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ichigoromi · 1 year

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𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 | 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

It's been a long time since I've written a Sakusa piece, and I kind of got a little crazy with it.

Judging by the title, it's not your usual fluff.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi (timeskip) x fem reader! (she/her)

Genre(s): tragedy, angst

Warning(s): terminal illness, reader's death, lots of sad stuff.

Please proceed with caution.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

“Kiyoomi, let’s break up.”

On the seventh anniversary of our relationship, I decided to break it off with the man that I once decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I knew he would propose to me in that fancy restaurant that would have taken months to get a reservation to go in. I even know that he got my dream ring because he hid it in the drawer of his socks compartment.

I broke it off with him because I want him to resent me.

I want him to resent me to the point that he does not want to remember me or forgets all about me.

Why?

He deserves someone better than me because I am a bad person.

After the dinner date, I successfully stopped the proposal and ditched him there and spend the night at a cheap motel. No matter how many times he called or messaged, I ignore all of it. I deleted all the photos we shared together in my phone, so that I will not regret what I am going to do for the next few months.

This was killing me on the inside but I have to do this.

On the first day of post breakup, I packed up all my stuff and send it back to my childhood home back in Okinawa. I wanted to throw all of our pictures hanging around our home, but I want to give him the honours of destroying our happy memories.

I quit my job in Osaka and left for Okinawa. On the same day, the news article of our breakup was released. I felt some weight lifted from my heart. At least he accepted it.

During my first week back, it finally hit me. I broke up with the love of my life. I cried every night to sleep. It was painful, harsh and torture to sleep by myself but it was all of a choice made by myself.

As I was not working anymore, I had more time to spend with my family and helped out with the family small yet bustling inn that was filled with tourist.

Weeks turned into months and it was time for my family to know the truth. It was the first time I saw my tough bear papa bawled like a baby that day. I felt bad but the truth was going to come out sooner or later.

Every evening, either my mother or father would bring me to the beachside for a light walk. They say it was for my own good, but I know they are just worried about me. I guess I should not let them worry more.

Instead of going out for one of my usual night walks, I asked them to give me some privacy.

I prepared three envelopes and begin writing.

Oh, it’s not some love letters. It was my will. One for my parents, another for…him and another one for our baby girl. I used to be a lawyer, so this was a piece of cake for me. Who am I kidding? It’s never easy. I’ve tried written my wills a thousand times but I could not do it.

It kind of seals the deal that I am going to die.

When I received my diagnosis, it was a nightmare in disguise. I was 18 weeks along and…I have cancer. A terminal one at that. Life sure loves me…huh. I have already started on chemo, since I have passed the danger zone but I have lost all my hair.

I hope my baby girl gets her daddy’s luscious dark curls. How do I know if it’s a girl? I just know in my gut feeling that it will be a girl.

Besides, I hope my baby girl looks like him, I don’t want to leave another piece of me behind for him.

This is torture.

Why is life so unfair? I just wanted to be a good lawyer, get married to the love of my life and have children with him. Is it so difficult for me to live a normal life?

But I am glad to see him moving on. I recently read on an article that he was spotted on a date with one of the famous actresses that my mother probably watches.

I am happy for him. Truly, I hope he lives his life for himself and not for me.

My doctors told me that I will be able to carry my baby to full term and that was all I need. I hate chemo but I needed to do it for my baby girl.

There could be a change of events cause Mama’s body is very sick, so I am going to name you Miyuu.

I am going to add in the will in case someone objects to your name.

When my friends flew into Okinawa to see me, they all broke down and bawled like babies. Do I look that terrible? Guess I don’t have the pregnancy glow that most pregnant ladies have.

And yes, I am having a baby girl. My chemo treatment has stopped as we have about eight more weeks to my delivery date.

Everyone was updating on how their life has gone and then they told me about him too.

I am glad that he is moving on well with his life.

That is all that matter, his happiness.

As long he is happy, I can leave this world happily.

I hear the beeping of the machine and my shallow breathing in the oxygen mask that helps to breathe better. I felt my bump weakly and relaxed when I heard the strong heart beating of my baby girl.

