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thechildoflightning · 5 years

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The Service Dogs from

just keep stumbling forward (baby im waiting for you)

A Sander Sides fanfiction series

My series focuses on CALM/LAMP as well as handing life and mental illness (which can be found here) and features two service dog handlers in Remy and Virgil.

As I’ve written these characters I’ve grown quite attached to their dogs, and I know some of the fans of the series have as well. As such,

I’ve put together a collective post featuring the dogs

Which includes their breeds, names, personalities, and how/why they are so important to their owners. Oh, and reference pictures of course!

[Image Description: Photo of a young Bernese Mountain dog sitting in a field. The puppy is looking at the camera with big brown eyes and adorable expression. The puppy is quite fluffy and has the traditional tri color markings of its breed. ID ends]

[Image Description: Photo of a large Bernese Mountain dog striding through a nature trail. The dog is holding its head high and seems quite regal. It is wearing a harness and it’s tongue is hanging out of its mouth slightly. The dog has the traditional tri color markings of it’s breed and it’s long fur has a slight curly wave to it. ID ends]

Dolly

Bernese Mountain Dog

The name Dolly is English, Greek, and American. It most commonly means “a gift from God” and/or “a vision.”

Dolly, being Virgil’s first service dog, had a lot of work cut out for, and her name represents her very being. Dolly was what gave back Virgil his independence and life while also providing him hope and safety. At the time, she really did seem like a true gift from God as the large dog immediately got Virgil to open up and decrease his violent and unsafe behaviors. She was a vision of what Virgil’s future could be.

Dolly was incredible gentle but firm. She was very much a sweetheart and a lap dog when off duty. She was all for cuddles, and her soft, thick fur always made Virgil feel safe.

But she also held her boundaries. At the time, Virgil was in a fragile place, and not only did he need Dolly to ground him and help him through flashbacks, he needed her to feel safe. Dolly often had to task into a Block, physically separating her handler from others to allow him the perceived safety he needed.

Dolly was the definition of a firm and gentle giant, and her passing was devastating on Virgil, only helped by the arrival of his new service dog, Trixie.

[Image Description: Photo of a Dutch Shepherd puppy sitting impatiently outdoors. The dog is black with slight brindle markings. It is looking at something off screen and can barely sit still. ID ends]

[Image Description: Photo of a Dutch Shepherd lying down in a green field. While lying down, the dog is intensely focused on whatever is behind the camera. The dog’s ears are perked up and it has bright amber eyes. The dog’s coat is black with brindle markings. ID ends]

Trixie

Dutch Sheperd

The name Trixie is English and Latin and means “bringer of joy.”

Trixie stepped in as Virgil’s newest service dog almost a year before Dolly’s passing. Dolly was a part of Virgil’s very soul, and had profound importance in his life, making her loss truly devastating. In fact, Virgil was adamant in his refusal to get a new service dog after. And then came along Trixie. Like her name suggests, Trixie’s puppy-like innocence and behavior brought back joy to Virgil’s life as he came to terms with Dolly’s passing. Dolly may have helped Virgil first recover from being kidnapped, but Trixie held the responsibility of helping guide Virgil through normal life and reintroduce him to the joys of it.

Trixie was dignified and passionate while also playful. She took her job seriously separating play time and work time like a pro. She was a constant at Virgil’s side and seemed to know the importance of her position. She took her job seriously and did it with purpose. She got honest joy from doing her job and doing it well. But, let her off duty, and she turned into a light-hearted puppy. She was sure to always wake up Virgil with enthusiasm and slobbery licks each morning.

Trixie was powerful, representing Virgil’s transition to adulthood, while still never forgetting the importance of living life to the fullest, a trait that would continue in Kit.

[Image Description: Photo of a Boxer German Shepherd Mix puppy leaping across a field in front of a house. The dog’s tail and ears are sticking straight up as it proudly holds an antler toy in its mouth. The dog is a caramel brown color with white paws and darker markings around its face. ID ends]

[Image Description: Photo of a Boxer German Shepherd Mix in a snowy field looking directly at the camera. The dog’s ears are a mix between half perked up and half folded over and it’s muzzle has bits of snow on it. The dog has an almost confused expression. It’s coat is brown with a small white marking on its chest and darker markings around its face and ears. ID ends]

Kit

Boxer German Shepherd Mix

The name Kit itself has no real meaning or origin. It has been used both as a nickname for Christopher and Katherine, therefore sometimes tying it to be related to Christ or purity and clearness. A more common use of the name is the abbreviation, meaning Keep In Touch. In result of these conflicts and lack of origin, the name Kit fits perfectly. After all, our origins don’t define us.

Kit’s position was different in a way that neither of Virgil’s other dogs had to experience. While both of his other dogs had to help support Virgil through trying times, Kit was only there for the aftermath. Virgil, while still having severe PTSD, had learned to adapt and manage his life in healthy ways and now had support systems in place. Kit, above all, needed to be adaptable to this new Virgil. He struggled the most in his training, causing Virgil to consider more than once to get a new dog, but it was Kit’s sheer determination that turned him against the idea. And eventually, Kit had a breakthrough in his training and everything fell into place.

Kit was pure energy. Everything about him had charm, determination, and life. While Kit struggled the most to learn his tasks and master his training, he worked the hardest. Virgil put him through the wringer and he always came back for more. It was Kit that inspired Virgil to find his own determination and self-love in himself. He was a reminder of new days and new futures. If Dolly and Trixie were steady, Kit was flexibility.

Kit became Virgil’s reminder to work through and find new ways to solve his problems, while also taking the time to smell the roses. Kit was balance.

Bonus!

[Image Description: Photo of a chocolate labradoodle puppy in front of stone and brick. The dog’s head is slightly tilted with its tongue hanging out. The dog has a bright brown nose and eyes. ID ends]

[Image Description: Photo of a chocolate labradoodle in front of a cream background. The dog’s body is not facing the camera, but it’s head is turned to directly look at the camera. The dog is lifting its head slightly and has a lolling tongue. It’s fur is quite bushy and curly. ID ends]

Cha-Cha

Labradoodle

The name Cha-Cha does not have an origin, as it was not originally a name, but a dance known for it’s hip movements, small steps, Latin American music, and most of all, it’s energy.

Cha-Cha may not have a name origin, but it certainly has meaning, just as the large labradoodle had in Remy’s own life. Both members of the team have an unmistakably energy, just as the dance the dog is named after. Cha-Cha, compared to Virgil’s dogs, also has a completely different job. Cha-Cha’s job is unmistakable- to guide and support Remy in order to give him more independence.

Cha-Cha is sophisticated and intuitive, and like her owner, dramatic. The dog, more than any other, has always seemed to be almost human. She has been a constant in Remy’s life and has seen him evolve into a more confident version of himself. Her sophistication has allowed him pace to be his own person, while her intuition has always kept them connected as one. She was the perfect in between independence and dependence. Plus, she has always had a sense for the dramatic, as when she was off duty, she would pout like nobody’s business when denied a lick from the peanut butter jar.

Cha-Cha has always been so much more than just “a guide dog.” She is Remy’s love, freedom, dreams, passions, and aspirations.

I really hope you all enjoyed this! This was both very self indulgent as well as me wanting to convey a bit more about the dogs to the readers. I just, these doggos are so good, and they deserve that recognition. I hope you love them as much as I do!

And if you haven’t read my series, but are in anyway interested, you can find it here.

Thanks so much!

#sanders sides #ao3 #fanfic #virgil sanders #remy sanders #service dog #dog #childoflightningao3update #childoflightningFanficExtras #justkeepstumblingforward #jksf #colfanficextras

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theanimeview · 6 years

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Gold, Art, and Storytelling

I love this manhwa for many reasons, but in particular, I want to talk about the beauty of framing Athanasia’s character because I think framing is something that is done really well in this manhwa and is often underappreciated by readers.

A brief summary to the set up of the story: The story’s protagonist is Princess Athanasia De Alger Obelia, seen left on the image above. She is a girl who was reincarnated into her new life as the princess and knows a bit about her potential future because the life she lives now is similar to the novel she was reading in her past life called “Lovely Princess.” In the novel Athanasia read, Jennette, seen on the right, is her younger sister and the protagonist of the story. Jannette is brought into the palace at the age of 14. Jannette who was raised outside of the palace, presumably with great love or at least great care, is able to use her loving demeanor to win the hearts of both the people and the Emporer, their father--a feat that Athanasia who was raised without love was never able to accomplish. In the end, Jennette is used by those that raised her in a political scheme to depose the first princess, Athanasia, from her foreseen position as heir to the throne that leads to her execution. No one expected the Emporer to go so far, but that is how it turns out. Unlike in many other stories of a similar set-up where someone is reincarnated into a princess from a novel they read in their former life, Athanasia was not a bully or deserving of the cruel fate. Instead, she is portrayed as a victim all the way through, thus earning great pity from both the readers and her sister following her death. Similar to other stories of the same setup, Athanasia is determined to avoid this fate. End of Summary.

