But he didn't see anything grand or spectacular about this. It was just what a good person did, and the world was filled with good, boring, ordinary people.

It was well past noon when he found a sizable stick and gave it a toss for Pluto to chase. He wondered if he'd have the time for these walks when he was the Sultan. His parents never did, yet they ran the kingdom perfectly, so maybe they never needed to. Then again they weren't searching for someone like Mickey was. They weren't looking for someone to acknowledge who he was, even if there was nothing to acknowledge. After the third toss, Mickey yelped as Pluto nearly ran down a small child, a boy with messy hair. “Easy there!” Mickey shouted as he ran over, but the boy seemed to be more confused than injured. “Aw gee, I'm sorry about that! Pluto can be a bit too eager sometimes, can't you, Pluto? You apologize now.”

Pluto whined and lowered his head. The child smiled, reaching over to pet the dog with both hands. “Is this your dog, mister?”

“Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. Ish.” Mickey debated on the right word to use – until it hit him what this child had said. “...What did you call me?”

The child blinked up at him with glassy eyes. “Mister?” There was no recognition here.

Mickey froze. True, it was impossible for him to have met every single person in this vast kingdom, and it was possible that many of the younger generation weren't familiar with him just yet. Here was an opportunity Mickey had wanted and failed to prepare for. He stuttered, fumbling and almost dropping the steak under his arm. “N-No, that's fine! It's more than fine! It's...” He shoved the steak into the child's hands, cleared his throat, and then put a hand to his heart. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. Who knew when the next chance would come, if ever? “My name... My name is-”

“The son of Scheherazade!” came an elderly voice from behind.

Mickey had to bite down on his lower lip in order not to let several colorful expletives fly, as unknowingly learned from his father. His neck craned to see who had blurted it out. It was a very old woman, and she hobbled over on her walking stick. The child hugged her good leg. “Granny!”

“I was looking for you everywhere, silly boy,” The grandmother cooed, tenderly stroking the boy's hair. “Don't ever scare me like that again!” She faced Mickey, he of many face twitches and suppressed tempers. “How can I ever thank you for finding my grandchild, oh wondrous son of Scheherazade?”

“It... it was just a coincidence,” Mickey mumbled, and Pluto pushed his head into Mickey's open palm in an effort to support him.

The child tilted his head. “Sch... Scheh... who is that?”

“That is our Sultana.” The grandmother pointed towards the shining palace with a long, bony finger. “Have I not told you this tale?” The boy shook his head, and Mickey sighed sadly. “Long, long ago, a very evil woman broke the Sultan's heart. And her evilness spread to his soul...he wanted to make the whole world feel as awful as he did. So he commanded a bride be brought before him – so he could kill her that night, as revenge! But the brave and amazing Scheherazade volunteered to be his wife. He planned to murder her that night, but before he could try, she wove a story so deep, so complex, so thrilling... yet she didn't finish it. She said she would continue the story the next night. The Sultan was so enthralled by the story, he decided he'd delay her death until the next night. But the next night she wove an even more amazing story... and the night after, and the night after, for one thousand and one nights, until the Sultan's heart was cured of its evil by Scheherazade's stories and her love.”

The child looked over to see who the son was of such an astounding hero, but Mickey was already walking away, his head hung. “And that's her son? “Oh yes, that is the son of Scheherazade. Is he not a most fortunate boy?”

Of course Mickey knew the story – and Mickey knew that also wasn't the full story. It was the child friendly version. The child wasn't ready to hear of the real story, of betrayal and blood and agony. A fortunate boy? Him? He touched the scar on his neck, and for a few seconds, he was in the past.

IT'S NOT FAIR! HOW DARE YOU LIVE?! WHY DO YOU DESERVE TO LIVE?!

“I still don't know,” he whispered to a memory that had stayed with him for years and would never leave. Why did he deserve to live? What was the purpose of his life, the point of it? He felt tears come and pressed his arm to his eyes, trying to make it stop.

Wasn't there someone, anyone, out in this great big world who would love him for Mickey? Could such a person exist, and give meaning to his existence? Here in this great and glorious kingdom that numbered thousands, he felt all alone. What he wouldn't give for someone to take him into their arms and tell him they loved him as Mickey, and not as the son of Scheherazade?

No... surely that person was as imaginary as his mother's stories.