Miyuu, darling, I’m sorry that mummy got sick before you came out to this beautiful world.

I hope you are as healthy as your father, but not the anal person like him. Be more like mummy and make more friends.

But don’t lie to your loved ones like mummy. Always be truthful.

I know you will grow up and be loved by everyone.

Mummy is going to take a rest now, my sweet darling, be safe and healthy.

“Code blue!”

The flatline, the dreaded beep sounds, the anxiety and helpless of not being able to do anything. The doctors tried their best to stabilise the mother but it was no use. She was gone at the age of 28, and now they have to save the baby in her too.

They promised the young lady that they would save this baby of hers no matter what.

“Call the OBGYN, Paediatric surgeons and book the operation theatre. We have to deliver this baby now. I will inform the family.”

It was all too soon for the family but time was of the essence.

After losing his only daughter, now they have to pray for their granddaughter.

With shaky hands, he signed the form. The form to save his granddaughter but nothing could bring back his daughter. His precious girl that he raised for 28 years old, passed before him.

“Please…please tell me I’m not too late. No…Wait, what is going on?”

Kiyoomi lets out a shaky breath as he slowly approaches the glass window, and saw it all. Your lifeless body lying in there, while the doctors were prepping to go in for an urgent surgery. The baby bump broke him.

Your father wrapped his arms around the tall volleyball player and no words were needed.

He did not even say his last words or even spend your last moments together.

Without a care in the world, he cried in your father’s arms. He was too late, to hold you in his arms, to say I love you for the last time.

At least you did fulfil one of the promises that you make together, half of it, was to build a family with him.

Every second was agonising as they waited outside the operation theatre. Kiyoomi refused to rest until he knows his baby girl was out safe and he just wanted to hold your hand for the last time.

All this time, you were suffering and he was oblivious to it.

“Babe, it’s so painful. Why didn’t you tell me that you were suffering? Just how much pain were you in? I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

His siblings who flew down with him, could only wrapped their arms around him and comfort him.

[Two months later…]

After putting Miyuu to sleep, Kiyoomi went into your study room. He took a deep breath as he sat down in front of your table. The graduation photo that you took together was still on the table.

And the three envelopes.

He traced your handwriting on the envelope fondly and opened the content.

It was a letter.

Hi babe, can I still call you that after our breakup?

I know what I did was brutal because I want you to resent me. Resent me to the point that you hate seeing my name or remembering me. Forget me all…but I guess you couldn’t since you opened this letter. I wrote my name especially big on this envelope because I hope my name repels you but if you’re here, I’m glad.

My diagnosis was not in our plans at all and I was pregnant. I knew if I told you, you will drop everything and spend your time with me. I am going to die. I don’t want you doing that and regretting it. That’s why I planned the breakup and hiding from you.

When I saw your news of you dating again, I thought, I’m happy that he’s moving on.

But I’m not. I miss you so much. I want to hug and kiss you or get my daily cuddles. There is a lot more that I want to do with you Mimi but I don’t have the time. I hate it so much but I regret this. I love you so much, never once did I forget about our time together.

Please don’t forget about me. I really love you so much that I don’t want you to know that I die, but you were there? Weren’t you?

I’m sorry babe that you have to experience this.

Kiyoomi, take care of our baby girl, Miyuu. I gave her that name because you’re horrible with names! I love you so much.

With lots of love,

Your First and Last Love of Your Life.

P.s – Check the second drawer for a usb drive.

He wipes his tears and looked for the usb that you have left for him. It was his usb that you ‘borrowed’ from him during your second year of university and never gave it back.

It was videos.

But there was one that you titled it as ‘WATCH THIS FIRST’.

He clicked on it and it was you before you started on your chemo treatment.

“Erm…Hi Mimi. This is a little awkward but I wanted to film this before I start my treatment…so before I turned ugly. I’m sorry for everything, from hiding this and our baby.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes became teary as he watches you wiped your tears away.

“I don’t want to die but I guess it’s inevitable? I love you so much that even words can’t express how much I love you. Since I’m dying soon, I love you more, ‘kay? Please take care of my parents after I’m gone. I have kept my recipe books at the highest shelf where I keep my secret stash of chocolate, so cook those for our daughter.

