#My Reflection Essay

[lherra]

Title: A Journey of Self-Discovery: My Experience in Senior High

My experience as a Senior High Student

A person's transition from adolescence to young adulthood occurs during senior high school, which is a crucial period in their life. It's a time of academic pursuit, personal development, and self-discovery that offers many opportunities and difficulties. Throughout my time in senior high school, I have had a lot of chances to learn new things, make enduring friendships, and find my passions. This essay details the life-changing experience I had in senior high school, highlighting the important lessons I took away, the challenges I overcame, and the 🪙memories I treasured.

Senior high school gave students a solid foundation for intellectual development and inquiry. I took the time to learn more about the topics that piqued my interest and developed new ones in the process. My discipline and determination were fostered by the demanding assignments and demanding coursework, which encouraged me to aim for excellence. Through stimulating conversations, hands-on projects, and challenging assignments, I improved critical thinking, problem-solving, and effective communication skills in addition to broadening my knowledge. I developed a lifelong love of learning and learned the importance of academic perseverance in senior high school.

Senior high school was a testing ground for personal development and self-discovery, in addition to academics. I had to confront my passions, shortcomings, and strengths at that time. Outside of the classroom, extracurricular activities like clubs and sports allowed me to explore my interests and talents. Through these experiences, I was able to grow in my self-assurance, leadership, and teamwork. In addition, I learned resilience, adaptability, and the value of perseverance from the difficulties and setbacks I experienced along the road. My time in senior high school gave me the ideal environment to grow into a well-rounded person.

The friendships I made along the way are among the things I value most about my senior high school experience. My newfound network of friends, confidants, and adventure partners were this diverse group of people. We experienced highs and lows as a group during our time in senior high school, sharing joy and consolation when things got tough. Outside of the school, the friendships and experiences we shared have shaped my life and will always be a source of joy. I gained an appreciation for genuine relationships and the happiness that comes from having a strong support system of friends in senior high school.

Reminiscing about my time in senior high school brings back mixed feelings of nostalgia. My mind is overflowing with images of classrooms full of laughter, late-night study sessions, and thrilling victories. Every experience is cherished in my heart and serves as a constant  reminder of senior high school's transformative power. These treasured memories act as a continual reminder of who I was, who I am becoming, and who I hope to become. My senior high school experience left me with memories that will always influence my viewpoint and serve as a guide for my future  pursuits.

Senior high school was more than just a phase in my life; it was a life-changing experience of introspection, development, and academic pursuit. Through intellectual challenges, personal victories, enduring friendships, and treasured memories, I came away from senior high school with a more comprehensive understanding of the world and a clearer sense of who I was. My future endeavors are based on the experiences and lessons I've gained throughout this time. My senior high school experience has given me priceless lessons and memories that I will carry with me into the next chapter of my life.

[loveofdetail]

Let's talk about Gale's sex scenes

I love the astral sex scene and it means so much to me, and I have some problems with the way I've seen it talked about.

I should start by saying this post is not intended to critique anybody's personal preferences. The license to do Whatever The Fuck in an rpg is sacrosanct and there are no wrong choices. But I’ve also seen people imply that the astral scene is not “real” sex, or that Gale romancers “deserved more.” I hope I do not have to explain why that's kinda fucked.

Additionally, I think it is a saddening misread to call the astral scene “performative” in contrast to the bed scene (which gets correspondingly framed as “showing Gale that you want the real him.”) But doing a grandiose magical gesture IS the real him!

I know I'm not alone in viewing Gale as autistic; for me the astral sex scene is a big contributor to that. For one thing, it resonates with the concept of having unusual sensory wants. For another, it reads to me as Gale opening up and showing his passion for magic to the PC in a way he’s never been able to with another mortal before. What neurodivergent person has not had someone view their passion as too weird or too over the top? Have you ever been at a level of enthusiasm that wraps back around into seeming “performative” to others? Ever wanted to show a loved one something that matters to you, but worried they’d never understand—or, worse, they’d actively cringe?

In the astral sex scene, Gale shows the PC how much he loves the Weave (which is not the same as loving Mystra), and the PC does not cringe.

If all the glowing merging translucent bodies, the nebulae, the multiplying limbs, the spinning, the trippiness, the celestial music—if all these trappings made you, the player, cringe: there is nothing wrong with that. But I do think it is a misread to say that the bed version constitutes “helping him heal from his trauma.”

Maybe I have a hair-trigger for anything that implies “becoming more sexually normative = character growth.” Or “vanilla sex = a more intimate connection.” But they are just such tiresome concepts.