Back to the colors and framing: Athanasia’s color scheme primarily takes on in the opening chapters where the adult Athanasia is present is that of light blues and yellow-ed purples (yellow and purple often turn brown, but her dresses have too much purple in them to be considered that color).

In this first image we see of Athanasia, we see her dressed in the yellowed purple color I am talking about. The dull yellow attached to the dress itself and even her hair can represent caution, decay, sickness, and jealousy while the light purple evokes romantic and nostalgic feelings. In the scene above, we see that Athanasia is in this position of decay (having fallen to her knees from his lack of love), sickness (from mental strain), jealousy (over his affection for Jannette), caution (from the way his shadow hangs over her), as well as romantic and nostalgic feelings (from her idolization of him). While the colors do not add to the dialogue, they do portray her not as a villainess but as a victim before the words even tell us such. Villainesses are often seen in vibrant colors, like peacocks, and if they are not dressed as such they are often introduced with a vibrant hair color. This is because the stronger the color is, the more attuned the character tends to be to certain characteristics. These characters don’t necessarily fit with the color’s attributes but do signify a strong personality (hence the wild hair colors of most main characters). The dullness than of Athanasia’s hair reveals a less than vibrant character--one who is instead meek in character and unlikely to be an antagonist in the "Lovely Princess.”

Next, we move onto the actual framing of Athanasia, which is closely tied in her own comparison to her father and her sister. Her father is framed mostly in dark shading, signifying his role as an antagonist to Athanasia (and Athanasia alone in the beginning). When he is not being framed as a bloody man with his back turned away from Athanasia (signifying his distaste for her and the bloody massacre that surrounds their history together), he is shown as having aggressive animosity towards her with a burning look of anger across his darkened face and glowing, scowling eyes. However, in a brief moment of simple description, we see the Emporer as someone more than the violent and angry man Athanasia imagines. For a moment, we see him as an emotionally void but handsome young man surrounded by white lilies, signifying virtue within his darkened disposition.

His colors are white, black, red, and gold, each leading to his representation as one with a strong personality that is steadfast in his decisions and successful in what he does.

Now returning to the first image I added in this analysis:

Athanasia is framed in purple irises and Jannette is surrounded by snowdrop flowers. The iris is often associate with royalty and wisdom, but also with death--a sort of foreshadowing to Athanasia’s fate. Meanwhile, the snowdrop is one of purity, hope, sympathy, and often rebirth which is somewhat fitting for the new life Janette takes on as a member of the royal family.

From here we come to see Janette and Athanasia compared more and more regarding their colors in the first few chapters as the author/artist set up the story.

Janette is in lively colors--pinks, greens, and gold (a yellow distinctly deeper than Athanasia’s hair and signifying success+wealth). While Athanasia is seen in dulled yellow-purple and soft blues.

Another noticeable difference is that Athanasia is not as decorated as her counterpart. Rather, she dresses far more conservatively than Jannette in almost every image where the two are seen together during this early part of the story. An image which can later be contributed to her father’s likeness as he often dresses with fewer embellishments than other characters.

Primary example, the former life’s Lovely Princess’s debutant ball:

And also this image of the family together:

In both the debutant ball image and the family image, Jannette (by extension, Claude, the Emporer) are framed in yellow gold, hence the glittering yellow hues. Meanwhile, Athanasia is given a dull yellow hue. Yellow which can signify a bright and cheerful feeling, and gold signifying success, is framing Jannette as a successor to their father’s love and affection. Anathasia’s dim yellow instead acts as a representation for yellow’s other meaning--instability and fear.

All of this helps add to the story and represents the type of character Anathasia is even before we see her reincarnated self.

What stands out to me the most about this framing is that Anathasia continues to be surrounded by yellow as she grows up (even with her gold obsession in the story, an obsession that stems from her hope to save up and escape her fate in the palace).

The yellow seems to take on a two-fold meaning for Anathasia as she grows in the story. The first is a symbol of fear, she knows what happens to the character and she is still very much afraid of the palace which is covered in yellows (seen above). The second is a cheerfulness, which she tries her best to portray as a ploy to live longer. It does work and as a response to that, the maids begin to treat her better and dress her in more vibrant colors as though she has a stronger personality. However, when we see her mostly on her own or doing things without people around, she returns to more conservative dresses examples:

Running off in her nightgown:

I simple pink dress for playing in:

Versus the more elaborate looking clothes the maids have her dress in when people are around:

It beautiful frames the character as she is now and as she grows and I really appreciate that attention to detail. I look forward to seeing it more as the story progresses. I just love it so much, y’all.

You can read the story on TappyToon here.

#어느날 공주가 되어버렸다 #suddenly I became a princess one day #who made me a princess #lovely princess #anathasia #claude #jannette #Athanasia De Alger Obelia #framing #gold #yellow #storytelling #manhwa #claude de alger obelia #analysis

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codyfernaesthetic · 6 years

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Unholy

A Millory One-shot

Inspired by @mvllorylvngdon “The Smoke that Swirls”

Summary: Mallory can’t get the handsome Father Langdon out of her mind.

Warnings: smut, public masturbation, derogatory terms, harsh language, nsfw, priest!Michael

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips...

She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-

Oh God!

This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.

The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.

“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.

Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”

The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung between them.

“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”

She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.

“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, Mallory?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?

And yet that made her desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.

“Yes, what?”

She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”

He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.

“Are they sated?”

She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.

“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”

She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”

“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.

#michael langdon #mallory #millory #millory au #michael x mallory #ahs apocalypse #one shot #my writing

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sidpah · 6 years

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Self-Portrait

I’m too late, ‘cause I’ve already given it all away… I would have you see a different man than the one who types in a foreign land touched by the meddling hands of a dozen different peoples, not looking to trade their culture’s wisdom but to strip the land of all that was of value… I’m as exhausted as these trampled streets, these thrashed jungles infested with foreign soldiers protecting their investments of ruby mines and narcotic crops… These filthy marketplaces mirroring the worst of the west… I feel this land’s pain, sweaty, asshole on fire from weapons-grade curry… Feet bare and stained black from disintegrating sandal felt smelling vaguely of stale vinegar…

One worn mala on left wrist strung from a seed whose name I’m too tired to recall... Night steals precious chemicals of communication… Ramakrishna? Ramirez? Rudraksha! Seeds are homage to a rival deity, Shiva. But he can’t be my rival because I’m a loner, no member of a team. I have no church, no faith, no dogmatic practice…

There are no gods left in Sidpah… they’ve all been driven into the sea… In their place is an amorphous web of beliefs constantly respun to create fresh, deceptively vibrant yet undeniably asymmetrical patterns… Sneezing. Spittle web strung from this bulldog face.

This is not how I would have you envision me. Not ten pounds overweight. Or twenty. Not greasy-scalped and hairy-shouldered. Not in boxers three days worn. Not with fresh semen dripping down inside of chaffed leg. Not delirious or deliriously lonely. Not a fermented berry of a man… Not wrung like a wrong number or my hands on a too-hot, two-handjob sleepless night of grey panel torture and anxiety whispers from the dark hollow faces cursing my room... There’s hardly a man to be seen. Sure, there’re fingers and hormones and tree sprouts of white matter, but this vacancy is my truest fingerprint…

Maybe I’m a long way from knowing anything of value – Maybe all these garish visions are only detours – Mara’s little tricks to keep me from realizing that he doesn’t even exist – From realizing how content I could remain, entwined in vines running tree cloud to packed sod – Kusa grass and prayers are sustenance – Filled with admiration for the holy, I feel lazy and defective. Unable to live up to my own nobility –

Body’s a common machine with subtly varied proclivities – This unit spins on tales of letters and adjectives – faulty electronics, broken strings, healed strangers expecting repetitious miracles… It refuses to sit on cushion for more than a few minutes of banal torture –

Who can I lie to but myself? I’m a bear born in the year of the horse who would rather be a bird cutting the sky over a tropical island free and clear. A bachelor, tried, tested and confirmed – Allow yourself to be there – The backs of my hands look offensively large and rough under this light. They’ll sink like a stone. Shatter a keyboard or a cheekbone. Split a vein down the middle. Play an ugly one-stringed melody. Too rarely thumb bodhi seed mala and chant for purity. Too rarely fold into mudra for health or circulation of prana. Never stroke her cheek, or twist knots in her auric hair, or slip surreptitiously beneath silk blouse... They’re always rough sand mortar and burlap, unwieldy bricks in a room of June bugs. And they are but one-twentieth of the whole… Our best features are sometimes the most ungainly –

