#doc reflections

[antiphotogenicfilmographer]

participatory vs reflexive documentary mode

this week, i will be discussing the reflexive and participatory mode of documentary. unfortunately, i was absent for a lot of my classes recently because of various illnesses, but i am doing okay now. the only reason i mention it is because i was unable to watch more documentaries within these modes of documentary. however, i still did the reading and understand these subjects rather well.

both reflexive mode and participatory mode are rather similar in practice, but are different in subject and application. they both consist of the filmmaker participating directly in the filmmaking, affecting what the subjects say and how everything comes across on camera; however where participatory mode focuses on a subject outside of filmmaking, the reflexive mode takes this all a step further, examining not just a particular subject but the very practice of filmmaking itself. interestingly enough, one documentary can be both reflexive and participatory.

such is the case with the previously discussed french film chronicle of a summer. chronicle of a summer has a focus outside of its filmmaking, life in france during the summertime, but the reflexive aspects of the film are of equal importance and consist of a similar runtime as the scenes discussing life. one notable participatory techniques chronicle of a summer uses is the interview, specifically the street interview. a clip of this can be seen in the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL6xHgxw9OY what is particularly interesting about this scene is that before its appearance in the film, a largely reflexive purpose of the film is established. the filmmakers talk to their subject about her part in the film and what their plans and intent for it is, they then send her out to conduct interviews. this discussion can be scene under the following link, among other clips and explanation undercut with it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pxk-fg771r8 the discussion can be seen at the 0:40 timestamp.

a notable example of a film that is participatory but not reflexive is supersize me, in which the filmmaker puts himself through an experiment to prove a point about the danger of mcdonald’s portion sizes. there is no meta commentary about filmmaking itself, but a critique of american fast food chain’s lack of care concerning human life and health. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9__23-zjhM

as far as reflexive documentaries that aren’t participatory, it is a bit harder to distinguish; however, the film surname viet given name nam does not focus much on its filmmaker, but its filmmaking. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjkuTAWQ2-E the film makes it clear that the documentary is a blurring between performance and truth, making sure that we are aware that we are watching a show. the subjects are women in vietnam, who the viewer assumes experienced all the tales of abuse that they talk about, but that is not the case. the filmmaker tricks you into trusting the emotions of these women, and then reveals that they were actually actors retelling true accounts of events that happened to completely different women. this demonstrates how some reflexive films will utilize bertolt brecht’s verfremdungseffekt, or alienation effect, which was crafted to demonstrate the audience that a certain play is indeed a play, ensuring that they cannot become lost in its plot. brecht instead wanted the audience to constantly reflect onto their own lives and how what the narrative is telling them can change them.

all in all, participatory and reflective mode of documentary both utilize filmmaker participation, but where one seeks to inform on a certain subject, another wishes to effect the audience’s own perception of their viewing experience.

[emiplayzmc]

Doodles based on conversations about Twisted Glisten and Rodger with @tdlizardowo :3. Mainly with the Mini AU thing I doodled the other day where Rodger does solo runs down to the Twisted floors to meet with Glisten.

|| "Well, what do you normally do when I'm gone?"

|| "Wait for you to get back..."

Based on an idea we had that Glisten literally just. Sits outside the elevator waiting for Rodger to return whenever he leaves. Probably sits with his head turned to the side so he can listen against the wall for the elevator moving in the shaft.

|| "he's gonna come back for this isn't he

he wouldn't leave this it's his favourite briefcase he wouldn't leave it

if he comes back for this that means he comes back for me right

he's coming back right

|| please please please please please don't leave me alone again please"

We also made the headcanon that when Rodger was first going to see Glisten and trying to get his trust back with him, Glisten had such low self esteem and such high anxiety at that point that he thought literally anything was holding more importance in Rodger's eyes than himself. So Rodger would catch onto this and leave items down there with Glisten, the latter of whom would basically hold them hostage until Rodger came back (I also think sometimes Glisten would outright take to nicking stuff off him to hold hostage as well, something he felt was significant enough that Rodger would come back for it had he lost it).