I understand that some of the dialogue in the game also suggests that idea, but all that dialogue is coming from the PC. What Gale says is that having bodily sex is “a small gesture toward your comfort.” This has been widely glossed over, imo.

Ultimately the two versions of this scene fulfill two different narrative functions: the bed version is to show the player that Gale will set these wants aside for you should you ask him to. But the astral version is there to show the player who HE is and what HE wants. And I think it is sad to write off this beautiful, lovingly crafted, unique and creative approach to a sex scene as merely something “performative” that he only does because Mystra made him think he had to.

“Stay with me now. There are endless worlds out there. Countless ways to declare love. Infinite ways to express it. Too much for one night... but we shall try.” I've admittedly got a ways to go in the game, but so far this is my single favorite line of dialogue. I genuinely don't understand how people can hear this line, the way it’s acted, and think it's just for show. He knows he's about to get weird but he longingly, vulnerably asks you to stay there in his weirdness with him.

Many writers, when they are writing something kinda out there, have doubts of the form Who is this even for? If the astral scene just isn’t for you I don't have beef with that. But the people who saw the astral sex scene and went "Oh, my god, now THIS is FOR ME"—are perhaps people who only very rarely get to watch a sex scene and have that reaction.

I'm glad Baldur's Gate brought something this beautiful to this particular table and I think it deserves consideration as a serious element of Gale’s characterization.

[actually-the-antichrist]

The thing most commentators miss about the "Greek Myths aren't literal" line of argument, is that there's much more behind why modern western society (America in particular) loves to take greek myths (specifically involving messy sexual relationships) literally. America really loves a scandal doesn't it, and America really loves a celebrity scandal. When it's an act of sexual misconduct that is blown up, people like to think it's for justice, and sure, that is a legitimate part of why people focus on these things, but that's not the reason it blows up. The reason is that America loves a good juicy scandal. Ultimately, what the pop culture version of greek mythos and the greek gods tell an observer says much more about modern American culture than it does the ancients, and what I mean when I say "the myths weren't taken literally" is simply that one can know more about what the myths may tell us about the ancient civilizations, if one were willing to not ignore their cultural political and esp environmental contexts.

Myths weren't "just stories" (they are to us which, again, says infinitely more about us). They were stories inspired by an experience with some natural phenomenon near to where the myth telling culture dwelled. Just to give one example, the myths of Dionysus gifting wine to people often ended with accounts of madness and dismemberment. This likely corresponds to how shocking the effects were when the ancient societies first discovered wine. Similarly, the myths of gods sexing women and impregnating them likely referred to the idea of a communion with the divine that is so potent it can produce a physical product, and analyzing the role women play as the unique conduits of that in the ancient mythos is a far more feminist and productive way IMO to engage than just to dismiss these myths bcs rape. By this interpretation, a modern day retelling actually true to the spirit would not only contain a consensual relationship, but also explore our modern day notions of the divine, sex, sexually, and the idea of offspring (expanding it from children to, say, works of art or ideas for instance)

In conclusion, myths tell us more about the current culture perpetuating them, myths were stories within a specific context, and we would be throwing away a lot of potential for meaning making if we cannot acknowledge these facts. If there's one thing Lore Olympus got right in it's retelling, is that by setting things up 50 Shades of Gray styled, it tapped into the consumer psyche plain and simple: that's what the modern western audience want in a retelling- a scandal dressed in greek mythos. That's what we think these myths are.

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

I was deep in my drunk feelings when I made a joke post threatening to write about episode 5 symbolism and mizu, but then enough people said "where is the essay" so I am here to ramble as requested 

in ep 5, the tale told in the puppet show spliced with the flashback sequence of mizu’s marriage identifies mizu as not only the ronin, but also the bride and, with tragedy, the onryō. I would argue that mizu is also depicted (in a less linear fashion) as the phoenix itself, and will circle back to this thought later

mizu is first presented as the ronin, the warrior with a singular purpose. as the ronin’s lord is assassinated by the rival clan, mizu’s mother is killed in the house fire. the ronin swears his revenge, and dedicates his life to this cause. through his childhood and into his young adult life when he departs from swordfather, mizu is exclusively the ronin. he is not the onryō yet, demonstrated in his honorable unwillingness to harm the men who stab him and throw him out of the shop even after he insists that he wasn't looking for a fight in the first place