Nothing can make you feel more self-conscious than an unsolicited portrait. Well here is my self-portrait whether I like it or not: My bones have turned russet from sweat and oil. Tanned skin is painted to walls in gobs of brown and red… Tribal tattoos – Whose tribe are they? Hoary old stalactites… I’m all moles and telengiectasia – Red spots threaten bloodletting – Black dots threaten melanoma – Porous brown bones contemplate fractures deprived of nutrients or forced upon by physical labor – Brain lies in wait for AVM to seize its chance – Colon responds same spastic way to grease, parasite or imaginary humiliation – Eyes grow longer causing me to see things closer and closer – Hair follicles poisoned by drugs, recreationally pharmaceutical, or maybe genetics, give up their will to push – Gums infected ruby red rather than healthy coral, so says dentist. Veins are thick with stony plaque – Torso (most dangerous place) thick with roll of collected fat – Heart overworked and underpaid – Adrenal glands jacked up, depleted, now wilted and suffering, unable to respond with proper chemical dialogue – Convenient codified diagrams of peptide sound – Sinuses full and swollen shut, fine steroid mist unable to penetrate packed cavity – Lungs full of soot and yellow phlegm –

Every cell now thriving, still dying – Skin losing elasticity – Will losing control over mind – Erection still works, though one testicle aches like it’s being tapped continually by a tiny spoon – Mandible muscles tight, jaw crunches clicks, teeth grind with stress or over-taught concentration watching repetitions of breath – Blood cells becoming ineffectual against infection – Antibodies awaiting a battle they will eventually lose – Thus far, all wars have been successfully fought – winning streaks can’t last forever – And still I manage to sit and laugh – this trivial life away –

I’m a fictional beast, leaden of feet and shaggy of back. Reptilian face and beady squint eyes size up each flickering movement for a taste of prey I pray never to taste. A pitiful mirror painted on fat chest reflects the vulgarities of the external world, ignoring the vulgar black tain of my own soul...

Disbelief in my own soul reflects the myopia of others that I live to destroy, condemning them to feel equally base – And I grin knowingly, all the while knowing nothing...

Fixating on microscopic sensation of flesh, the intangible workings of my own conscious thoughts… I dwell until they are their own universes, fashioning civilizations of bigotry, torture and carcinogens. I can see clearly with distaste every vile behavior yet reenact, reenact, justify and reenact them all until I swoon from degradation, frustration, stupidity and self-pity...

I can never be a martyr because I lack a cause. Mild disinterest, no more acerbic than a warm glass of soymilk. I’m neither political nor spiritual. Not even secular because I don’t believe in distinctions. I’m a realist who finds all phenomena to be thoroughly unreal... I will leave nearly all stones unturned and all books unread. The meager knowledge accumulated in my lifetime just so many dusty trinkets in a collapsing display case. One leg bound to give out and destroy the few items of relative value buried within... Whose gain? Whose loss? I’m a beggar for salvation. But I’m too proud to take a teacher’s charity... Lift my head to the warm eclipse of Sunrays, devastating in their splendor… And degraded I sigh, sheepishly grin, and turn away where my mind fondles something or someone else, distracting itself from the fact that I will never be attractive to society…

I’m a rare beast. I know what I want and also why I shouldn’t want it. It doesn’t curtail the cravings, but it makes me feel guilty and ridiculous for desiring them in light of this knowledge… Like lusting for a hammer when you have to drive a screw into the wall. Like lusting for a screwdriver when you have no walls or screws. I’m an unfortified mess…

What is a mess? These parts are not this man. There’s no man, but a mash of aggregates held in six-foot net – And these parts are not eternal. They are already replaced! Even this outer shell replaced every twenty-eight days! These transient parts are not even these parts! They are particles of energy with no essence to be ashamed of!

My atoms are shinier than your atoms! My electrons are faster than your electrons! My protons look better in a bikini! My neutrons have reached higher states of meditative bliss!

My anger is crimson and molten as your anger. My love as passionate and fleeting as your love, and my wisdom as deep and true as your wisdom. It’s only our learning, stilted and prejudiced that keeps us from knowing this. That keeps me from knowing that I am not these emotions. I am not these colors, melanin, blood, bile, iron…

I am not this face or hands or organs, not this beard, or these callused soles. I am not a brain running strings of 0s and 1s. I am not recollections of old escapades, not every movie watched or novel read with this body placed in role of protagonist – I am not a list of preferreds, a list of don’t-likes, a list of aspirations, a list of disappointments to be avenged, or sulked upon each day to keep their memories alive – flowers on their headstones… I am not the photograph friends, family, acquaintances carry in their tattered wallets – The image they try to bind me to expecting a scripted response to their own erratic behaviors… Unaware that they are not they as much as I am not I. And I am not an I – I am a We, I am an Us, I am a No! I am a Bah! I am infinitely manageable, malleable, fallible…

My mistakes are empty as all the things I ever got right and then wished like hell I hadn’t... All the battles I ever thought I won. All the dreams I ever woke from disappointed to be awake... Cravings repressed until the cauldron boiled over, and I binged night and day until the urges were sated –(Mara kicked back with a cigar and a smug grin…) All the technology I bought then broke, couldn’t find a use for, discarded or lost on dusty shelves in a cluttered basement – All those times I was inches from death, and relieved, died anyway, unbeknownst to this pathological brain – It can’t comprehend that I’ve already perished, that I’m eternally here, already in my final and only and everlasting incarnation as a sublime manifestation of life eternally creating itself – But if it can’t comprehend it, how was it thought, considered, written, embraced, known? I am more than any of us will ever understand. And maybe this is all there is to know –

#self portrait #fiction #memoir #poetry #spirituality #Buddhism #Atheism #philosophy #enlightenment #epiphany

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docholligay · 7 years

Text

But first

Hey folks, my stuff on my Patreon stays exclusive for six months! What kind of stuff will you get there? Stuff like this glorious nugget of Angsty Outers Family, which just cleared up for me to publish here! I thank all of you so much for your support!! It means so incredibly much.

A Family Affair

Hotaru remembered a painting that had been in one of Michiru's coffee table books, with clocks yawning and stretching and melting over a desert landscape. The Persistence of Memory, it had been called, and her Michiru-Mama had told her with grand gestures about the representation of memory within it, and how it warps over time, until time and memory means precious little at all.

But that was another lie she told. Memory was everything.

She doodled a circle in her notebook. The memories had been coming back to her, more quickly now than ever. She had always known she was some sort of adopt, and that there was something about her that must not be quite right. Other girls went to school, they grew up normally, but Hotaru seemed to grow overnight, and then not grow at all. She looked a young teenager, but was somehow also two.

She was magic, like them, it had been explained. That was all. Soon, she’d be able to join them on the battlefield, her strange collection of parents.

But they hadn’t told her everything. And the clock didn’t melt so much that she couldn’t remember, now.

The rage built in her, a monster inside of her more fearsome than even the one who had come before it. In these moments, in the light of the memories that had illuminated her mind, she never so desired to embrace her terrifying power.

They had tried to kill her. They had stolen her. They had lied to her.

And they had dressed it all up in domesticity. They had read her stories and tucked her in at night and tried to make it all real, to make it all love. She felt the betrayal like a dagger in her chest, deep and throbbing within her. She had trusted them, she had loved them, and everything their family had ever been was a lie.

She heard the door close, and the sounds of them coming into the house. Hotaru looked in the mirror, and saw a storm brewing behind her own eyes she had never seen before. She had never before understood how anything within her could be capable of crushing a galaxy. And yet now, she did not doubt that such a thing was possible.

She burst out of her room and exploded down the stairs. She was like before, before they tried to kill her, before everything had happened, but she wasn’t, too. It was as if her mind carried a memory of fragility and sickness that this body did not know. Was she even herself anymore? Was she nothing more than part of their sick, silly game? She did not know, and she could not ask. Who would she ask? She was just a soldier, a pawn to them.

Nothing else.

She stopped halfway down the stairs and glared at them, the three standing there like mice enraptured by a snake’s gaze.

Michiru stepped forward, her lips parted in concern. “Hotaru, are you quite all right?”

Her voice came like a growl, low and aggressive. “You lied to me.”

Haruka was the first to step forward, smiling. “No, Firefly, we just have to put off the trip to the zoo this weekend, I’ll still take you.”

“Not about that!” Haruka recoiled at Hotaru’s sharp bark. There was a pause, and Pluto held her purse tightly, Haruka looked hurt and confused. Only Michiru’s face began to change, the concern dropping out of it and realization taking its place. Hotaru took a breath. ‘I’m not yours.”

Haruka began to walk toward her, and Pluto held her by the elbow, but Haruka did not stop. “It doesn’t matter if--”

“No!” Hotaru bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from coming. “You stole me! You tried to murder me!”

Haruka put her hand to her chest. “It--I--”

“It wasn’t so simple as that.” Michiru hung up her jacket, and smoothed her hair, taking a breath. “I will be more than happy to explain all this to you ,Hotaru, but I think you should perha--”

“Don’t do that.” Hotaru shook her head. “No.” She looked down at Haruka. “I can’t believe you.”