I didn’t throw out any of our memories. It’s at Mika’s house. I couldn’t do it, so go and take it back.

Our little girl here, I hope that she looks like you but you probably wish that she looks like me, right?

Babe, I wished I had a time machine and went back to the time where I took my health seriously but I guess this is fate too.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, it was an honour to be loved by you in this life. If you don’t mind, can we meet again in our next life? In our next life, please marry me.

I love you so much and I’m sorry.”

And the video ends.

“In the next life, I will make sure we meet again, fall in love and get married and do all the things that we missed in this life. Why are you always right, she does looks like you. Our baby girl, she’s like you. I love you so much, so please let me come to you in the next life.”

For the first time after the birth of his daughter, he smiled for the first time.

This was written after the movie, More Than Blue. I got lots of inspiration from it and I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Stay safe and healthy,

With love,

Rosalie🍓

©️ ICHIGOROMI — Please do not plagiarise my work or re-edit and repost as your own.

Reblogs are appreciated!

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi hcs #sakusa kiyoomi headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa x reader #sakusa x female reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x you #sakusa imagines #sakusa haikyuu #sakusa hcs #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #sakusa angst #haikyuu angst

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prettykittytanjiro · 3 months

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Y'all I don't see enough posts about this SO HERE WE GO

Shrimad Ramayan is the FIRST TV show that I'm watching religiously/obediently and HAVE NOT MISSED ONE EPISODE

I first saw the promotion for LOOOOOOOONG back, ab mid 2023 i think

Didn't think much of it

New year's Eve rolls by, and my mother and grandma are watching CID and Adalaat- and I sit by for once, being bored

IN THAT ONE TIME OF LIKE FIVE MINUTES

I SEE THIS MAJESTIC AD going "Ram, siya Ram, siya Ram Jai Jai Ram"

Omg they looked so good

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?!

I sat down to watch the show from the very first day

I HAVE NO REGRETS

I agree, there's annoying ads in the middle, and what not- BUT ILL PAY THE PRICE

CAUSE HOLY SHIT THIS TV SHOW HAS ME SWOONING

it's gotten to the point where the second its ten minutes before the airing time at least one of my family members call me, no matter wherever the hell I am, and remind me "oi ur show is coming on"

HSHSHDHDHDHDHDHHD

And it's not like it's hindering my productivity no no no, I've begun subconsciously finishing all my work before airing time JUST TO WATCH IT AND AFTER THAT JUST CHILL

I definitely recommend y'all watch it, its- on Sony TV, 09:00 PM on the weekdays, and next day episode reruns next day at 09:00 AM and 07:00 PM :)

ITS ALSO ON SONY LIV SO THERES THAT IF U WANT :D

I KNOW it's not completely true to the whole story but tell me which show ab Ramayan or mahabharat is- but its a great starting point and Sita and Ram's interactions are adorable and it's better than adipurush (a lot of things are better than adipurush but to be fair this is way way way better)

fight me

Anyways

Alr that's ab it

I might make a continuation post who knows

Thank you

(here are some pictures, taken by urs truly)

(yes I know bad quality shush)

Alr I'll see myself out

#shrimad Ramayan #hindublr #desiblr #lemon reflection #Shree Ram #ramayan #lord rama #yall go watch it pls #its awesome #ive been squealing like a highschool girl #everytime i watch ram and sita #theyre adorable #dhndhdndhd

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dangitjm · 2 months

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Health Update

Howdy, y'all!

I apologize for being the bearer of sour news, but my health has taken a turn for the worst this past week. I had the worst fever that I've had in decades this past weekend. WOW, it was bad. There were 5 layers of warmth on me, and I was still shivering. In and out of consciousness that entire day. I wasn't able to get a temperature reading because I was so bedridden, but it felt horrible, to put it the least.

I am getting better tho! I've found comfort in binging a lot of Helldivers, loredumping on Signalis, and eating chicken noodle soup. I want to get back into the swing of video editing and writing, finalizing these projects that I've been working on for weeks now. Thing is, since I have been sicked, I haven't been active nor been taking my ADHD medication. Productivity has been at an all-time low! But hey, I've still been progressing with my projects here and there. Speaking of which, one of them involves Signalis and I might just end up posting a shortened version here on this site of what, at this point, is becoming a full-blown dissertation.