Mickey made the decision to go home, with Pluto following his every step. At the palace gates, he turned and knelt down. “Time to say goodbye, Pluto,” he said gently, slowly petting his pet. “One day you'll come in these gates with me.” But he knew if he tried today, the burly guards that stood left and right of him would kick the mutt back out. “Just gotta be patient... you can be patient, right?” It broke Mickey's heart to pull away, and Pluto left one last lick on Mickey's cheek. Mickey managed to tear himself away from his friend and walked back into the palace.

As soon as Mickey couldn't see or hear the pup anymore, the dog was abruptly snatched by the guards – but not to kick him out. No, there were other plans for this confused dog.

~*~

Night came and Mickey laid in his bed, staring up at the mural of Sinbad the sailor. It would be the last night he stared up at this picture, so he tried to memorize every last detail. When he heard the door creak open, he knew who it was without even looking. “Hello, Ma.”

Scheherazade walked in slowly, careful to hold her burning lamp with both hands. Mickey never took good care of his own lamp, and it was often dusty and dirty and wouldn't light. So his mother would bring in her own, often using its illumination to dramatize her tales. She knelt by his bed. “Hello, my sweet son. I know tomorrow, you want that mural painted over... which means you no longer want my stories either.”

Mickey sat up in bed, hugging his knees. “I gotta stop being a child, Ma, even if you still see me as one. Magic's not real, Sinbad's not real, I can't go on listening to stories. Real men doesn't listen to stories.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Your father likes my stories.”

“Pa drools every time you open your mouth.” He got his ear pinched for that. “Okay, okay! But I meant it, it's time I started living like a man!”

The Queen placed the flickering lamp on a nearby table, her hands in her lap. “Tomorrow will bring a great change in all of us...but that is tomorrow. This is tonight. Tonight, you are not a man.” She smiled, and glanced up at the mural. “So that means I still get to tell you one more story.”

Mickey wound up smiling, and he laid back down, his hands on his chest. “Fine, fine, fine. Just one more story... but it's gotta be about Sinbad.”

Scheherazade laughed. “Yes, of course! Sinbad and his magical flying ship! And his rowdy team – the killer couple, the harm with charm, the gunslinger singer....where should we go today? Shall Sinbad meet his bride on the moon? What about taking on the living dead from the depths? Or a swim through the pool of eternity, only to dry off on a flying carpet?”

As Scheherazade listed her options, readying herself for her greatest story ever, Mickey took one last look at the mural. He'd enjoy this story, and then never hear one again. Tonight would be the last night - he was done with make-believe magic.

Little did he know magic wasn't done with him.

#disney #fanfic #the son of scheherazade #mickey mouse #peg leg pete

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her-culture · 5 years ago

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What Learning Bharatnatyam Actually Taught Me

For about 12 years, I would go to Bharatnatyam class every Thursday from 7 to 8 pm. Although I only went to class for an hour most weeks, it effected and completely changed every aspect of my life. And it continues to shape me even a year after I left.

Bharatnatyam is an ancient and classical Indian dance style which focuses on storytelling and mythology of Hinduism. For all 12 years, I had the same guru (teacher). Not only was she the only teacher at our dance school, but she was an incredible dancer herself. And as her students, we were expected to live up to her perfection. I’m the first to admit that it was tough. Bharatnatyam is more than a graceful artform-- it requires skill, precision, strength, and discipline. Growing up, a lot of the criticism I received in class was hard to take. Most of us received critiques about how we danced as well as personal critiques about our bodies, worth ethic, even our families at times.

It was difficult not to compare yourself to other girls and to motivate yourself. But from this struggle and insecurity, I learned that it’s much more productive to compete with yourself. My teacher always said there is more to be done, meaning you can always improve. Looking back, I quite enjoy this piece of advice and see that it actually promotes inward reflection instead of focusing on things you cannot control. The idea that I might always be improving, despite others’ actions is useful when it comes to mental health, growth, school, anything! Even if there are ups and downs, I think it’s important for anyone to ask themselves, in what ways am I better today than I was yesterday?

Aside from personal growth, Bharatnatyam taught me a lot of about my culture and heritage. Some my favorite classes as a kid were ones where we would all sit on the floor and only do the hand motions for each part of the song while our teacher told us the story the song was telling. I’ve never been very religious but I loved listening to old myths and imagining them as I danced. Not only did it give meaning to every gesture, but it also allowed me to learn a side of Hinduism I could never learn in school. In school, it was embarrassing to embrace any part of your culture.