Rodger would slowly get Glisten to realise that, by doing this little habit and being nonchalant about whether an item goes missing or he leaves something on accident, that he really isn't caring about whether he leaves stuff down here or not - notes, a briefcase, research, whatever - it's *him* that he's returning for, because helping Glisten and keeping him company until he can find a way to cure him or get him safely up to the lobby without other Toons being worried or scared of him is the most important thing to him. Glisten is more important to Rodger than some silly items. :)

(Also I choose to believe the briefcase has lore as being a birthday / debut anniversary gift from Toodles to Rodger that she convinced her Toon Handler to help her get for him)

Also the OG SpongeBob scene for the first image :)

[terriblesolomons]

Ok but guys isn't it actually crazy how Eugene Roe's presence is literally defined by the ineffable silence of God....ep 6 has no narrative voice beyond the languageless vision of Roe's literal perspective....he brings with him silence in every episode he's in like the chaos after Jackson blows himself up stills completely when Doc runs in - they all go silent & frozen & breathless - when any man is wounded the very concept of words beyond orders fail...he talks about how Renee is blessed to calm the wounded she treats but it's evident that he brings with him something even graver than calm; it's unutterable, literally, it's a prayer, it's a response to the silence we meet (Roe meets) in his prayers (it's a reflection on the insane power we - they - have over our own - and their own - mortality - that silent and sometimes apparently godlike capacity to return (to the front lines) from the dead (that hell of lost brotherhood in the hospitals)?)

[serpentface]

Brakul Red-Dog was a decidedly handsome man, though soft featured and fishbelly pale in complexion. He was tall and thickly muscled, with a heavyset wrestler’s build that spoke to years of bodily conflict between hard labor and good eating. His hair was a striking orange-blonde, which he always kept shorn close to the scalp. His brows, beard and mustache were darker in color, bushy but well-trimmed and fastidiously maintained. He always spoke slowly and with great care, less for Wardi being his second language and more for the gap between his front teeth that would whistle, rather embarrassingly, were he not careful. He was born of the Hill Tribes, specifically a clan of farmers and cattle drivers on the north side of the Erubin river valley. If Brakul's hair and accent wasn't enough, his tattooing made these heathen origins abundantly clear. Trailing down beneath each deep brown eye was a vertical line bordered with four dots apiece. His upper arms were braced with alternating banded patterns of lines, dots, and square whorls. Most eye-catching was on the left of his broad chest, where a figure of a dog seemed to bound majestically over his nipple.  Brakul would often be seized by a nostalgic melancholy in drunkenness and set about explaining his markings to his Wardi compatriots, tracing over his skin and identifying each point in his slow, deep voice. His arms and face, apparently, contained exhaustive detail about his family tree; fathers and grandfathers and brothers and brothers-in-law and uncles and great-uncles and second cousins and so on. The nuances of how some circles and rectangles could do so always eluded Janeys.  The dog was fresher, the ink black where the rest faded blue-gray, and its meaning simpler. It was a bit of a bitter joke, a nod to his war name ‘Red-Dog’. Apparently, his people would tattoo the symbol of their clan's name over the heart upon final initiations into manhood. Brakul never got the chance, given he’d left his brothers, wife, and child for foreign causes and a foreign lad, and as such had been thoroughly disowned. The dog was the only name he had left. Janeys knew of people who oh-so-creatively derided Brakul as ‘Haidamane’s dog’ and chinmachen based on this. These were, of course, absolute fucking morons. Anyone with half a brain and the barest observational skill would know the man was completely and utterly ganmachen, ox-faced by both temperament and birthsign. Hardy in nature, placid and quiet under most circumstances, stubborn to a fault, and dangerous when pressed.  It was Janeys who was born under the dog stars, though this he kept secret, implying himself to be his dear Faiza’s twin when asked. The two of them looked much alike after all, and were born just over a year apart. It took only this small, harmless exaggeration to claim her far more auspicious birthsign as his own, which was well worth the risks of dishonesty. Janeys had enough problems - and more than enough scathing epithets - without the addition of ‘bitch-faced’ to his good name, thank you very much.