the ronin is only able to rest and put away his mission when he meets the bride, the lover. however, mizu’s bride is not literally another person she meets. the bride is not mama, or mikio, but the lover mizu discovers in herself, the one allowed to bloom in place of mizu-as-ronin. mizu’s growth into the bride from the ronin occurs over time, but solidifies in the moment when kai is gifted to her by mikio, paralleling the taming of her own distrust and expectations of being hurt. (side note, giving a nod to effective use of color: the bride puppet, dressed in reds and oranges, has matching coloring to the gifting scene, as it takes place in autumn)

mizu’s transformation into the onryō happens in two parts, beginning with the slaying of the bride and completing with the slaying of the ronin. the betrayal by mikio and mama kills the softness in mizu, kills the lover she has allowed herself to become. mizu-as-onryō retaliates by killing the ronin: the part of himself that hesitates before striking, that part that cares for honor. in not intervening in mama’s death and then murdering mikio in turn, mizu kills the ronin in himself, slaughtering it in retribution for the dead bride

mizu is both the bride and the ronin, peaceful lover and noble warrior, until he is not—he is the onryō, only the onryō. episode 5 opens with the narrator saying, “no one man can defeat an army, but one creature can.” only as the onryō, and not as the ronin or the bride, does mizu have the force of will and capacity for violence it takes to singlehandedly overcome boss hamata’s thousand claw army and protect the brothel

mizu’s identity and place in the world is a constant dialogue. he is too white to have a respectable place in japanese society, but is also seen by abijah (our stand-in for white british society) as filthy and corrupted. he is not perceived as enough of a man to walk through life wholly as one (madame kaji’s comments about his apparent lack of sexual desires, his bones breaking “like a woman’s” under fowler’s hands, his disregard for honor and recognition as a samurai). she is also not enough of a woman to exist peacefully as one with mikio (she is a swordsman, an accomplished rider, bad at domesticity; “what woman doesn’t want a husband?” mama chastises)

the moment when mikio rejects her completely following their spar is a particularly poignant narrative beat about tolerance of “the other” in gender presentation: mikio can accept her as a woman only until she bests him at manhood, at the sword, at violence. she is Other in that she is physically strong, a poor cook, able to wield a sword. these traits are all tolerable to mikio, also an outcast, so long as she is not so Other as to be a man. but her swordsmanship bests his, and bests his in the way the sun outshines a candle. it is too Other, and therefore she is not a woman. she is a monster to him, the onryō, even before she kills the bride and the ronin in herself

(( as an aside, this series does a very good job at discussing the oft-challenging relationship between race and gender (e.g. that it is difficult for mizu to live as a biracial man, but would be deadly for her to live as a biracial woman), and demonstrating how queerness of identity complicates that relationship even further—but that’s a topic for a different post ))

as the narrative has been building on this idea that mizu is both the ronin and the bride, the man and the woman, japanese and white, episode 5 concludes with the heartbreaking reveal that, although mizu is all of these things simultaneously, he has had these identities beaten out of him by tragedy and cruelty and his own self-loathing hand

but mizu does not stagnate as the monster. we return to the metaphor of steel: too pure and it becomes brittle, breaking under pressure. mizu is a sword, a weapon that he has forged for the sole purpose of revenge and blood, but he has excised too much of himself to successfully deliver on his goals—he is not the ronin or the bride, he is the onryō; she is not a woman or a man, she is the onryō; the onryō is nothing but pain and vengeance—and so it breaks

“perhaps a demon cannot make steel,” mizu says. “I am a bad artist” 

swordfather replies, “an artist gives all they have to the art, the whole. your strengths and deficiencies, your loves and shames. perhaps the people you collected… if you do not invite the whole, the demon takes two chairs, and your art will suffer”

to be reforged, mizu must not only acknowledge the impurities she has beaten out of her blade, out of herself, but lovingly, radically accept them and reincorporate them into the blade, into herself. he adds impure steel—the people he has collected, with their own dualities—to the sheared meteorite sword: the broken blade that fit so perfectly in taigen’s hand (the archetypal ronin, but a man seeking happiness over glory), the knife akemi tried to murder mizu with (the archetypal bride, but with ambition for greatness), the bell given to ringo and returned to mizu in broken trust (the man unable to hold a sword, but upholding samurai principles of honor and wisdom), the tongs that honed mizu’s smithcraft under swordfather’s guidance (the artisan, a blind man who sees more than most). to make of herself a blade strong enough to see her promises through, she must hold her monstrosity and honor and compassion and artistry in equal import

she is the onryō, and the ronin, and the bride, and all the people she has collected.