Haruka visibly shrank for a moment, sucking in the top of her bottom lip.

Michiru crossed her arms. “So what precisely would you have me do? I’ve offered to explain to you, as an adult, the decision we were forced to make.”

Pluto could feel it already, the changing mood of the room, Michiru building that sea wall that separated her from her own emotions, Haruka’s hurt beginning to fester and boil inside of her, just waiting for a match to convert it to anger, Hotaru beginning to tear and pull away from them, the ooze of pain where she would have been echoing through the house.

“Did you try to kill me?” She walked down the stairs, dodging Haruka’s attempt to touch her shoulder. She stopped in front of Michiru. “Did you?”

“Yes,” She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “We did.”

Hotaru threw her shoulders back. “And did you take me from my dad?”

“Yes,” Michiru shot a look at Pluto. “We did.”

“Well then,” She said with a firmness Michiru might once have been proud of, “there’s nothing else to say.” She began to clip back up the stairs, and Haruka reached out to her once more. She shrank against the banister. “Don’t touch me!”

She bolted up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. “I hate them,” she murmured to herself, like a prayer, like a reminder. “I hate them so much.”

Hotaru took a bag out of the closet and began shoving clothes into it. She struggled to hang onto the memories: Where her house was, what her father looked like, what she had been through, what they had both been through. Their dedication to kill her. Pluto taking her from her father’s arms.

How could they do this to her? How could they raise her, and pretend to love her, when all they did was lie and hide? They had all lied, not just her mothers...no, not her mothers. Her captors. Usagi, and Mina, and Rei, all of them, all of them had continued with the fiction that Hotaru belonged with them and was part of them. But Hotaru wouldn’t continue the lie. She would free herself from them.

She stomped down the stairs, bag slung over her shoulder, teeth practically bared at the three women sitting at what had been the family table, when you could call this a family.

“Take me home.” She snarled.

Pluto looked at her, calmly and full of sorrow. “Hotaru.”

Hotaru started to shake with emotion, though particularly what the emotion was, she could not say.

“Come sit.” Michiru gestured, and Hotaru hated herself for the way she moved toward the table.

She stopped herself, grinding into the floor, not allowing herself to sit, simply standing behind the chair. “What?”

“We must talk.” Michiru reached over to take Haruka’s hand. “I realize this is--”

Hotaru simply shook her head, unable to form the words.

“We love you.” Pluto realized it was the wrong thing to say the moment she said it, a thousand recollections over thousands of years of love and fighting and human pain not enough to help her avoid this moment.

Hotaru back against the wall. “You don’t! You just feel guilty.”

“It was not a choice made lightly.” Michiru tightened her grip on Haruka’s hand.

Hotaru slammed down her bag. “Then why did you lie?! Why did you pretend it never happened?!”

The three of them looked at each other, each hoping the other had some kind of answer, some wisdom, but each of them looking into their own souls and only being able to find a quiet dull whisper of I knew it was wrong. Pluto looked to Michiru, who already had taken the soft affection from her eyes and replaced it with cold disconnect.

Michiru began to open her mouth when Haruka broke from her grasp and stood up. I know it was--“Because we didn’t want to hurt you. We--” she fiddled with the back of the chair, stumbling, “--I, I didn’t want you to hate me.” There was a purity in it, a door left open, her love hanging out over the world. “We’re family.”

“You’re not my family.” Images of her father, recovered now, holding her beneath a cherry tree, flooded her mind. She looked back up at Haruka, and though she might never have claimed to be Michiru’s child, she sunk in the blow, slithered between the ribs. “I do hate you.”

Haruka took a step back and drew her arm across her chest, her brow furrowed in a deep frown.

The stress and the adrenaline began to build up in Hotaru’s mind. She got nothing, no real childhood, no choices, no chance to me a normal girl and live a siimple life, and it was unfair, it was so unfair, and these three women sitting in front of her represented everything about her unwelcome draft into a war she never understood or knew.

She pointed at Haruka, moving toward her. “You, ruined everything for me. You’re a bad person. How can you look at me, and tell me you love me, after all that? You--”

She barked back. “Goddamnit Hotaru, if you want to go bad childhood for bad childhood, I bet I’d win.” Haruka began to bristle, the heat slowly building, the fumes from the bubbling sadness and self-hate inside her beginning to crackle and pop in her general explosion of protective anger.

“At least you weren’t taken from someone who cared about you!” Hotaru yelled, and Michiru began to move toward them, seeing the words come out of Hotaru’s mouth before she had a chance to finish. “Were you jealous, because your mom didn’t love you, or--”

Haruka howled, and her fist flew into the plaster of the wall, which offered no quarter, but slammed back against her hand, and Haruka snatched it to her chest immediately and sunk against the wall, still glowering like a wounded animal.

Michiru moved between them, her hands raised. “This has all gotten terribly out of hand.”

Hotaru picked up her bag. “You’re right.” She ignored the tears stinging her eyes, ignored the pain that lay in the shadow of all her anger, and would not dare to raise her sleeve for fear it all might show, that it would break and wash away her terrible, aching anger. “I’m leaving.”

Pluto stood up, but every word that came to her lips seemed wrong and false and if it would only deepen the rift between them all further.

Haruka gave a heavy sigh that shuttered just a bit at the end. “M’sorry,” she took a deep breath, jagged and hard. “So sorry.”

It was not immediately obvious what she was apologizing for.

“Yes, I suppose you should.” The voice was Michiru’s and could only ever be, steeled and cold and empty of feeling, gutted out by Michiru’s own hand. She knelt next to Haruka and carefully looked over her hand, As Haruka turned from Hotaru and buried her head in her shoulder.

Pluto shook her head, watching the tiny family she had crumble before her and fall back into the endless eternal sea of human conflict, no more than a fraction of a blink in all the life she had lived. And yet there was no stopping, no way to reverse the terrible fall. There was only the loud cry in her own heart, called across an unfeeling black expanse.

Hotaru nodded and slung the bag over her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me.”

“I will have your things delivered.”

“Fine.”

“Marvelous.”

Hotaru turned and took the doorknob, walking into the night, never noticing that both she and Michiru were driving their fingernails into the soft meat of their palms, narrowing their eyes with the focusing pain.

You’d be forgiven for not seeing the family resemblance.

#I'm like 300 bucks from being able to quit my job ahahaha #my god #only working 40 horus a week on the patreon?#instead of the 60-70 combined I do now?#astounding #THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH #I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.

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shimayufanfiction · 7 years

Text

Merī Kurisumasu

Universe: Sousei no Onmyouji (manga) / “The Purity of Red Seems To Be White”

Pairing: Shimon x Mayura

Rated K

Author: lovingtimetravelexpert

Originally posted in the One-shot collection “A Flight towards our Future”

Merī Kurisumasu

With eagle eyes and a calm hand Mayura placed her homemade chocolate cream on the cake spreading it out very carefully. After a few minutes the whole cake was surrounded by the soft, creamy chocolate icing. She smiled at her work. Surely he would like it. He would appreciate the perfection of the flat top and sides as well as the pointedly shaped edge of the cake. But she knew he would love the cake after tasting a bite. After all – she had learned this on one of her visits to the Ikagura estate before they were dating – Shimon had a sweet tooth.

She hummed a Christmas song as she decorated the cake with small piles of whipped vanilla cream. In her head she chanted the words 'I just want to hold you close. Da-da-daaa. All I want for Christmas...' She giggled feeling silly. But she was happy about her work. This cake would help her. Since they started going out he was not so stiff anymore when they were alone together but she had discovered a little of chocolate made him smile and laugh a lot sooner. And though it was a rare sight to see and a rare sound to hear she loved the moment, he showed and shared his happiness.

After finishing the cake by putting sweet cherries on top of each pile, she turned around to get a glance at the clock hanging above the door frame of the kitchen. It was already half past five. She had half an hour to get ready. 'Perfect timing', she thought putting away the cake.

As she went to her room she wondered if Benio and Rokuro were having a special date, too or if they spend their day like always pretending nothing was going on. Coming to think of it, Shimon and her would be alone for the whole day. The main house of the Amawaka clan was totally deserted this evening. Swallowing down her dwelling nervousness about this thought she entered her room and swiftly put on her dress and the suiting stockings she had laid out this morning. It was a beige cotton dress with long arms and a collar of fur, ending above her knees. Looking in the mirror her self-confidence rose. It was the perfect outfit, not too formal, not too showy and fitting her perfectly. Now she only needed to make her hair and she would be ready.

The scent of candles filled the main room as she lightened the last one just in time before the bell in front of the house rang. Taking in the sight of the candles she felt the nervousness rise in her again. What would they do the whole evening alone together? Were the candles too much? Should she leave the main light on? How much time would she need to blow out all twenty six candles?