Janeys' POV introducing Brakul Red-Dog, himself, and (loosely) the Wardi zodiac system

[bonefall]

i found a god awful doc about this one person (who, too, is a god awful being) trying to reason why mudClaw would be a bad leader. I'ma try to find the doc but meanwhile I'll submit this because someone could have the link, I'll need your honest thought about it bcs why are we defending oneWhiker now

Anon, buddy, I'm gonna have to sit you down and gently discourage you from casually calling random human people "god awful beings" in my inbox like this. Not when you're just talking about relatively basic media analysis. That isn't ok or normal.

I hope that when I speak harshly, it's coming from a place of condemning hurtful actions and the tangible harm that they cause. I don't appreciate people trying to get me to directly beef with other people directly by requesting I break down their individual posts or analysis documents (when I ask for people to share links, it's so I can see and prepare to counter the ideas because they usually "float downstream" if they get popular); but in a second ask, you linked this document and there's nothing harmful in it. In fact, it's got a far more neutral tone than I'd take if I was writing an analysis about Mudclaw.

If you couldn't tell the difference between a document like this and one that contains active abuse apologia rhetoric, I would be filled with concern. But I don't think you read it. I think you maybe skimmed it and stopped reading, or just heard the title.

Because this document literally says this;

and your takeaway, something you felt so strongly about that you came to me hoping I'd validate it, was "Why Are We Defending Onewhisker Now."

Art is a tool we can use to explore our own biases, and teach us something about ourselves. That overwhelming sense of anger and disgust that you probably felt when you saw "Mudclaw Would Be A Bad Leader" made you jump to an emotional conclusion and you assumed something that was not said. I know the feeling. You might have had a reactionary impulse.

You are not a bad person for doing that-- you're human. You can grow.

Why did it upset you this much, though? Is there something very personal about this that set you off? ...are you spending a lot of time in spaces online that keep you angry? These are questions for you to reflect with.

I do not know the owner of this document or "what they've done," if anything, so I will not link it, because their Discord is at the bottom of the doc. If they are truly a "god awful being", please do not engage, just block and move on. Nothing is accomplished by following around 'A Bad Guy' and boosting their cat takes.

But something VERY bad WOULD be accomplished if I indulged an anon for a situation I know nothing about and unwittingly became part of a harassment campaign. How do I know that you've got good intentions?

I usually just delete unsolicited links to docs and videos that are 'fightbaiting' like this-- trying to get me to beef publicly with a 3rd person. But I've seen more of these than usual lately so I would like to try and cool it down.

[doc-is-sometimes-in-places]

doc should go to canada

[post 12] They're going on a boat ride!

[persistentplums]

Any which way but Zeus is a GREAT episode, but why the fuck did they do that to Hank.

“He’s a venture, he’ll never shake it.” [let’s cuddle!]

I understand this episode shows that Doc is actually aware of his sons but the way Hank has never got resolution for himself as a son and brother haunts me. So much time was dedicated to Dean finding his shit out and you can say the movie was for Hank finding himself but I’ll be honest I still didn’t find that satisfying either.

It just sticks so sore to me, especially since that scene was very similar to my own experience with my parent (mom) that I kind of sat there floored and feeling unwell that a character in fiction experiences the same thing I did. You aren’t cursed because of your family line, or meant to fail, it’s that nobody really cares anyways about you. You’re fine, not someone I need to be worrying about. You’re just like me. You can’t do anything about it.

The let’s cuddle addition is just cruelty, for a show not affectionate at all to punctuate that in the end of that scene felt like wow, alright, fuck me then.