with this we finally come to mizu as the phoenix. mizu undergoes many cycles of death and rebirth, both in the main storyline and the flashbacks into her life leading up to the present. often, mizu is juxtaposed against literal flames—the burning of his childhood home, swordfather’s forge, the fire as he battles the giant in the infiltrated castle, the heart sutra forge of her own making, the climactic second confrontation with fowler. not every death/rebirth mizu undergoes is thematic to flame, of course. the fight with the four fangs, spliced with the rebirth ceremony of the town, for example, or the deaths of her ronin-self and bride-self, giving rise to the onryō

he is the phoenix, unable to truly die: every fatal combat he pulls back from the brink, reborn over and over in the wake of failure and setback. in episode 1, mizu prays for the gods to “let [him] die.” not to help him to face death unafraid, not to die with honor or victory, but to die at all. mizu has experienced death a thousand times over, but not once has it stuck

(( as a parting aside: the ronin’s rage at the phoenix clan for killing his lord parallels mizu’s self hatred of his mixed heritage (which he believes to be the thing that killed his mother), and so the ronin’s quest for revenge against the phoenix clan is mirrored in mizu’s quest to kill the white part of himself as best he can, by killing the white men who could be his father ))

mizu, the ronin. mizu, the bride. mizu, the onryō. mizu, the phoenix.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Imagine if Jin Zixuan DID yeet his brother from another mother (🥲) down the stairs.

Meng Yao: I'm your brother. Happy birthday! 🥰

Jin Zixuan: There can only be one. YEET

I am truly sad he didn't; think of the 'No Doubles' memes that we could have had...

[suchacomet]

jess being the shortstop is driving me insane. like they don’t really show it onscreen (which is a shame! but runtimes i get it) but shortstops are literally the heart of the team. they’re the ones calling out the pitch count and reminding people where the play is. more often than not they’re the cutoff from the outfield. they back up the pitcher and the third baseman AND they cover both second and third. second base is the most stolen base bc it’s the furthest from home plate and therefore the hardest to throw out, and shortstop usually covers second when a steal is being made. most right hand batters pull to left field so they tend to get the most action. due to being between second and third if there’s a double play being turned they’re usually a part of it one way or another. they get hard liners and grounders as well as the occasional easy pop-up so they’re always on their toes and usually fielding the most difficult hits

also the pitcher/shortstop dynamic is soooo important. yes pitcher/catcher dynamic we get it but most of the time pitchers are too focused on pitching to be able to field well, especially because any ball that comes their way is gonna be hot due to the fact that pitchers are the closest fielder to the batter. shortstop covers the pitcher when they don’t have time to pull out of the pitch follow-through. they charge the ball when a bunt happens bc the pitcher doesn’t have time to react quick enough. they’re the one who reminds the pitcher where they’re at in the count and encourages them. it’s easier for shortstop to get to the mound than the catcher so often shortstop is the one going to the pitcher to reassure them if they’re having a hard time. they’re the fielder for the pitcher so that the pitcher only has to focus on throwing strikes. do you get what i’m saying. jesslupe nation are you picking up what i’m putting down here. do you understand why i’m going crazy about this.

basically what i’m saying is jess being shortstop just makes sense bc she is always there looking out for everyone and backing everyone up (but especially lupe), casually covering the most ground without thought, simultaneously light on her feet and a solid brick wall as the occasion calls for, covering the hole, leading the team from behind. you can’t be a shortstop without being a team player, and you don’t have a team unless you have a strong shortstop on the diamond 🥲

[faun-buns]

instead of mindlessly scrolling social media before bed a new hobby of mine recently has been reading entire wikipedia articles about random things. literally life changing . for the past month every night I've been reading about archaic hominin and human evolution and I've gotten a little bit obsessed. I'll eat potato salad at 1pm and at 2am you'll catch me reading the wikipedia page for tubers. the wikipedia app has an article randomizer so u can sort of gamify it. the thirst for knowledge is so real to me sometimes and I think that more people should do this

[commsroom]

the "big picture" - whether that refers to some detached, calculated greater good; ruthless ambition and progress for the sake of progress; or even the dear listeners' cosmic indifference - as an antagonistic force in wolf 359 is so fascinating to me because of the way eiffel as a protagonist is set up to oppose it, just by nature of who he is. eiffel retains his humanity even under the most inhumane circumstances. his strength is in connection, and with that he's able to reach others who share his core values, but he's operating under a fundamentally different framework from the show's antagonists. he can never understand where they're coming from or be swayed by their points of view because, for better or worse, he can only see the world through a close personal lens.