But in dance class, we were accepted, even praised, for being extravagant in our expressions and knowing the meaning behind our steps. Before a big show, we’d have hours and hours of practice a day and all I remember now is this blur of girls running around in colorful costumes, makeup spilling onto the floor, music playing at a deafening volume, and unapologetic determination and respect for the bigger picture. When it was just us girls all together, it was a space where you could feel both beautiful and Indian.

I left my dance school after I graduated high school, as most girls do. It was strange to have such a huge chapter of my life close in just an instant but it left me with a lot to think about. Even after I had 12 years of training and learned three Indian dance styles, Bharatnatyam, Kuchipudi, and Mohiniyatam, I cannot call myself a dancer. In my mind, the bar for a dancer is much higher than anything I have reached so far. But I do know that I met some of the greatest people in my dance school, stuck with myself through the hardest of times, and learned more about my roots. Bharatnatyam taught me more lessons about myself than I’ve ever learned anywhere else and for that, I am eternally grateful.

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howellrichard · 7 years ago

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My Favorite Inspirational Podcasts

Hiya Gorgeous!

One of my favorite things to do after a long day is to take a relaxing walk on the trails behind my house. Some days I’m looking for a quiet, meditative stroll. Other days, I love nothing more than popping in a pair of earbuds and pulling up one of my favorite inspirational podcasts. This is one of my go-to ways get motivated, recover from a tough day or just chill out.

There’s something so soothing about listening to people talk when you’re not expected to respond. No need to plan what you’ll say next or wonder what they’ll ask of you—just listen.

I know there are a lot of podcasts out there to choose from, and it can be hard to find something that speaks to you. That’s why I put together this list of my top six inspirational podcasts. These are the ones that really set my soul on fire, and I know you’re going to love them, too.

These podcasts will encourage you to look both deeply inward and out into the world. Every time you listen, you’ll hear from fascinating people and soak up tons of yummy inspiration. Let’s press play, darlin’!

My 6 Favorite Inspirational Podcasts

1. Good Life Project by Jonathan Fields

Jonathan Fields is all about living your best life, and that’s exactly what his podcast is about, too. Every week Jonathan delivers good vibes and tons of inspiration by bringing on fascinating guests like Elizabeth Gilbert, Tim Ferriss and Brené Brown. He explores thought-provoking topics like how walking in the rain can save you from burnout, why crying over failure can actually be a good thing and how exercise activates your genes. Jonathan’s got an infectious energy that really rubs off—I’m always ready to go chase my dreams when the episode is over!

It’s your turn to get inspired, darlin’! You can listen to the Good Life Project here.

2. Online Marketing Made Easy by Amy Porterfield

Have a big idea? A side hustle you want to take full-time? Many of us dream about diving into our passion and sharing it with the world, but we just don’t know where to start. That’s where Amy Porterfield comes in. Amy is an online marketing rockstar who ditched her corporate gig for the road less traveled. She’s become an expert in helping people grow and optimize their online businesses, all while avoiding overwhelm so they can focus on doing what they truly love.

I’m tellin’ ya, this is one of the most inspirational podcasts about business I’ve ever heard. Check it out here!

3. Tara Brach

Need some time to decompress? This is the podcast for you, honey! Tara Brach is an author and spiritual teacher who I’ve followed for years. I just know you’re going to fall in love with her calming demeanor and accessible approach to spirituality. Her podcast is a mix of uplifting talks and guided meditations, so you’re bound to find something that serves you. She covers topics like awareness, presence, mindfulness and so much more. This is truly one of my favorite inspirational podcasts for slowing down—my body relaxes the moment I hear Tara’s voice!

Find your little slice of peace with Tara here.

Light up your heart and soul with @kris_carr’s list of the most inspirational podcasts ever!

4. Take Out With Ashley and Robyn

Some days it just doesn’t get better than takeout, am I right? That holds true with this delicious podcast from Ashley Koff, RD and Robyn O’Brien. Ashley is an award-winning nutrition expert, author, speaker, consultant, spokesperson and advocate. Robyn is a former financial and food industry analyst who shook things up when she started questioning whether we’re allergic to food—or what’s been done to it. Together, this dynamic duo interviews some of the most groundbreaking influencers in the health and wellness movement. Their conversations are super honest and down-to-earth. They’ll make you feel like you’re right there in the room with them, chatting over some delicious vegan takeout.

If you’re searching for inspirational podcasts about wellness, food, fitness and more, add this one to the queue!