The bell rang anew, breaking Mayura out of her inner conflict. It was too late to turn back now. Taking a deep breath she went to let Shimon in.

When she opened the door all of her worries dissolved. Shimon was standing there with a hand in one pocket of his trousers, the other held a nicely wrapped present. Instead of his usual outfit he now wore a light blue shirt that complimented his sky blue eyes and a black tie. Brown trousers and black shoes completed the handsome sight. Mayura felt a blush rising as she took his appearance in. She noticed he didn't wear his headphones which caused a funny, fluttering feeling in her stomach. He was taking this date as serious as she did. Her blush deepened when she noticed his eyes widening and a small blush brushing his cheeks as he watched her.

After a while Shimon seemed to have regained his composure, he straightened up. "Mayura, you look beautiful."

Her heart beat sped up. His voice, saying such things, it was enough to make her feel tingly inside. She looked down on her folded hands and stammered: "Thank you. You look very ha-a-handsome, too."

Fighting her inner turmoil she looked up at Shimon whose ever sharp gaze was so soft now. "C-come in?"

He simply nodded and followed her as she lead the way to the main room.

After they sat on the couch with a lot of distance between them. The room was totally silent for they both sat there not looking at each other. She had her hands folded in her lap and watched the candle light flicker softly. The air between Shimon and her was still tight and awkward. Had she poisoned the whole mood by dressing up and lightening candles? Had she send wrong signals rising high expectations? An image of them in a tight embrace on the couch appeared in front of her inner eye. Heat rose her face and she tried to shake the image off. She clenched her hands together as she felt his gaze on her. Okay, it was clearly time for the cake!

She raised her eyes to him who held the present in one hand. "I have cake." A few days later she might laugh about her own stupid wording. Now as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze she only thought about the cake as the ultimate solution to this situation and continued. "I'm going to get it, just wait here. By the way, you can put the present on the table."

With that she rushed to get the cake. It was still on the kitchen counter, looking absolutely mouth-watering. She sighed and took the cake and brought it to the main room, where she had set dishes before she lightened the candles.

And she had been right. When Shimon looked at the cake his lips lifted to a small smile and his eyes held a little wonder in them. After he took the first bite of the cake he paused and looked down on his plate. Mayura began to fear the worst: Was there too much cream? Not enough? Was it too sweet? Was there-?

"Mayura, this is delicious. Did you make the cake?" He looked at her in puzzlement like he tried to figure something out.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Mayura nodded eargerly as she felt utterly relieved and pleased because he liked the cake.

The puzzlement turned into something else. And he bowed his head. "Thank you, Mayura, for this tasty cake." After that he literally dug into the cake. He ate his slice of cake rapidly. Nevertheless he managed to avoid gobbling it down and stayed presentable.

She smiled watching him. He was handsome, cool, kind and powerful. But he also had many funny and cute quirks that where also part of the reason she fell in love with him.

"Everything, okay?" He watched her with a raised eyebrow, having finished his (first) slice of cake.

She smiled at him, he had a crumble in the corner of his mouth. He was cute indeed. "Everything is perfect." Slowly she ate her piece of cake as he continued giving into his chocolate addiction.

Later when they exchanged presents she felt the love for him tighten her chest each moment passing by. When he opened her present and blew her a fullhearted smile over the vermilion scarf she had knitted herself for half an eternity, when she opened his present and couldn't help but laugh hard about the Twin Star Exorcist action figures, when he shared her laughter, when they smiled at each other like the fools they were, when he leaned towards, when he kissed her, she knew, she just knew they were meant to be.

Before she pressed her lips to his again, she whispered: "Merry Christmas."

#a flight toward future #shimayu fanfiction #shimayu #fanfiction #meri kurisumasu #one-shot #rated k #sousei no onmyouji #twin star exorcists #manga-universe #the purity of white seems to be red #spin-off

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daily-rubbersoul-redux · 3 years

Text

24 hours? Nah more like 60 minutes, here it is fuckers :]

As much as I regret it, I must put this under a cut due to the fact that some of it is graphic in nature (even though I try and avoid describing it too graphically, I still feel that this is the best way to go about this as to not accidentally expose someone to something they are uncomfortable with. I really don't want to say what exactly in order to avoid spoiling it, but I feel it is the right thing to do, so: If you're uncomfortable with death or self harm (possibly including more severe versions of this, i.e. suicide/attempted suicide) then maybe don't read this? Or just read it with caution. Again, I did my best to make it not too bad, but at the same time, I wanted to make it a good piece of writing, meaning not omitting everything, if that makes sense). However, this is also, well.... Incredibly long. I put a lot of time and effort into making it as good as possible, and I enjoyed every second of it. This plot, this whole thing, it.... It means a lot to me, because it's kind of the first OC related plot that I ever made that I was truly proud of. Or well, a version of it since y'know. The characters it focuses on aren't originally from the JJBA Universe. But still, I really hope you read it at all, and if you do that you enjoy it.

Also, just a few other things: This originally was going to have drawings throughout it, but a combination of not being able to make them look how I wanted, not wanting to interrupt the writing’s flow and just feeling as if I didn’t have enough time killed that idea. Also, I really don’t think the first part is too great, especially when compared to the later parts, but I didn’t feel like it warranted a complete re-write, so... Yeah, don’t judge it all off of that.

And I know, usually Author's notes go at the end but y'know. Figured I'd put something above the cut. :]

Part I: To say goodbye.

Friday, June 18th, 3:00 p.m.

Jacian glanced at the clock on the wall, as the hands aligned to spell out 3 o’clock. It was time to get ready for what was to come. He willingly pried himself from his seat, leaving his half-eaten meal behind him; It was not as if it was not already cold and spoiled. He calmly made his way to his room, opening his closet with a flourish. Anyone else may have been panicking in this situation, or at the very least stressed a little, but not him. He had already made peace with his decision, and with what he had to do. There was no way around it. He had his orders, and he would obey.

One of them would not leave this duel with any life remaining in their bodies.

His hands made their way to the very back of the line of identical school uniforms that stood before him, gently removing a much more regal outfit, complete with an armored pauldron. Fitting attire for a final duel; It was only right to show his respect by dressing appropriately. He took his time changing into the outfit; First the white undershirt, followed by cream pants, which the shirt was tucked into, then his black boots with red accents, which the pants were tucked into, his signature almost navy-blue jacket with golden accents and its decorative tassel, his neckerchief, which was expertly tied and tucked into his jacket, his trademark scarlet cape slung over his left shoulder, a shimmering black pauldron atop the cape, a pair of black armored gloves, and finally…

He walked over to his bedside table, gently plucking a white lily from the plant he had growing there and fastening it to his bosom over the top of the cape’s edge. White lilies… What an ironic choice. The flower he loved most, and one often symbolizing purity…

But also, a flower often present at the funerals of those who died young. How fitting.

He looked himself over in the full-length mirror that stood aside his closet, making sure his appearance was picture perfect as intended. His golden hair fell perfectly into place, his flowing red cape lay perfectly both as he stood still and as he posed a bit, and the matching red palms of his armored gloves complimented the whole look quite well. He adjusted his neckerchief a bit, ensuring that it was properly aligned, before giving a satisfied nod. Oh, how he wished it father could have seen him now… He wondered; would he be proud of him? Would he approve of how he had been doing his job, and upholding his values? After all, it was because of his father that he had decided to follow this path in the first place. He respected him; How he upheld his moral code no matter what, and yet was still able to make time for his family. He was such a great man, and yet… He bled all the same. Which was why Jacian had to take up arms in his stead; He had to protect his father’s honor, by ensuring that his sacrifice would not be in vain. And to that end, he would serve his Lord to his last breath as well, no matter what.

Ah, but… He was getting distracted, and nearly had forgotten the most vital part of his getup; The part that would be a true necessity in the events to come. He made his way to the two cases sitting on his bed, gently lifting the lids on them, and retrieving the contents from within. The smaller of the two contained his usual rapier, which he fastened to his right hip as he normally did. The second case however, contained a much larger sword, one seemingly custom made to fit some very specific requirements. Its almost greenish blade shinned in the small amount of sunlight that was trickling into the room via a curtained window as Jacian fastened this sword to left hip, though much more towards the rear of his body. He once again looked himself over in the mirror, ensuring that the two blades laid as they should, before giving himself a final nod of approval.

Now that that was all done… He had a few more things to check before he departed. He made his way back out into the living area of his apartment. What was in his private quarters did not matter much anyways; Out here was where he had spent most of his time. First thing first, he read over the note he had left on the table once more, just to be completely sure it expressed the things that he wanted it to. After a few moments, he deemed it to be fine, and so neatly folded it and left it next to his perpetually unfinished meal. That was done, and he had already left the notes he had prepared for Myojo, Suzu and Orlando in the council room and principal’s office respectively, so next… He walked over to the coffee table, grabbed the spare key he had left there, and tucked it away within his jacket for the time being. Was there anything else that needed to be done? He slowly scanned the rest of the living area with his vision, but before too long his eyes fell on the objects lining the shelves near his window. His stern expression softened a bit as he made his way over to them, nostalgic thoughts filling his mind.