it's an ideological conflict he has with all of them, but notably with hilbert: "you talk about helping people, but what about the real, live people around you? [...] that's your problem. you're so zoomed out." eiffel will never, ever see that "big picture" because he is so zoomed in. at his best, he puts things into perspective and grounds the people around him. at his worst, his perspective narrows so drastically inwards that he becomes blind to everyone and everything else. his failings are deeply, tragically human - they're personal, they're impulsive, they're self-destructive. they're selfish. no matter how much he might try to narrativize or escape from himself, he's still left with doug eiffel: "it's taken me this long to realize that running from everyone else means that you're alone with yourself." eiffel could never be convinced to harm others on purpose, but he has hurt people, and it's never been because he didn't care. the very fact that he cares so much, that he's incapable of reconciling the hurt he's caused with the things he values, is what keeps him from real growth for so long. where many of the other characters in wolf 359 will justify their cruelty in service of something they consider more important, eiffel is so caught up in vilifying himself and the fear that he's always going to harm the people he cares for without meaning to that he shuts himself off from the people who care about him and perpetuates his own self-fulfilling prophecy.

[perplexingly]

I have fallen into a rabbit hole how do I get out

[hotdrinks]

,,

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 8

Majora('s Mask)

*throws bouquet of roses* For the Time lovers.

Also my bias is probably coming through really strongly right now, but I'm not well rested enough to care plus I've been playing Majora's Mask a lot again this month, it's as important to me as Twilight Princess so this is kind of my love letter to it and Time and my excuse to explore the concept of Majora and the Fierce Deity and divinity in LoZ, though that's an essay for another day lol (/j)

As always can be read as romantic or platonic depending on your preferences, Reader is gender neutral and this is definitely self indulgent so it can be read in or outside of an LU context, most of the references to the LU names are for simplicity and to give a rough idea of why Reader has some stuff they do. Makes it easier to clarify lol, though as I've been hit by yet another storm the Linktober prompt will be for tomorrow, I'm basically picking a god and praying this actually posts X_X

TW(?):

Don't think there's any warnings besides MJM's typical body horror really, and very graphic descriptions and Majora in general.

Even after so, so long, so much so it feels like a lifetime ago, Termina still stuck with you and Time.

The thing about being in a timeloop that went on for who knows how long and whose failure to reset it would be total destruction to so many good different people, is that you quickly learn some habits to try and maximize as many successes as possible, how Time (Mask, then, after the living nightmare of Termina, during the War of Ages, still Link though) quickly learned the location of each enemy he could, how you learned to call out the best way to quickly assess and take down an enemy as quickly as possible, how you both learned to watch each other’s backs and to care for the people and Termina to the point Link went from just a warrior to a healer, granted the trust of holding the crystalization of the hopes and dreams of the people of Termina that, even if they couldn’t remember it, wanted the cycle to end, wanted to hunt the threat to reality itself and purge it from the world. To bite down onto it’s neck and feel the thrill and glee and cutting down such an opponent.

Most importantly, after bleeding, crying, sweating and toiling against the unrelenting flow of time and insanity all brought upon by a lonely child being left alone and manipulated to commit heinous acts as ‘pranks’. It taught you and Time the importance of contingency plans, and about always, always being prepared for any and all situations, unlikely as they could be. Of taking through note of even the smallest detail that caught your eyes at a glance.

‘To defeat an abomination, you need one of two things: A deity, or a monster.’, you think cynically to yourself, stepping over Time’s fallen form as Warriors bolted over with blizzard forged fury in his cold, calculated movements to defend him in your stead as you called Hyrule over, the young man quickly starting to heal your Hero as you glare down at the disgusting stain on reality engaging Twilight and Wild all at once, gleeful at having watched the person you adored the most fall, bringing out the ultimate contingency from your cloak, you hadn’t even told him about it, because you prayed you’d never need to resort to this, ‘… Forgive me, Link. The first option isn’t doable here.’

Time was your everything, you knew how his story ended, with so much grief until he finally met Twilight again. You tried, you really did, to not allow yourself to love him but it was impossible because he was Link, the man who longed for adventure ever since he was young, embodying the freedom of the forest of life and death that made up the whole of Faron Woods and the Lost Woods and as steady as it’s moors, voice quiet and calm like a stream in the woods and with and with a smile to rival the warm sun and so, so heartbreakingly kind. Who protected and saved and healed people while slowly healing his own soul and who attempted to soothe his descendant’s pain the second he could even from beyond the grave.

And you’d be darned if you allowed anything to take him from you or the boys before his time without a fight. You couldn’t care less if he would eventually die as he was destined to in every timeline, it didn’t matter if it was futile, because he mattered, you loved him, and you’d keep him safe and happy for as long as you could.