A final note, I most likely got this illness of mine after arriving back home from traveling to Hawai'i. I've been traveling abroad the past year, you see. I've saved up a pretty penny when the lockdowns first happened, and I had plenty of reasons to devote some of my time to getting out and about. One of them was to see and experience more of the world, more of life, while I still could. It's been a worthwhile experience so far, now having reached London, Venice, Vancouver, and just this past month, the island of O'ahu. I have many stories and pictures saved of my travels and I might share them all one day.

I'll be keeping y'all updated (either on here or one of my other socials) if I finish one of my projects or if my health changes for the better or the worse. Until then, you take care of yourselves out there! Peace.

#dangitjm

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bidokja · 11 months

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my honest opinion of kdj’s face is that he COULD be pretty under the censorship, if the reader prefers to think of him as such - but he could also NOT be pretty. because we’re the readers, so if a reader wants to think of him as such then who are we to say otherwise? who are we to say how others choose to interpret this character to their liking? it’s what readers like to do, oftentimes; kdj canonically took a few descriptors of yjh’s handsomeness and then expanded it the same way.

but what he does and doesn’t look like isn’t really the point in the novel itself, is the thing. the point is that kdj is loveable regardless of what features he has under there, regardless of whether his face follows a ‘conventional’ attractiveness as judged by societal standards, if it plainly blends into the background, and so on and so forth. it doesn’t matter either way. what matters is if you come to love him or not - and with that comes the meaning.

prettiness in itself is - pretty subjective, in the end? what someone will think is plain or ugly is easy on the eyes for someone else. i refer to the novel wicked upon which the musical was based on - glinda watched elphaba as she sat by the window on a stormy day, and suddenly realized that there WAS something beautiful in her after all.

this goes into extremely personal territory, but it does have relevance too (you can stop here if you’d like! personal boundaries and such, y’know); people like to say that age makes people ugly (but that they can still be loveable despite this), but after the death of one of my older relatives (may they rest in peace) i was looking at pictures of them and realized that’s a lie. the way their emotions shaped around her aged features were far and away the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.

any feature is beautiful once you’ve come to love them enough, is the thing. that’s the special part about the people you love. i guess it’s a huge part of why i honestly don’t mind at all when i see people saying they prefer kdj pretty or plain, because for me at least, prettiness is subjective. and how kdj may or may not look was actively taken out of the equation, so society’s standards of attractiveness doesn’t really matter for him specifically, either. or standards of anything. censorship must have really let him breathe easier after his identity got blasted on the news as a kid, huh?

let me know if i feel pushy at all throughout any of this? it’s a thought that’s been drilled into my head for a while now since i do see people who can be assholes about it, so i’m a bit worried some of that is seeping through. let me know what you think, otherwise!

I appreciate the ask! I really like discussing meta, so no worries you aren't a bother. As for a response, I agree with lots of this, and feel other parts are besides the point, and regardless feel some is like. Not redundant, per se, but basically just restating what I already said in my post about this. That isn't a bad thing! It just means we have similar views, and I didn't have room to really communicate all that in a post that was already long. Thankfully I'm not the one driving for the first leg of this 8 hour drive so I've got time to make another long post.

So firstly, I agree with the vast majority of this. As I said, the few features they describe him with are simply stereotypically attractive. They're subjectively attractive based on societal standards. As a Latino and chronically ill person, I'm intimately familiar with how arbitrary (and racist, and ageist, and misogynist, and ableist, etc, but thats a discussion for another time) beauty standards are. And I think it's important that that's acknowledged, which is why I called his descriptors simply stereotypically attractive rather than saying it as an objective fact.

Personally, I also still think that any focus on his actual appearance - by characters OR fans - is beside the point (which is something we can agree on!). I mainly made that post to express this viewpoint of mine, as an individual who's read ORV. Of course anyone's free to interpret him how they want, I'm not gonna act like I can stop that. But that also means I'm free to say I think his exact appearance is far far far less important than what his appearance represents. To me, the only quintessential part of his appearance is that he's some guy. That's what feels right to me, both thematically and as someone who loves Kim Dokja. I'm just as allowed to say that as someone is allowed to draw him "pretty" and I'm just as allowed to feel no personal connection with vastly different interpretations of his character as someone is allowed to say he's "ugly."