Lining them were things he had obtained over the past five years, all of them from close friends both new and old. Most were simply small trinkets, though there were some bigger objects and even some things attached to the wall between the shelves and the window. He went over to the objects on the wall first; A motivational poster from Anton, a t-shirt from Orlando with a picture of his face on it, and a motivational cat calendar from Suzu. Not to mention the window they were all hung next to, which held a window planter Taiana had gifted him for his birthday which was now filled with campanulas. As for the shelves themselves, many of the objects they held were naught but small trinkets, such as a Maneki-Neko figurine from Kyō, a hand made lily pin from Kaitso, an ornate pair of scissors from Chiuji, a brooch and embroidered handkerchief from Taiana, a student council pin from Myojo, a rooster charm from Anton, a keychain from Orlando that was also of his face – along with a ‘Best Fiends’ necklace – and a crystal lily figure from Merridith. Of the larger images, two were cards; One from Anton and the rest of his group, commemorating his birthday a few years prior, and the other from Myojo, wishing him well when he had been down in the dumps and stressed previously. Finally, there were the larger objects; A decorative folding fan from Kyō, a solid gold sword replica from Kaitso, a pair of pastel blue and white roller skates from Merridith, a boxed set of The Power Puff Girls DVDs from Orlando, a book of flirting tips and pick-up lines from Chiuji, and the two Build-A-Bear stuffed animals that Suzu and Myojo had gifted him, as well as his own. All of this, from all of his friends… He felt a twinge in his heart. He really was going to miss them all; getting to converse with them, and even just spend time in their presence…

But even so, he stood firm with his decision. He had made his peace; and though he felt for those who he had cared for, he did not feel remorse or sorrow about what was to come. Giving one last smile at the contents of the shelves, he made his way to his apartment’s doorway. He gazed at the whole room one last time; It should have been a sentimental and sad moment, and to a weaker man it may have been, but to Jacian this was simply the end of one chapter of his life. He exited the apartment, fishing his key out of his jacket to lock the door behind him before stashing said key away in a potted plant between his own door and the door of his neighbor. His mother would know where to find it when she needed to; That was all that mattered. And with that, he began the long walk to the duel site he had specified, confidence in his every step and a determined expression on his face.

One chapter of his life had just concluded; And the final one was about to begin.

Part II: I understand.

Friday, June 18th, 2:47 p.m.

Taiana opened the letter she had found on her desk a little over a week ago, reading it once more just so that she could be sure there had been no mistake. Lo and behold, nothing had changed about the words that it contained, nor the signature at the bottom. Jacian…

…So, this was why he had increased the frequency of their duels for the past month. And now, it came to this. A duel to the death. She leaned back, her head hitting the wall she was sitting up against. What should she do…? No, no she had no reason to ask herself that. She already knew what she would be doing.

She would accept, of course. It was only fair, and besides. If she was to truly be a knight, then it was her duty to never back down from a duel. Still… If this would be the grand finale, then she should probably dress for the occasion. She looked down at her school uniform. Sure, it was what she had worn to every other duel, but, knowing Jacian, he would have some extravagant garb on for this one. So, it would only be appropriate for her to do the same. She glanced at the bag beside her, which held just that; An outfit truly fitting of a knight, and one she had been saving for the most special of occasions. Tucking the letter away within her right pant pocket, she got to her feet, and slung the bag over her shoulder. School was out for the day; it was time to get ready.

The walk from the campus to the café Jacian worked out felt longer than usual. Of course, he would not be working there today; He had not shown up for school that day either, unsurprisingly considering the occasion. She gave a friendly wave to the blue-green haired man behind the counter as she entered the establishment, before promptly heading back to the single-person bathroom at its back. Locking the door behind her, she began the process of changing into her much more elaborate garb, her mind drifting as she did. Gabbrielli had seemed much less stressed out that day, which was nice… Still, it felt a bit bad to have to decline his offer for lunch. But today was not the day for that. Maybe once this was all said and done, they could get lunch with Jacian as well.

…Well, no, I guess not, considering it was a duel to the death… One of them would not be leaving that battle grounds. Speaking of the battle grounds… She reached into the right pocket of her now-removed school pants, retrieving the letter from its depths. She scanned it over once more, this time solely focused on the address written neatly towards the bottom. Taking a few moments to try and memorize it, she nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before tucking it back away within her school pants and subsequently tucking those into the bag she had brought her new outfit in. Once she quickly finished changing, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touch on her outfit.

A red rose… Not exactly a fitting flower, typically they symbolized naught more than love or romance, but still one she had worn for longer than she could remember. Perhaps it was because of the romanticized versions of knights, and scenes of them rescuing others often were depicted with rose petals floating around them dramatically. Really, things like that were primarily why she had decided to become a knight in the first place; She just… feel in love with that fantastical version of them and wanted to fill that role herself. In reality, it was a thankless job spent entirely serving the whims of one’s master. But with a master like the people as a whole, well… She loved it more than anything. Even if she was doing something as simple as helping someone perform some trivial task, she could not think of any greater joy in life. She was really helping people, serving the people in a way that she wanted to, and still fitting that romanticized image, to a degree.

She finished fastening the rose above the small tassels hanging from her coat, looking herself over in the surprisingly large bathroom mirror once more. Her short, green cape, fastened to both of her shoulders via a pair of golden shoulder pads with a fringe that matched the tassels on her coat’s breast, contrasted her long, bright orange coat, with the gold accents all over the rest of the outfit complimenting the whole look quite nicely. She fixed one of her gloves, ensuring it was on properly this time, before slipping on her mask. Alright then, she was ready to leave. She gazed up at the bathroom window; It was too high for her to reach from the ground, even with her skills at jumping and parkour. Even so, she had planned for this, and began to put said plan into action as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Leaning her sword against the wall, while being sure to keep a grasp on the leather strap connected to its sheath, she gracefully leapt upon its guard, using it to propel herself up to the window which she grasped the ledge of and pulled herself partially through. Before she jumped out completely though, she sharply yanked the leather strap she was holding onto, bringing her sword flying up to her, where she caught it in midair with a simple swipe of her hand. With that, she jumped down from the window, landing solidly on her feet and causing her boots to make a resounding THUNK as they made contact with the pavement. She then headed over towards some nearby bushes, stowing her bag away within their depths. There, she could return for that once all was said and done. But now, she was ready. With a determined expression, she headed off in the direction of the specified duel grounds, fastening her sword to her left hip as she walked.

This was it. The final showdown.

But for some reason, her heart felt heavier than she had expected it to.

Part III: Scarlet curtains fall.

Friday, June 18th, 3:39 p.m.

Gabbrielli gave a small wave to the store clerk as he left, plastic bag in hand. Letting out a sigh, he began the fairly short walk home. He had planned on getting lunch with Taiana and Jacian today, but the former already had plans and the latter was absent from school, which was surprising considering his usual punctuality. Ah well, they would simply have to go out another day. Today he had decided to bring home some ice cream and spend time with his siblings instead. He figured it would be nice, especially since Cammylle had finally been opening up and becoming more willing to spend time with the others. Not to mention that Villette had been accepted to that college in America that she had dreamed of going to, so they had all the reason to celebrate together. He began humming to himself as he walked, his thoughts wandering. It was certainly a nice day out today; A bit cloudy, sure, but that only really improved the weather by obscuring the scorching June sun. Not only that, but it was quiet, peaceful… For once he was not being swarmed by unwanted affection or gifts. He smiled to himself, rounding the corner onto the street he lived on. One thing may have gone wrong that day, but at the very least the rest of it was turning out quite swimmingly. He made his way to the front door of his house knocking on it gently enough for it to be audible, but not overly loud. He waited, but…

There was no response, which was odd considering that at least one person should be home… He tried again, this time knocking a bit harder, but still to no avail. He thought it a bit odd, but perhaps whoever was home was simply upstairs. He crouched down, retrieving a spare house key from beneath the doormat. It looked as if he would just have to let himself in. Inserting the key into the lock with a small sigh, he proceeded to turn it, unlocking the door, and opened it, stepping inside. It was quiet, which was certainly strange, but he paid that no mind, making his way to the dining room. The lights were off, which was unusual as well, and as he stepped into the room, he decided to announce his presence.

“I’m home, and I picked up some ic-” His words caught in his throat, as he took in the scene before him. His mind went blank, and everything just seemed to stop. He did not even notice the grocery bag falling out of his hand and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

What lay in front of him, was four forms collapsed onto the ground in various locations withing the large room. All of them lay in pools of their own blood. All four of them. All four of… Of his siblings.