It didn’t matter if one day tragedy will catch up to him, it mattered that he was loved while alive.

Even if you had to step on fire to make sure of it.

“Twilight, Wild. Step away.”, the edges of the spikes of the purple and crimson mask that haunted your nightmares as much as it did Time’s, it leered at you with it’s arsenic and pus eyes, picking apart at your weaknesses as it’s spikes dug into your hand as you tightened your grip to keep if from shaking. Tone falsely confident as you called to the Hero of Twilight and Wild to retreat.

(‘To defeat an abomination, you need a deity or a monster.’

The definition is awfully interchangeable, if you look at it.

You had found it, abandoned and in a dungeon Wind’s Era, not quite awake, but not asleep either. The eldritch hunger almost chocking you with it’s voracity, the darkness assessing, stalking, prowling and starving, it prodded at you but didn’t dig yet. It knew how to play the long game in it’s quest to stop feeling empty.

Funny thing is, so did you. You were a lot harder to break than the Skull Kid, would not break.

Majora wanted to cease, like how it had ceased before the Terminan Tribe ripped it from it’s slumber, taught it hunger, taught it cruelty, taught it how to manipulate and take amusement in consuming the wishes of mortals and their very souls only to never be satisfied. Had fueled it with wrath from being ripped from a lovely, endless dream of beautiful songs and a kind soul. To be torn from it’s fantasy and then left to rot.

You offered to grant it a proper rest. And so a deal was struck. Your one contingency if the situation was truly dire, in case you couldn’t get the Fierce Deity Mask instead -because you knew how Link was, he’d burn himself out until there was naught but ash. You refused to let it ever come to that, after his excruciating screams of pain had clawed an aching, hurtful place into your very soul-, and Majora was starving and desperate, a dangerous combination for any being but something you could use.

So be it, if to protect divinity you needed to become a monstrosity, a monster was what you’d be.

You’d keep him safe. And you knew that if the Fierce Deity put him down once, he could do it again in case you slipped. Between him and Sky you weren’t afraid at all of the risk.

Even if Time never forgave you for taking it.)

You smile bitterly, tearing up in spite of yourself as you see the second Time spots you and the cursed artifact in hand, eye wide, voice ripping from his throat in desperation, “I’m quite selfish, I’m sorry.”

His haunted expression cuts you deeper than any knife, as you knew it was an image that featured in many of your nightmares and his own. But you’re insatiable for his happiness, so you take the plunge.

“NO NO NO NO DON’T-“

You put on the mask, and you scream.

It’s like stepping on fire, a twisted, desperate tune, a note of discord, a belt of harmony and fury and most importantly, the mighty need to consume the one who had tried to take the one you loved away from you.

Defy death, defy entropy, defy chaos, defy flame and voracity.

You cling to your self control with a snarl, howling in defiance. Sinking your nails into the abyss’ throat and biting, tearing, holding, tasting rot and withered flowers and the writhing of shadows and the blood of distorted gluttonousdivinity on your tongue with savagery equal to the way the demon sinks it's spikes onto you. Chew on it’s tender, rotting flesh, quaff down the lukewarm pus of it’s heart and the rust of blood as it bites off your skin, stripping your mind into chunks as it nests into your ribs like the spikes of wild, dead roses when it finds your mind tougher to break and you BURN YOU ARE LIFE YOU ARE CHAOS AND YOU ARE DROWNING AND YOU ARE FLAME-

You move, and Majora’s laugh sounds like a scream and a song as reality howls.

Your bones, sinew, muscles, nerves, veins and teeth are reformed, the being pounces, dancing, swerving, whipping, cleaving, ripping and feeding into the monsters with putrid, revolting gusto. Whenever it’s attention even tries to waver towards the Heroes you sink your hold in harder, stubborn, you’re sure there’s blood dripping from your mouth beneath the mask, your eyes, your ears, as it reaches a crescendo of glee and pain. A human body isn’t meant to hold so much divinity at once, much less as wretched and horrific as Majora’s, but you don’t care, can’t care, when you’re holding onto yourself like a vice, refusing to give it even a single inch.

It doesn’t kill Dark Link, the bastard (the one who’d hurt Time, the one who would have finished him off if not for you and Warriors). But the screech the Shadow releases as it gets ripped to shreds and the ripple of it’s retreating form is enough to make you partially agree with Majora’s vicious, amused glee that it was satisfying. Even if the feeling of you allowing it to utilize your skin temporarily felt revolting and disgusting in a way it made you wish you were actually on fire, not just in so much pain in a metaphysical level that it sure rivaled being set on fire, frost burned and lightning struck all in one go.