I think about that scene way WAY more than anything else in vbros because it’s way too specific, hit close to home, but also adds my sadness for Hank entire development with relationships in general.

[plushiebi]

my friend sent me a screenshot of an email i sent him last year and it made me laugh for several minutes so i had to post it

[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

[vickyvicarious]

You may be interested in this article about ine if the "unpublished" letters in Dracula. It's the letter from Mina to Lucy that we don't get to see.

https://www.mpw.ac.uk/2021/03/18/the-suppressed-letter-in-dracula/

(I've not read all of it yet, but the author takes jabs at the literary critics who call Lucy frivolous and empty headed)

(Link for ease of clicking.) Okay, so this is another instance of the author raising several interesting points but then interpreting them in ways that go wildly against my view of the book and the characters.

Mina's missing letter to Lucy is indeed interesting. I love the defense of Lucy's intelligence. The idea of condolences being given in some capacity as well is quite interesting. There are certainly hints towards bisexuality/polyamory throughout the story. Lucy's search for the key vs. Jonathan's search for the key is something I've noted myself.

However...

Then the article begins to suggest that Dracula/vampires are liberating in some way. They don't come right out and say it but there are hints with the suspicion at Mina's description of her attack (I read it as her guilt complex, not her in denial about having actual complicity) or remarking that Dracula is Lucy's key and generally leads to freedom in the various escape scenes except with Jonathan (Lucy tries to take a literal key from Mina; when she leaves she is put in a position of danger. There is something to be discussed about 'freedom from the cage' with Lucy, Renfield, Bersicker leaving the home/asylum/zoo... but it's notable that they never actually become free, just puppeted by or drawn to Dracula, and they're all hurt in the process). I don't think Mina blushing in that scene where she asked if her entry was necessary to add was because she felt guilty about possibly having cheated/wanted to with Arthur - I think she didn't want to embarrass people, and also maybe was embarrassed at her own excitement/gushing. I don't believe Mina's letter about her wedding was trying to convince Lucy to follow her duty and marry a man she doesn't love, but instead meant as a comfort in advance for the loss of her mother that Mina knew would soon occur.

I don't think that Lucy doesn't love Arthur. If anything, I think her difficulty speaking about him in too great detail suggests her love for him is deeper and more genuine. The lack of detail in the proposal scene is actually a match with a pattern in books like Jane Austen, where bad proposals are delivered exactly and good ones are summarized. I think Lucy loves Arthur a lot, and her line about marrying three men is more reflective of her not wanting to disappoint them than her genuinely being romantically inclined towards them. I did a whole analysis of that entry last year, talking about how Lucy and Arthur are shown to be more in sync than she is with either other suitor.

However, his alignment with Mrs. Westenra is really interesting, and I do agree that he is the definitely the one that there would be pressure towards. Quincey is rich, Jack has had an impressive career - but Arthur is rich, titled, established in local society, and of the same/greater social class. I think, however, that the tension here revolves around Lucy and Mrs. Westenra, not Lucy and Arthur. Mrs. Westenra clearly wants them to be married, and I suspect is going to a fair bit of effort to push them together. I wonder if she is the chaperone for them, and in fact is not allowing them alone together (something Lucy mentions about Arthur's proposal, that he had tried a couple times but didn't get the chance). But Lucy's mother isn't just pushy about Arthur. She infantilizes Lucy and doesn't tell her things, and I think is a major contributor to Lucy's own difficulty about speaking up about her own feelings.

I've spoken in the past about how key the fundamental truthfulness of our authors is to this book. And that's something the article discusses as well, remarking how they all align with one another to tell a single agreed story despite different authors. However, I don't think we're intended to try and read between the lines to find places where they are lying/hiding from one another. And I also just don't think they are for the most part. It ties into the themes of the book more for them to be open where they can, and thus makes them sharing these documents more significant as well. Admittedly, the author of this article isn't suggesting that Lucy is outright lying to Mina here... more that she is forcing herself into playing a role, and Mina sees through it. But I still think that undercuts the primarily happy tone of this letter in a real way.