5. The Beautiful Writers Podcast by Linda Sivertsen

Linda Sivertsen, aka Book Mama, is an author and teacher who hosts retreats to help authors “give birth” to their books. Pretty cool, huh? And lucky for us, Linda shares her passion for guiding people through the creative process with the world via her podcast. She brings together inspiring guests like Arianna Huffington, Seth Godin, Van Jones, Gabby Bernstein and Tom Hanks (yeah—he’s a writer, too!) for some of the most insightful, fun and moving conversations I’ve ever heard. They share their triumphs and failures, as well as invaluable advice and encouragement to keep you going even when you’re feeling stuck.

Whether you’re a writer, creative or just need a boost of motivation for an upcoming project, check out The Beautiful Writers Podcast here.

6. Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations

What list about inspiration would be complete without Oprah? It probably won’t surprise you to hear that the queen of lighting up hearts, souls and minds has one of the most inspirational podcasts out there. Every episode features an incredible guest who will open your eyes to new ideas, motivate you to explore different sides of yourself and dig into life’s biggest questions. Some of my favorite conversations have been with Malala Yousafzai, Eckhart Tolle and Joel Osteen. I’m always left in awe—meditating on what I’ve heard for hours after the episode ends.

If you’ve always wanted to be a fly on Oprah’s wall, this is your chance. Tune into SuperSoul Conversations here.

Here’s something else to listen to when you’re looking for inspiration. Grab my free Magical Intuition guided meditation below!

I hope you find something in this list that really moves you, sweetheart! Whether you gain a new perspective, an exciting idea or the confidence to explore your secret passion, don’t forget to give yourself a chance to pause. Take a deep breath and simply listen—you might be surprised what you hear.

Your turn: What are your favorite inspirational podcasts? Or, which podcast from my list will you tune into? Let me know in the comments below!

Peace and happy listening,

The post My Favorite Inspirational Podcasts appeared first on KrisCarr.com.

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princesfitness · 7 years ago

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New Post has been published on My Fitness and Nutrition Store

New Post has been published on http://myfitnessnutrition.princefamily33.com/2017/11/05/solid-advice-for-improving-your-physical-fitness-2/

Solid Advice For Improving Your Physical Fitness

TIP! Put together a workout routine that you enjoy enough to stick to. If you enjoy your exercise plan, you’ll anticipate it with pleasure rather than dread every day.

Getting fit is crucial to the lives of most folks. But it can be difficult to learn everything you need to about fitness. The piece that follows offers sensible advice for attaining your personal fitness objectives.

TIP! Start gardening. Many don’t expect gardening to be as difficult as it is.

A great way to get physically fit is by choosing an exercise program that firms and tones the muscles in your body and gives you lots of flexibility. See if any classes are offered in your area.

TIP! Do you not have a lot of time for working out? Divide the workout into two separate periods or sessions. You don’t need to work out longer, simply split the time in half.

If you want to improve your overall fitness, start counting your calories. Knowing how many calories you consume a day is key because it determines whether you’ll lose weight or gain weight. By eating fewer calories each day and burning them off through exercise, soon enough you will be fit.

TIP! Simple push-ups can actually tone your triceps. Rather than doing regular push-ups, you can spot-tone the triceps by rotating your hands inward 45 degrees; your fingertips should be facing those of the opposite hand.

If you walk with bad form, you’re much more likely to injure yourself. Pull your shoulders back and keep your posture erect. Your elbows should be at a 90 degree angle. Your forward foot should be opposite your forward arm. Make sure that your heel hits the ground then gently roll your foot forward.

Personal Trainer

TIP! Keep your exercise routine interesting by doing different exercises. You will not be bored and stay on top of your exercise regimen.

If you are unsure of how to setup a plan, hire a personal trainer. In addition to providing valuable tips, a personal trainer can help one stay motivated to continue exercising. Personal trainers don’t mesh with everyone’s style, but they can have a huge effect on a person’s fitness results.

TIP! Maintain a journal so that you can record everything throughout the day. Record your daily work outs, and be sure you add in all the extra exercises you do each day.

If you are looking to gain muscle mass, then do more reps with a lesser weight to achieve this. It may seem like the ability to lift more is most important, but the goal is to see who can go longest without needing to give up. Some of today’s heaviest weight lifters use this particular method.

TIP! The best way to learn to like an exercise is to do it. No one is enthusiastic about doing exercises that they hate, so they tend to avoid them entirely.