He began to scream, his legs moving on their own as he rushed over to the nearest body. Her face was not visible, her long blue hair having presumably fallen over it as she fell to the ground. Gabbrielli threw himself to the ground next to her, his screams echoing in the room. “Vi, Vi please! Get up, you have to, you can’t-” His words once again caught in his throat as he brushed her hair aside, revealing her face. Both her eyes and mouth were wide open, as if she had been in shock before she died. And, though the fact she was not breathing should have made it apparent, her blank, glassy stare is what finally made Gabbrielli accept the situation.

She was dead. No alive person would have eyes so hollow, so glossed over… It was if all the color had been drained from them, as if the bright crimson that used to occupy her irises had spilt onto the ground along with her blood. He shakily stood back up, turning his gaze to the other bodies in the room.

Fabriano had the same eyes.

Georganna had the same eyes.

He could not see Cammylle’s face, but… He could only assume it was the same.

And Father was nowhere to be found.

Gabbrielli felt numb. Why… Just, why… He had no idea how to process this, or what to do, or…

And then, out of the corner of his eye, movement. Not much movement, he very well could have been imagining things, but… As soon as doubt entered his mind, Cammylle’s hand once again twitched.

He could not take any chances. He immediately rushed to her side, scooping the younger girl up in his arms. She was warm, and more importantly….

Her eyes were not like the others. No, rather they were clenched shut as if she was in immense pain, and her though her breathing was shallow and labored, it was still there.

“C-Cam, oh god, oh thank god….” He sobbed softly. But even though she was alive now, she… She may not stay that way for long. She was still wounded. Not knowing what else to do, Gabbrielli did what he only then realized he should have as soon as he came upon the scene.

He called for help.

“H-hello? Yes t-there’s… Oh god, my family was attacked, a-and…

T-there are three dead, one w-wounded and one missing. P-please send someone as soon as you can I-I can’t….

I can’t lose h-her too….”

Part IV: One last time.

Friday, June 18th, 3:57 p.m.

Jacian checked his ornate pocket watch. He had arrived at the abandoned warehouse that would be the grounds for this final showdown quite early, but… Now only three minutes remained until the designated time. Though, knowing Taiana, she would be arriving before the next minute was up. Silently tucking the watch back into his pocket, he began to let his thoughts wander a bit. He had made his peace with what was to be done; Having nearly two weeks to prepare himself, that was to be expected. But even so… Deep down, he was quite sad that his incompetence had let it come to this. He knew that people would be hurt, and that they probably would not understand. But he had his orders, and he had to carry them out.

There would only be one survivor. That much, he was certain of.

“Jacian.” The boy turned towards the approaching voice, as the figure it belonged to emerged from the shadows, her blue eyes illuminated from beneath her mask. “…So, this is it, huh? At the very least, can I ask why? To go to this length, you… Couldn’t have made this decision yourself, no?”

“Of course not, I simply received new orders; This whole ordeal has been ongoing for over five years at this point, and though I had no wish to change our way of doing things, my Lord understandably had grown tired of it. As such, I now must do things his way, so to speak. And as we are both here…” He unfastened the larger of the two blades he had brought with him from his waist, holding it out in front of him as he removed the sheath, before tossing it to the side. It hit the ground with a clatter as he brandished the blade which gave off a sort of soft glow in the darkened area. His serious expression deepened to one of intense focus as he continued. “…I believe it is time that we start, and end this.”

Taiana had so many questions that she wanted to ask, but… She knew that asking them would not amount to anything now. This duel would happen regardless. She understood that, and she understood why, but… She had a bad feeling about this whole thing. She unsheathed her own blade, the ribbons tied to the hilt gently flowing along with the draft of air flowing through the building as she took up her own stance. “…Alright then.”

“Good. Now then…

…HOLD NOTHING BACK IF YOU WISH TO LIVE!” Without even giving Taiana as much as a moment to react, Jacian sprung forward. It would have been expected for him to have a hard time handling the larger blade, as he had been using naught but a rapier in his duels for half a decade, but Jacian was no fool; He had been training excessively with the blade in his spare time and could handle it as naturally as if it was his own limb. He made the first attack, slashing at his opponent which caused the blade to leave a trail of electricity along its path.

Taiana narrowly dodged, a bit caught off guard by both the suddenness of his charge, and the apparent powers of the sword he was wielding. She jumped back in order to put some distance between the two, quickly regaining her composure and stance in the process. This was bad, especially considering that she had no clue what this sword was capable of. But still, she had been warned that he would be going all out within the letter she had been given… So, if she had to fight fire with fire, then so be it.

…Well, more so fight electricity with fire, but the point still stood. Still, she would rather not have to resort to that if possible. It may be a duel to the death, but… She did not want to hurt him. He was her friend, and… She really cared about him…

Seemingly noticing her distraction, Jacian went on the offensive once more. This was what he had trained for, what was his duty… Whether he wanted to do it or not was not a factor in whether or not it would happen. Still, he did not expect it to be easy… Both would doubtless make full use of their abilities in this battle, which meant that Taiana would be near impossible to hit… Well, she would be for someone who had not prepared for her skillset, at least. He feinted a strike to the left, utilizing electricity to make it appear as if he was actually following through with it, before striking to the right at full force. Seemingly not realizing quickly enough to dodge, Taiana was forced to block the blow, and the two were thrown into a blade lock. They held fast for a while, neither wanting to give in to the other’s pressure, until both realized that this would go nowhere and sprung apart.

The sounds of metal hitting metal, boots scaping on concrete, and the occasional shout or crackle of electricity echoed throughout the battle grounds, as the two continued to clash. Though both found themselves on both the offensive and defensive at several points throughout, neither could truly claim to have the upper hand. Still, both persevered, each trying to put the other into check by planting their blade firmly at their throat. However, neither was having much luck, and already this duel had more than doubled the usual ten minute time of their previous ones.

Taiana had during all of this somehow come up with a plan. The only question was, would she be able to execute it in a way that would not backfire? It was risky, she would have to let Jacian get incredibly close to hitting her, but if it worked out then it could turn the tides of this battle in her favor. As she thought to herself, Jacian saw yet another opportunity to strike, and took it without hesitation. As he got close enough to strike, however, Taiana chose to reach towards him with her empty left hand, rather than make any move to block or dodge.

Jacian noticed that her palm had begun glowing a bit. Something was amiss, he was sure of it. Just as he pulled his blade into more of a defensive position, using it almost like a shield, flames began spewing from Taiana’s palm, sending him flying back a bit. He skidded himself to a stop, keeping his balance as he did, before cutting through the remaining flames with his blade, causing a loud crackle to echo through the area. Though it would have been normal for his sword to be at the very least warped due to the heat, it showed no sign of damage, fire related or otherwise.

Taiana was breathing heavily at this point, slowly lowering her arm. Shit… She had hoped that Jacian would at the very least be forced to switch to his standard rapier due to the attack, but… Nothing. And the fact that this duel was both lasting longer and going harder than any one previously was beginning to take a toll on her. She needed to end this, and soon.

Jacian was beginning to show similar symptoms of fatigue. This needed to end soon… Within the next few clashes, or else they may both simply be too tired to continue. And if that were to happen, then… He would not be able to bring himself to finish this for good. No, there HAD to be a victor; A draw would be unacceptable.

This would be his final charge.

The two locked eyes, brandishing their blades with a final determination. They seemingly both had come to the same conclusion; That this ended now. As they charged at each other from their places across the warehouse, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The distance between them closed, as they began to swing their blades as to lead to the other’s defeat. It seemed as if neither were at an advantage, same as the rest of the duel, until, at the very last possible moment, Taiana once more used her empty left hand; But rather than do anything like before, she used it to intercept Jacian’s blade, receiving a nasty slash on her palm in the process.

Jacian had not expected a maneuver like that, and before he could fully process what had occurred…

Taiana had claimed her victory. Her blade lay mere millimeters from her rival’s jugular, as she panted heavily from a mixture of exhaustion and pain. Her expression remained stern and on guard for a few seconds, but… As soon as she realized what had happened, and what her victory meant, her expression fell away.

Jacian however, remained perfectly calm. He simply tossed his sword to the side, where it hit the ground with a loud clatter of metal against stone. He looked Taiana directly in the eyes, his expression serious and his blue eyes piercing. “To the victor goes the spoils, as they say; You are the victor Taiana. My life is yours to take.”

Neither of them made any move or spoke for the next full minute, though it felt more like an hour. She… Those were the conditions of the duel, but she could not… Her hand began to tremble, as she slowly lowered her blade. “…No. I can’t- No, I won’t take your life Jacian. I… I refuse! How could you expect me to do something like this, after all we have been through together? You’re my friend, I… I care about you! I understand why you have to do this, but… I won, and I refuse to kill you! So… So that’s that!” She had neither realized that she had begun to shout, nor that tears had begun trickling down her face, but she did know that no matter what, she…

She would never be able to bring herself to kill him.