I do love the idea that Mina's letter does have some actual commiseration about things that are bothering Lucy. But I would read that as being much more about Mrs. Westenra and Lucy's expected role in society. Lucy wants to speak more of Arthur but she can't, because of the type of restrictions a lady has to follow. That sort of thing, more than doubting Lucy's feelings for Arthur are genuine. She's obviously stressed about marrying him, hence the sleepwalking, but again I don't doubt her feelings for him. I think it's the major shift in role and also concern for her mother, possibly mixed in with resentment of her.

Mina and duty is also an interesting topic and there is plenty to discuss there. But I don't see her as forcing herself in her various relationships. She genuinely loves Jonathan, her support for Lucy and Arthur is genuine too. She actually assigns things she does for fun to dutiful reasoning several times. I just... don't agree with the way this article interprets its topic.

Relatedly, there are several other letters alluded to that we never get to see. I recently noticed Jonathan's short letter to Mina before arriving at the castle, but there are more to come. Some of them also seem relevant to the plot, perhaps even more so than some of these letters between Lucy and Mina. But I think these are included because they establish things that become relevant, such as Mina's plan to keep a journal, Mina's knowledge of the three suitors before she meets them, Lucy's health at various points, and such details. Why things make it in or don't can still be interesting to discuss, but I just don't interpret them as ever holding some key that will unlock a secret hidden in the rest of the book. Whether that be about relationships or events.

[princessnijireiki]

sometimes the mortifying ordeal of being known is being comically buried under the metaphorical rubble of the struggle, which fell on you with a sound like [stock bowling pin strike.wav] or the pouring out of many many legos onto a loud plastic surface in an echoing room, and when asked, admitting that you are Not Doing Super Hot Actually but will endure & persist through the multitude of humbling embarrassments

[antiphotogenicfilmographer]

After having completed some amateur-at-best short film documentaries this semester, I decided to switch it all up and make an audio doc for this last project. The product I ended up with was “thanks for the memories,” which is an auditory ode to my grandparents.

This was an attempt at a new twist on my non-fiction film, made for my film major application. I thought a lot more about my intent in making the film and how different modes of documentary can best convey the emotions I want to explore. When you lose someone close to you, their voice is most likely the first part of them that you will forget. In “thanks for the memories,” I wanted to restore the voice of my grandparents to my life and remembrance. I collected almost every piece of video and audio I have of them and their voices and strung them together like a series of lucid memories.

I wanted the poetic mode to influence my work on this project, in an effort to provoke thought and reflection, and while every piece of audio says something literally, none of what is said is of any importance or note. Each clip is a very simple, everyday exchange, which was caught on home video. Besides the book ending clips of audio, documenting the degradation of my grandma’s memory a mere month before she died, the sequencing of the audio does not result in any sort of narrative being told. I wanted the listener to get the impression that they are clicking on random clips of audio they find on their phone, searching for any piece of remembrance, of comfort in their grief. I also edited it in a way that mirrors the human mind and our tendency to blur different memories into one memory. In order to convey that, I placed audio that had similar wording next to each other, so that it would be hard to distinguish between the two, not knowing when one clip changes into another. I took inspiration from both Rain and Berlin: Symphony of a Great City for this project, as I took very specific bits and pieces of life and synthesized them together to create a greater mood and experience.