Make yourself an exercise schedule to make it harder to weasel out of your fitness routine. Schedule determined times to exercise, and adhere to this schedule regardless. You should schedule a replacement workout if you can’t avoid skipping one, and make it a priority equal to your regular exercise routine.

TIP! Make sure your workout shoes fit well. When you shop for shoes to workout in, shop in the evening when your feet are bigger.

Always make sure that you clean any exercise equipment before you commence using it. You want to be conscience that other people leave germs behind on gym equipment. You’re going to the gym to feel better, not get sick.

TIP! If you would like to run like a champion, think about working out like the Kenyan’s do. In Kenya, they start slow for the first third of their run.

Test any workout bench before using it. Check out the density of the padding and the stability of the bar. If you hit metal or another hard surface, that bench is not safe for you to use.

TIP! Vary your ab crunches with some regular sit-ups. Many people have heard unfavorable things about situps.

A good tip to keep in mind when becoming fit is not to work out when you’re ill. When you’re ill, your body will try to heal itself using all of your body’s available resources. In addition, your body is not really able to build muscles while you are sick. It’s a good idea, therefore, to stop exercising until you feel better. While you are waiting, get plenty of rest and eat well.

Calf Raises

TIP! Free weight training including barbell squats is vital to developing a muscular physique. You will find that squats are extremely important for developing strong hamstring and quad muscles, calves, the abdominal area, as well as the back, because they boost the production of key growth hormones.

Donkey calf raises is a great way to help build up calf muscles when trying to become more fit. These calf raises can be effective for building up those calf muscles. You must have a buddy willing to rest on your back so that you are free to lift your calves upward.

TIP! A great exercise routine is to use barbels and dumbbells on a workout bench. In order to get the most benefit from your workout you need to have a suitable bench.

Think of taking your dog for a walk as a part of your fitness program. These daily walks will not only please you dog, but will also serve as great little fitness cardiovascular workouts for you. Start off with something simple. Just walk a block or two at first, and increase the distance as you become more fit. Having a companion is one of the benefits of owning a dog.

TIP! Don’t get into a rut with your exercise program. This is very important.

No matter how important it is; there will always be people who aren’t willing to learn about proper fitness. These people may not want to learn or they may just be lacking the right methods. The information in the article above will provide the basics to get you started today.

#calf muscles #calf raises #personal trainer

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stannesdamascus · 7 years ago

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Weekly News, October 26, 2017

THIS is a plain-text version of the Weekly News - for the full (and much prettier version click here)

Weekly News of St. Anne's Episcopal Church, Damascus, MD View this email in your browser

Weekly News, October 26, 2017 ------------------------------------------------------------

Explore our Community - Sunday 8am and 10am

“Let us go forward in Christ's name as a community of faith; to grow in faith through worship, witness and love for one another and our neighbor” — St. Anne's Mission Prayer ------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to St. Anne's Episcopal Church, an inclusive community of faith located in Damascus, Maryland (http://saintannesdamascus.net/location) , the "northern star" of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington (http://www.edow.org/) . We invite you to establish roots in the rituals, tradition, and fellowship of the Episcopal faith. All are welcome!

Your Support is VITAL to ensure our future! ------------------------------------------------------------

Income as of End of September: $278,879 Expenses: $280,041 Deficit $1,162

Pledges are about 5% ($14,000) behind from the summer. - this makes it difficult to stay current on our bills!

We are projecting a deficit for the year of at least $30,000 - don't forget to submit your estimate of giving for 2018 and please PRAY about increasing your giving for 2018!

Enter your 2018 Pledge Here! (http://saintannesdamascus.net/living-out-our-mission-pledge)

Living Out Our Mission ------------------------------------------------------------ How close are we to our goal for 2018?

Goal for 2018 Pledges: $323,134 Commitments as of Wednesday, October 25: $ 24,800

Right now, commitments amount to 7.67% of the goal of this year’s Living out our Mission Pledge campaign.

We can reach this goal if every family or individual who committed to supporting St. Anne’s last year were to increase their weekly contribution by ONLY $19 per week. Not so bad, is it?

It gets even easier if those who were not able to contribute last year or are new to St. Anne's can make a commitment for 2018.

Let’s keep the momentum growing! If you are ready to make your commitment, complete and mail your paper Living Out our Mission Pledge form (and thanks in advance for the envelope and stamp!) to our address below, fold and staple it and drop in the offering plate this Sunday, or go online to securely make your commitment here: http://saintannesdamascus.net/donate/ click on Living Our Mission at the top of the page!