All is still now, all is silent.

Now comes the difficult part.

'Are you quite sure?', whispers Majora, crooning like nails on chalkboards, and it’s spikes sink into you tighter when you grip the sides of it, teeth gritted as you start prying it out of your face, amused by your defiance, but no longer as hungry. You did allow it quite the meal, you bet nothing like fellow divinity tastes better to the being, like the taste of a forbidden fruit you were going to be unfortunately acquainted given you’re sure Dark Link’s blood is on your teeth.

'Yes.' comes your faint response, as your sanity frays in fragile threads, you think someone calls your name, but you are drowning, you are burning, and you know that if you don’t focus it will break you. And you’d be fully dead before you let that happen. If you’re going to die you’re going to die as a human.

'Tou are so, so cold… So cruel.' It drawls, the demon’s voice like the gnawing of rats, like maggots under you skin, you convulse, falling to your knees with a wounded keen and pull harder, you barely noticed someone falling by your side, frantically calling your name, but the mask’s eyes dim to an outsider’s perspective, resigned as it hums dreamily, 'I suppose that’s why The Divine Hunter cares for you so, why it’s vessel’s claim is so strong.'

Good, you were banking on it being sleepy, after gorging yourself on the enemy of your boys, Hylia’s gash and Din’s assets your mouth is going to taste putrid for months isn’t it?

Majora hisses, growls, howls and screeches, a brush against your essence as it retreats. Unwinding from every single cell of your body, distorting your atoms back to their proper shape. It still hurts, buy it’s more bearable, although you quickly notice you’re chocking on a different form of Divinity, more possessive, more wild but just as old and ferocious as it snaps at the retreating heels of the twisted, chaotic thorns. Making reality remember your own shape quicker at the cost of filling every crack consumed by the demon.

You swear that thing is smiling smugly at something else, teeth bared and very entertained, taking the suffering of the people of Termina and the cold revulsion in your veins with it as it retreats with it's cacaphony of voices to the shade, 'A shame. Feasting more would be delightful, but very well. We trust that though you hurt today, tomorrow you’ll make sure we head on our way.'

You don’t have the mind or heart to say anything else to it, for it grows silent as the spikes rip from the sides of your face, you bite of a tortured yell as the spikes rip off chunks of skin and flesh, clawing at the ground with, thankfully, soothing, perfectly regular fingers and nails, albeit cracked, you feel someone take their hand in yours, and you crack open an eye, carefully aware of the blood dripping down your face from the half removal of the heart shaped mask and the thrum of thunder replacing the cold in your veins with boiling, protective warmth.

Time.

“You shouldn’t be up already.”, you rasp, looking over his wounded form, healed by Hyrule, you shakily take your left hand to keep prying at the Majora’s Mask, only for him to take it gently in yours, you taste blood, the petrichor of the Lost Woods mist and pine on the back of your mouth, chasing the rot of Majora away.

“It’s nothing, we both know I’ve had worse.” He says, firmly shaking his head. His scarred eye is open, ivory like bone, the markings more vibrant and prominent with the ferocity of a god, he looks tired, and you attempt to speak, to apologize, to voice your worry because you knew channeling the deity without a conduit was a bad idea, before coughing, shaking from the aftermath of your reckless, reckless plan.

(You unfortunately can’t say you regret it much, though, when you silently bear the combined brunt of Time and Fierce Deity’s care once you reach camp and the protective way they act towards you. Even though Majora is long gone much to your resigned exasperation, and the rest of your boys amusement, but that is for much, much later.)

Time gently hums, it rings through you like thunder as he holds you close, tapping your neck in a rhythm you could recognize in your sleep for when he was about to pull arrows, blades or shrapnel from your skin, or was ready to have it done to himself, you immediately loosen yourself as much as possible, gripping his hand tightly as he rips the rest of the Majora’s Mask off, inert and lifeless as when you’ve both woke up from a new day, he holds you close as you try to breathe, reassuring himself you’re still here, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Please.” He pleads, begs, prays. He can't lose you too.

And you can’t help it, you smile as you cry crimson and russet tones from your eyes, holding him back as close as you dare to. He doesn’t hate you, you’re sure you’re going to soon participate in the argument of a lifetime. But Link doesn’t hate you, doesn’t see you as a monster any more than you could ever see him as anything but the kind companion you always knew.

So you let yourself nod, helpless to say no to him for anything really. And allow yourself to breathe, you’re both going to be alright.