The participatory mode was built into the very soil of this project. The subjects are my grandparents and thus, I could not remove any part of myself from the project without also removing them. Actually, my decision to make an audio documentary instead of a visual one was inspired by the film Nobody’s Business. The scenes where the filmmaker interviews his father, with absolutely no imagery backing the audio, just pure black background, struck me the most and felt like the most personal and intimate in the whole film. Such a decision makes the interaction between the filmmaker and their relative seem so much more real and reflective, as if the filmmaker themselves are making an effort to remember something the other said, closed eyes, hearing only voices and phrases from the loved one. The filmmaker’s relationship with the subject of their film is essential to performative documentaries and the authenticity of the project. My grandparents were no celebrities and making a documentary as if they were, would be impossible for me and insulting to them. We were so close, and I needed to portray that closeness in the project, or else it wouldn’t be any sort of reality. At the very least, I could convey my reality. Luckily, I had access to small interviews I did with my grandma a couple times throughout my time with her, which let me get closer to her when she was alive and feel closer to her now that she is dead.

Another mode I wished to utilize is the observational mode. Although I could never accomplish “cinema verité” with only audio, I tried my best to let the reality of each interaction in the clips I used shine through. I did so by making the decision to use no voice over. I used only archival audio, without prefacing the occurrences in the clips and my reasoning for using them. In fact, the audio I used was never intended to prove any sort of point but be a pure observation of audio and auditory memory. The whole documentary is more important than individual clips, just as the whole person being remembered is more important than the little, insignificant recollection of conversations we have had with them. One reason I wanted to use observational filmmaking is to create a feeling as though one is listening to an exhibit at the zoo or an art museum, crafting a sort of depersonalized, distant listening experience. Such an experience establishes a paradox when this piece of media is consumed. The audience must listen to something so personal and private, with no broader context, and feel the misery of missing out on something they were never a part of, while for me, I must experience the piece, having been a part of it, knowing that I can never have that again. My grandparents are dead, living on only through the records I have of them. This audio is a part of that life, but a painful reminder that this is all there is. It is like listening to ghosts.

It is found media. When I began this project, I remembered the section of our books that talked about home videos used to incriminate the Nazis in Germany, and though I am not incriminating my grandparents of anything, I too was working off of home video footage. It made me feel like I was uncovering something new, when placing each clip together. That is why this project has been so interesting to me. I only used pre-existing pieces of audio, which I happened to be a part of already, and edited them as if I wasn’t a part of them. That is how I managed to use both observational and performative modes of documentary, and in my opinion, that irony and juxtaposition is in of itself poetic.

Sound is such a gift, but in the visual world we live in, it gets drowned out. Photos and portraits of family members have existed for centuries, and while we now have video with audio, physical copies of familial audio are still hard to create and preserve. The clouds will only hold so much memory until our own memories are wiped out. We must prize the audio we have while we have it, because audio is the first thing we will lose and the first thing we will forget.

[razzafrazzle]

a variety of freaks for you on this fine valentine's day!!

[image description: a line-up of six original characters, all sporting the same yellow, pink, and purple color scheme. from left to rught, the characters are a haughty dark-skinned man in strange white clothing, a small broken robot, a lanky anthro sheep doctor with a clown nose, a very short older dark-skinned woman with fluffy hair and glittery cowgirl fashion, a muscular woman in a full leather gimp suit with an oversized zipper on front, and a bulky punk woman with many piercings and scars with a missing arm in a wheelchair. end id]

[anitoshka]

I like to imagine scenarios where Silco gets put down by the guys in the mine for being physically weaker , but it's okay because Vander stands up for him and they become pals.

yeah i also always imagined their relationship starting out this way! it was confirmed in the artbook that the world always saw Silco as the dirty little thing, and the only person who never saw him that way was Vander, so this scenario makes a lot of sense to me.

i see Silco in his youth as someone who refused to stay silent in the face of injustice, but his passion made him an easy target. Vander was the complete opposite of Silco, including being physically strong and respected by their people. his imposing presence would silence the jeers and make Silco feel safe in his company. even the way their jackets hung seemed symbolic, as Vander’s much larger jacket was wrapped around Silco’s, holding it up protectively

[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.

[ropebunnykant]

also guys just side note. i mayhaps am a lesbian