Jacian’s expression remained unchanged, though he did let out a small sigh. “…I expected as much. Well, if that is the case, then… Simply hear me out, Taiana.” He did not even wait for her to respond before he continued. “The past five years, dueling with you, have been… Some of the best times of my life, truth be told. Though they may be marks of my own failure and incompetence, they will for ever be precious to me. As… As will you Taiana. No matter what happens, please…” He moved his right hand to rest on the handle of his sheathed rapier.

…Always know that I love you.”

Before she even had a chance to process his words, Jacian pulled his rapier from its sheathe, though he held it as if it were a knife that he was going to use to stab someone rather than holding it in his usual fashion. And then, without an ounce of hesitation,

He plunged the blade into his own chest, using both of his hands rather than just the one he had grabbed the blade with.

Time slowed as Taiana lunged for the now falling Jacian, whom had been blown back by the force of his own swift stab. Blood splattered against the wall behind him in slow motion as he fell to lean up against it, resulting in what appeared to be a crimson halo around his head. His eyes were closed, and on his face was a smile.

Taiana could not hear it, but she was screaming.

That night, the news would report on two things: How a boy had come home to find his family had been attacked, with a total body count of three dead, one injured and one missing, and how a seemingly fresh pool of blood and two bloody swords had been found in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, seemingly without any trace of a body or injured party.

#[actual lore?] story post #[white lily knight] jacian von rittedel #[bladed rose] taiana seiryu #[blue sky prince] gabbrielli roi #[pink carnation] georganna roi #[black dahlia] cammylle roi #[sunny bluebells] villette roi #[speed incarnate] fabriano roi #[flower adorned throne] natalio roi #I won't be tagging this until later as to not spoil the characters in it :]#even though it should be apparent what this is by now. i did forshadow a few days ago #:]

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gracemulhollandstudio · 4 years

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Notes/Quotes Taken From Texts/Bibliography Building

Women satisfaction with cosmetic brands: The role of dissatisfaction and hedonic brand benefits

Vanessa Apaolaza-Ibáñez, Patrick Hartmann, Sandra Diehl and Ralf Terlutter University of the Basque Country, Spain.

Alpen-Adria-University Klagenfurt, Austria.

Accepted 24 September, 2010

“Research suggests that the exposure to pictures of good-looking and even slightly above-average looking females lowers the self-image of exposed women and increases dissatisfaction with their own appearance.”

“ This study analyses the effect of perceived instrumental/utilitarian and hedonic/emotional brand benefits on women’s satisfaction with cosmetic brands, focusing on relief from dissatisfaction with one’s self-image as one of four identified emotional brand experiences.”

So for context, what we see in the media can be of immense harm to one's view of themselves, which in fold brings out belittling ideas about your appearance.

“This research reveals that one of the mechanisms through which cosmetics advertising works is by lowering women’s self perception in the first place and then delivering relief from this negative feeling as an emotional benefit through the brand. However, from an ethical point of view, such a strategy is questionable, especially given the problems of eating disorders and body dysmorphia.”

“In particular, consumers are continuously exposed to imagery of highly attractive females who advertise cosmetic brands. For consumers this may lead to significant behavioural implications”

“Judgments based on physical appearance are considered powerful forces in contemporary consumer culture.“

“Also, multiple studies link personal appearance to positive reactions from others such as friendship preference (Byrne et al., 1968; Perrin, 1921) and romantic attraction.”

“The individual is increasingly seen as responsible - not just for his/her behaviour - but also for the appearance and workings of his or her body. Consequently, to experience this connection and enjoy social favour, many individuals look for ways to improve their appearance and adhere to popular notions of beauty.”

“In today’s society women are made to feel increasingly responsible for their body and physical appearance”

“In addition, numerous advertisements present standards of beauty that most women cannot attain with the effect that most women develop feelings of dissatisfaction with their own physical appearance.”

“However, from an ethical point of view, such a strategy of lowering self images is questionable, especially given the problems of eating disorders and body dysmorphia.”

“Researchers suggest advertising media may adversely impact women's body image, which can lead to unhealthy behaviour as women and girls strive for the ultra-thin body idealized by the media.”

“Although, Unilever’s brand is promoting their products with a message of “real beauty” by encouraging women and girls to celebrate themselves as they are, the “real beauty” ads still need to sell women on the idea that they need these products to become even better. In other words, they are still saying women have to use these products to be beautiful.”

A Conceptual Model of Factors Contributing to the Development of Muscle Dysmorphia

FREDERICK G. GRIEVE Western Kentucky University,

Bowling Green, Kentucky, USA

“Muscle dysmorphia is a recently described subcategory of Body Dysmorphic Disorder.”

This sub category of body dysmorphia is very interesting to me because I did not know men would suffer through this.

“It is most prevalent in males and has a number of cognitive, behavioral, socioenviornmental, emotional, and psychological factors that influence its expression.”

“For years, the focus of body image studies has been on women; however, it appears that men are becoming more and more concerned with body appearance.”

“The disorder affects mostly men, particularly those who engage in weight lifting or bodybuilding”

“Muscle dysmorphia is a collection of attitudes and behaviors that are characteristic of an extreme desire to gain body mass.”

“Attitudes include a dislike of one's current body shape and a strong desire to change it through increased muscle mass, and behaviors include excessive weight lifting, eating large quantities of high-protein foods, use of weight gain supplements, and use of anabolic steroids.”

I find it very interesting how this issue is like the complete opposite to what it body dysmorphia is for most women. Most women have the desire to be slimmer but in this case for muscle dysmorphia these men want to gain more and more muscle.

“Individuals with MD are preoccupied with the fact that they do not perceive themselves to be lean and muscular enough, even though they are often more muscular than average people.”

“Individuals give up important social, occupational, or recreational activities due to the desire to maintain a strict workout - schedule; avoid situations in which their bodies are exposed to others”

Where as in the quote above the affects of this disorder are similar in a way with the people who suffer with it both try avoid social outings/situations as they do not feel comfortable with the way they look or the way others may perceive how they look.

“A key component to the development of eating disorders is a distortion of how the woman views her body (American Psychiatric Association, 2000). Usually this is a distortion of size. Women with AN believe that they are larger than their actual appearance. The development of MD depends on a similar distortion of body size. However, in this case, the distortion is that . men believe they are smaller than what they appear.”

“In the model, body distortion is influenced by and, in return, influences, body dissatisfaction. It is the conjunction of these two variables that brings about the symptoms of MD.”

“The muscular ideal is conveyed to the population via a number of social influences, including family members, peers, schools, atWetics, and health care professionals, and mass media.”

Men also feel this pressure from the media to look a certain way

“Therefore, the potential is there for men to be as influenced by muscular body shapes as females are by thin body shapes.”

“While historically men have been perceived to be immune from social influences that endorse a certain body type, it appears that this is changing.”

One of the set texts:

Powers and Dangers: Body Fluids

Volatile Bodies: Towards a Corporeal Feminism P192-198

Elizabeth Grosz

“Relying heavily on Mary Douglas's innovative text Purity and Danger, Kristeva asks about the conditions under which the clean and proper body, the obedient, law-abiding, social body, emerges, the cost of its emergence, which she designates by the term abjection, and the functions that demarcating a clean and prop'~ body for the social subject have in the transmission and production of specific body types”

“What interests me here about Kristeva's work is the way in which this notion of abjection links the lived experience of the body, the ~ocial and culturally specific meanings of the body, the cultural investment in selectively marking the body, the privileging of some parts and functions while resolutely minimizing or leaving un- or underrepresented other parts and functions. It is the consequence of a culture effectively intervening into the constitution of the value of the body.”

“Douglas makes explicit here the notion that the body can and does function to represent, to symbolize, social and collective fantasies and obsessions: its orifices and surfaces can represent the sites of cultural marginality, places of social entry and exit, regions of confrontation or compromise.”

“In this sense, they betray a certain irreducible materiality; they assert the priority of the body over subjectivity; they demonstrate the limits of subjectivity in the body, the irreducible specificity of particular bodies.”

“Phenomenology is generally displaced in favor of externalization, medicalization, solidification.”

“Man sees that his "function" is to create, and own, at a (temporal and spatial) distance, and thus to extend bodily interests beyond the male body's skin through its proprietorial role, its "extended corporeality" in the mother whom he has impregnated and the child thereby produced, making them his products, possessions, responsibilities.”

Putting roles to gender/bodies etc

#perception

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codyfernaesthetic · 6 years

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Unholy

Summary: Mallory is drawn to the young, attractive priest Father Michael Langdon, and soon finds herself in a scandalous situation.

Warnings: Blasphemy, public masturbation, domination, anal, cum play (slightly)

Here’s the whole thing, gang!