[lherra]

Title: The Silent Language: Eyes Can Speak

"Silent eyes can speak a thousand words"

👁️‍🗨️🗣️🚫

Eyes are a remarkable means of conveying feelings, ideas, and experiences in nonverbal communication. Eyes, sometimes called the windows to the soul, are able to express a wide range of emotions without the use of words. Eyes take on a language all their own, able to reveal hidden truths and create connections through their rich colors, subtle movements, and intense gazes. The great influence of eyes as a communication tool is examined in this essay, along with how they can convey love, joy, grief, and even the hidden truths that all of us carry inside.

Seen with unwavering happiness and joy are moments captured in images. Our eyes spontaneously light up and shine with pure joy when we encounter something amazing. Words can't always express the sheer joy that shines in our eyes; it's the sparkle that catches the essence of our happiness. Without saying a word, we can share and feel happiness in its purest form when we are with people we love because our eyes become a window into our souls.

👁️‍🗨️Eyes are not only capable of conveying joy; they can also convey sadness and loss. Our eyes, which are frequently teary and devoid of joy, reflect the weight of our feelings during trying times. All it takes to see the pain someone is carrying is to look into their eyes. We can emotionally connect with each other when we are vulnerable because eyes can transmit empathy and understanding. The invisible connection they make with us makes them powerful because it enables us to console and console them without having to say a word.

The eyes are one of the most expressive ways that love communicates. The saying, "Eyes are the window to the soul," is especially true when it comes to showing love. When two people exchange intense looks, they are able to express more love and admiration than any carefully chosen words could ever hope to. A lover's eyes are a reflection of their desire, trust, and devotion. They allow for a deep intimacy and an unspoken dialogue full of strong emotions because they unite hearts and souls.

Beneath the surface of spoken words, the eyes have an amazing capacity to reveal hidden realities. The eyes are frequently the first to pick up on deceit or sense feelings that are not expressed. When words are inadequate to fully express the situation, eyes have the power to reveal fears, intentions, and hidden desires. Turning away or keeping a fixed stare can convey emotions that are difficult to put into words. We can build stronger relationships and more empathy by recognizing and comprehending this hidden language, which gives us the ability to interpret the unspoken truths that others are trying to convey.

Eyes are one of the greatest examples of the powerful nonverbal expressiveness in the whole communication domain. Eyes become a portal to our deepest parts, whether they are used to communicate happiness, sadness, love, or hidden truths. Through nonverbal means, they create bonds and promote comprehension that surpass the confines of verbal communication. Unspoken emotions can be unlocked and a stronger bond can be formed with others as we learn to understand this silent language. Everybody can understand the universal dialect of the language of eyes, so the unsaid truths that are inside of us are always heard.

[annasinthewalls]

as an ex catholic with religious trauma, I am infinitely confused by people who were not raised catholic, but became catholic.

and I acknowledge, that's my bias, my blind spot, I cannot see that faith as a source of love or comfort, only hate and shame. but as much as I have tried, I do not understand wanting that oppressive force in your life, especially if you were not indoctrinated into it growing up.

and I know the immediate reaction to this would be to call me ignorant, but how can I be? I grew up fully engrossed in it, my first and favorite book as a kid was a children's bible, I went to church school, CCD, youth group, up until high school when I fully changed my mind (and had to lie and tell my mom I was still going). my mother, who I still live with, is very devout. I witness the rhetoric every day.

and I do give grace to people who were indoctrinated beyond childhood, I understand that faith can offer a sense of security and purpose to people who're struggling. but I find any conversion/evangelizing efforts so predatory for that exact reason. who convinced you that this is what you needed to keep going...

[queerpyracy]

i don't see anybody talking about this but i just wanted to say i think it's cool and neat how the disinformation saint who can literally rewrite reality isn't staying within the control of her creators. good thing that doesn't reflect anything real!

[emmaswanned]

saw gifs til X comes out: jigsaw (2017)

"you've been doing it backwards. i'm gonna give you an opportunity to turn it all around. here's your key to freedom. it's all up to you. the game is simple. the best ones are."

[houseofache]

euclid by sleep token is an ouroboros; a simultaneous end to all beginnings and an offer of beginnings to all that has ended. it is an outstretched hand promising you the change you’ve been craving, and the fearful voice in your head that dreads it. it is salvation and damnation. a bittersweet kiss from a loved one that you know you are seeing for the last time. it is a familiar chuckle cloaked in a stranger’s voice, beckoning you to know them. euclid is a promise of parallels. of certainty in the midst of uncertainty, of looking in the mirror and knowing that you have changed completely and still knowing that it’s you. after everything, it is still you. it is an oath shakily uttered in limbo, swearing “yes, i will try again.”