To those of you who have already committed to supporting St. Anne’s in 2018 – THANK YOU!

Tim Pacey Generous Giving Campaign

Social Media Concept Update ------------------------------------------------------------ After seeing some of the videos featuring people, that of course were not our own people, two different parishioners stepped forward to check with some contacts they have to see if they would create some personalized footage. This would allow us to use our own people on any social media ad! Stay tuned - we may have parish video shoot in our future...in the meantime -feel free to take a look at these other ideas - which don't need to be as specific as having our own parishioners in them...

Communion (https://slide.ly/promo/share/59e9fc467a97fd0c317b23c9)

Life's Challenges (https://slide.ly/promo/share/59ea7a94b5729852727b23c8)

Lost (https://slide.ly/promo/share/59ea73c5b57298386e7b23c6)

Why You Should Go To Church Part 3 ------------------------------------------------------------ The following is reprinted from the blog The Art of Manliness and authored by Brett and Kate McKay (although this article is for women as well as youth). The blog created in 2008 has grown to be the largest men's interest magazine on the web. This is a really good article and offers some incredibly valid reasons why belonging to a faith community and attending regularly makes a difference in people's lives. It also offers some great points for EVANGELISM! It is long - so I will be reprinting it here in sections over the next couple weeks. Although if you want to read it in it's entirety just check out the blog (http://www.artofmanliness.com/2017/04/14/go-church-even-youre-not-sure-beliefs/) . By the end of the article you will see how, in the authors' view

"regular church attendance functions as one of the best keys for anyone wishing to create a flourishing life — not just the religiously inclined, but even agnostics and atheists as well."

Now on to the article PART 3!!

The Benefits of Regular Church Attendance ------------------------------------------------------------

For those who are already religiously affiliated, the purpose of church services is obvious: to worship God. Yet for more than half of this nominally faithful demographic, this raison d’etre is seemingly insufficient to compel their butts into pews each Sunday. Thus for them, the “secular” benefits of church attendance outlined below will hopefully add another layer of motivation for going.

For the “spiritual but not religious” crowd, I invite you to consider these benefits in light of the possibility that spirituality may in fact thrive most when given a little structure — a prism for focusing one’s feelings, intentions, and thoughts in a more consistent and fruitful direction.

And for the agnostics and atheists, who will surely be the hardest to convince(!), I propose looking at church like something of an anthropologist — seeing it as a common organizing principle of society, weighing whether it might not just be the best possible vehicle for meeting universal human needs, and contemplating the idea that one can admit to having those needs, and rationally accede to fulfilling them through this particular channel, without wholly assenting to their theological foundations.

For all these groups stand to benefit from the myriad social, psychological, physical, mental, and spiritual benefits church attendance has to offer.

Greater Social Support ------------------------------------------------------------

Anyone who’s graduated from college and headed out into the real world can tell you one thing: making friends in adulthood is dang hard.

It’s quite a bit easier though, if you go to church.

Experts say that two of the three keys to fostering friendships (http://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/04/17/how-to-make-friends-in-a-new-city/#friendship) are “repeated and unplanned interactions” and “a setting that encourages vulnerability.” Church amply provides both.

You see the same people every weekend, without having to plan to see them (and trying to sync your crazy schedules to make a meet-up happen). “Repeated and unplanned interactions” obviously happen in the context of things like work and the gym too, but church has the added benefit that its participants don’t just feel moved to get to know people if the mood strikes, but consider themselves duty bound to foster a tight community; they see fellowshipping as part and parcel of the whole purpose of church. Principles of love, forgiveness, self-sacrifice, charity, confession, and unity underpin congregants’ efforts to get to know each other, and even if they don’t always succeed in being animated by these lofty impulses, such virtues still function as touchstones and ideals that inform their relationships. In other words, church provides a “setting that encourages vulnerability” in a way few others can match.

Church isn’t just a good place to make some buddies either, but to simply extend and deepen your bench of social connections as well. As The New York Times reports (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/21/opinion/sunday/luhrmann-why-going-to-church-is-good-for-you.html) , “A study conducted in North Carolina found that frequent churchgoers had larger social networks, with more contact with, more affection for, and more kinds of social support from those people than their unchurched counterparts.” Getting to know different people, from different walks of life, widens the roster of people you can call on should you find yourself looking for work, or needing advice, or beset with a familial crisis.

In a time of greater isolation and shrinking social circles, when people lack face-to-face contact and have few they can turn to when in trouble, churches provide a last bastion for intimate, close-knit community.

A Chance to Remember/Reorient/Reflect/Re-center ------------------------------------------------------------

There are a lot of things that sound great in the abstract — things I think will work in theory, but don’t pan out in practice.

I want to believe that I can still be just as productive if I don’t plan my week. But I’m not.

I want to believe I can get just as strong without counting my macros. But when I don’t watch what I eat, I just get fat.

And I want to believe I can be spiritual without being religious, without going to church – because how seemingly great would it be to have a robust spiritual life without having to take on any of the time-requiring responsibilities and inconvenient disciplines required by attaching your beliefs to an institution?

But alas, through experiment and experience, I’ve found that I simply can’t maintain my spiritual life on as high a plane without giving it some structure.

We all feel like we hypothetically should be able to keep our moral compasses pointed north, our minds on deep matters, our hearts looking for ways to help others in the absence of external check-ins and prompts. But day-to-day life has a terrible way of intervening with our best intentions: we sacrifice ethics on the altar of convenience; we pay attention to what’s urgent instead of contemplating the infinite; we turn increasingly inward, and end up thinking far more about ourselves, than others.

The reality is that we’re forgetful creatures who need regular tune-ups to keep our course. Without such, earthly, immediate concerns crowd out everything higher, something even research (http://www.pewforum.org/2015/11/03/u-s-public-becoming-less-religious/) bears out: folks who are not religiously affiliated are less likely than those who are to think about the meaning and purpose of life.

Weekly church attendance invites us to reflect on our gratitude for the good things in our lives, reinforces our moral values, fosters reverence and humility, and re-focuses us on our larger purpose. It’s a chance to re-center and re-orient our lives.

There is, after all, only so far you can get off track in seven days. (continued next week)

Parish Conversations - Contrary to What you may think - THESE HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH STEWARDSHIP! SO.... ------------------------------------------------------------ Don't Forget to sign up for one of the Parish Conversations!

These conversations are meant to help the vestry continue to plan our future as a community of faith, and to help keep us growing! It's really important that we have your input and we hope that you will be able to make one of the sessions that are graciously being hosted at homes of parishioners. The conversations will last approximately 2 hours and will be facilitated by members of the Vestry.

You will see signup sheets in the parish hall for the currently scheduled sessions - each session can hold 10-12 people. Currently scheduled sessions are as follows: * 10/27; 7pm - Reed and Peggy Owens Hosting - Damascus - FILLED * 11/3; 7pm - Shane and Cindy Lippert Hosting - Clarksburg * 11/5; 1pm - Tom Warfield and Robin Mustain Hosting - Germantown * 11/8; 7:30pm - Bettianne Quinn Hosting in Multi Purpose Room at St. Anne's * 11/12; 2pm - Bill and Chris Mathews Hosting - Ijamsville * 11/18; 3pm - Bryan and Victoria Imhoff Hosting - Clarksburg

What makes you feel good about contributing to St Anne's? ------------------------------------------------------------

We are looking for people willing to stand up and tell us – in 2 to 3 minutes at church services during our giving campaign to start in late October – how they answer this question. Doesn’t matter if you have been giving to St. Anne’s for a month, a year, a decade or most of your adult life. Your answer may get others thinking about giving in a way that they had never considered before!

I can point to 2 stories I heard from those willing to get up and talk about their reasons for giving that have been the great inspiration to us to commit our financial support of the faith community we have been a part of (including St. Anne’s of course)over the past 20 years or so. I know how important it is to hear people speak of reasons for giving in their own words. So please devote some thought and prayer to doing this, and if you are willing to do it, call or text me at 240-620-2441, email me at [email protected] (mailto:[email protected]) or see me in church.

Finally, if you have thoughts to share but speaking in front of the congregation terrifies you, not to worry. By next week, we will provide an opportunity for you to share your thoughts in writing or electronically on What makes you feel good about contributing to St Anne's, that we can share anonymously with the rest of the congregation.

Tim Pacey Giving campaign chairperson

Did You know? ------------------------------------------------------------ Did you know that St. Anne's posts on Facebook most weekdays, with pictures, news and stories about our parish and our world? If you want to be sure to see all our posts, click "like" on the St. Anne's Facebook page right under the cover photo, and also change the setting for the page to "see first" as shown below. That way you won't miss a single thing!

Commemoration of the Faithful Departed (All Souls Day) ------------------------------------------------------------ All Souls Day (November 2) is a time when we particularly remember those who have died. The prayers appointed for that day remind us that we are joined with the Communion of Saints, that great group of Christians who have finished their earthly life and with who we share the hope of resurrection from the dead.

Join us for a Spirit Filled Taize Style Service

Thursday, Nov. 2 7:30pm in the Sanctuary

St. Anne's Book Club: Books and Brunch! ------------------------------------------------------------

The St. Anne's Book Club will meet on Saturday, November 4 at 11 a.m. at Jean Hampton's home for books and brunch.

All are welcome! Please RSVP to Jean by Wednesday, November 1 if you plan to attend.

The book: A Piece of the World, by Christina Baker Kline https://www.amazon.com/Piece-World-Christina-Baker-Kline-ebook/dp/B01G1FFH6Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1505043024&sr=8-1&keywords=a+piece+of+the+world

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the smash bestseller Orphan Train, a stunning and atmospheric novel of friendship, passion, and art, inspired by Andrew Wyeth’s mysterious and iconic painting Christina’s World.

"Later he told me that he’d been afraid to show me the painting. He thought I wouldn’t like the way he portrayed me: dragging myself across the field, fingers clutching dirt, my legs twisted behind. The arid moonscape of wheatgrass and timothy. That dilapidated house in the distance, looming up like a secret that won’t stay hidden."

To Christina Olson, the entire world was her family’s remote farm in the small coastal town of Cushing, Maine. Born in the home her family had lived in for generations, and increasingly incapacitated by illness, Christina seemed destined for a small life. Instead, for more than twenty years, she was host and inspiration for the artist Andrew Wyeth, and became the subject of one of the best known American paintings of the twentieth century.

As she did in her beloved smash bestseller Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline interweaves fact and fiction in a powerful novel that illuminates a little-known part of America’s history. Bringing into focus the flesh-and-blood woman behind the portrait, she vividly imagines the life of a woman with a complicated relationship to her family and her past, and a special bond with one of our greatest modern artists.

Told in evocative and lucid prose, A Piece of the World is a story about the burdens and blessings of family history, and how artist and muse can come together to forge a new and timeless legacy.

And looking ahead: The book after this one will be Tea Girl on Hummingbird Lane, by Lisa See https://www.amazon.com/Tea-Girl-Hummingbird-Lane-ebook/dp/B01HMXRVL8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1505043214&sr=1-1&keywords=tea+girl+of+hummingbird+lane

Cathryn Conroy

St. Anne's Community Concert Series Presents ------------------------------------------------------------ Tom Rohde Nov 19th 4:30pm

Classical guitarist, Tom Rohde, specializes in playing Classical, Brazilian, and Spanish music. A graduate of the New England Conservatory of Music, earning a Master’s Degree with honors in classical guitar performance, he has done extensive research of Brazilian music. Thomas Rohde, guitarist, has performed throughout the United States, Brazil, and Taiwan as a soloist and chamber musician. Select performances include the 92nd Street Y in New York City, the Spoletto Festival in Charleston, SC, the Museum of Fine Arts, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Ryles Jazz Club and the Regattabar. He has performed with the New World Symphony, the New Bedford Symphony, and the Boston Modern Orchestra Project.

Cathedral Task Force ------------------------------------------------------------

For the next few month the Cathedral Task Force is gathering information from the people of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington (AKA - EDOW). We would like to know your thoughts on the questions below. Listening Sessions are on the calendar and they are : October 30th at Grace Church in Silver Spring, and November 1st at the Cathedral in DC. The time of the sessions are 7pm to 9pm. If you find you cannot get to a Listening Session, please feel free to answer the questions and share your thoughts with us. Please look for the survey on the EDOW website: edow.org. We hope to have it online very soon. If you want to send your thoughts to an email then you can use mine: [email protected].

1. What is the relationship between your congregation and Washington National Cathedral (AKA - WNC)? 2. What would you like the relationship to be/what are the opportunities for your congregation and WNC to collaborate and share resources? 3. The founding charter and tradition charge it to be a House of Prayer for all People, the chief mission church of the diocese, and a great church for national purposes, in all of these things working to promote religion, education, and charity. Is that a role that the Cathedral is serving? 4. What is WNC's role in public square? 5. What might the WNC do that it isn't currently doing?

Thank you for your time and attention to this concern. Thank you and may peace be with you, Pam Brewer

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