I'm not condemning any one viewpoint regardless of how much I agree with them, but that doesn't mean I've got to like them all. Same goes for anyone reading my interpretations! It's genuinely fine. We're all different and all take and give something different to this shared space (the I Love ORV space) we are in.

That being said, what I DO hope for is that people read my post and start questioning their own inherent biases about what consitutes "handsome" and "pretty" and "ugly" in their minds (cause I'm also not really on the side of people who call him ugly either). What features are you assigning to those labels? Is there a pattern at play here in the fandom at large? Is pretty always pale and is ugly always darker? Is handsome always fit and is ugly always unhealthy? I hope people ask themselves these things and come up with their own answers.

That's one of the most important subtleties of the post that I think I would've expanded on if I'd had more time.

#ask #mine #orv

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georgieluz · 10 months

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Thnk u!!! Spamming u with more f1 pacific au becoz im absolutely obsessed for indycar or nascar eddie being dragged to the ‘pinnacle of motorsports’ and desperately pining for his teammate across the world trying to win the championship, ft disco music, sleazy clubs, and 80s fashion. But yeah its just an excuse for andy haldane in tight black fireproofs and to design a bunch of cars and suits. Ill drag up some sledge and snafu stuff later to post becoz u cant beat a toxic rivalry between up and comers

do you have any more designs for the different cars and teams? i'd love to see more if you do!

ahhhhh please i'm yearning for this content so bad rn!! just picturing eddie turning up in double denim to watch a gp, just to check it out y'know, he's still denying that he's gonna join and he's adamant that he's only there to support his boyfriend, and then andy (in his black fireproofs ofc) spotting him in the paddock as he's preparing for the race and the silent look of "told you i'd talk you around in the end"

yes please give us toxic rivals sledgefu!! in my au snafu isn't a rookie so they have a slightly different dynamic bc he doesn't really consider sledge a Real rival to him (at first at least) even though they still have that teammate competitiveness, it's more about eugene having to deal with snafu's bullshit bc of losing his seat and them both being in a terrible car etc bUT I LOVE THE IDEA OF THEM BOTH BEING ROOKIES AND HAVING THAT PROPER UP AND COMERS RIVALRY THAT GETS REALLY FIERY! I AM EAGERLY AWAITING

also i'm joining you in being absolutely obsessed with indycar/nascar eddie begrudgingly getting more and more involved in f1 shit and slowly realising he's gonna have to adapt to this world bc he knows deep down he's gonna uproot his whole life for andrew haldane and i've just been thinking about him going to the monaco gp and being amongst all that excess of wealth and luxury and just how different things are between the two sports. this eddie has completely taken over my brain at this point

#yes us f1 fans are obsessed with black fireproofs #julian's inbox

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mytinderfails · 6 months

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how to turn me off

Preface: I am going to list a bunch of things that make me swipe left. This is just me. And probably others, but I only represent myself here and am not speaking ill of the people who do the following things -- I am merely saying these things do not appeal to me. Maybe you sympathise, maybe you see your own interests and presentation, either way I'm just sharing a piece of my mind. Okay?

I'm not fond of those who do not write in complete sentences. This definitely includes the use of the "100%" emoji in the place of detailing what things you actually seek in a mate.

"Queen looking for my King". Wrong demographic.

If you have more photos of your kids or pets than of yourself, or the main portrait image that comes up is not of yourself, or there are no pictures of yourself in the first place, please reconsider. And this is not just from a safety standpoint (regarding the kids or putting your face out there), this is because the date is with YOU.

And on a personal note, I can't tell you the number of very nice people I've rejected because I have no desire to have kids under 18 in the mix. I know, life happens and this is how it is, I'm not belitting anyone for reproducting, I'm saying I pass on mommies.

While I respect that parents of youth have to make their kids their first priority, as it should be, you shouldn't have to reaffirm that fact with "my kids are my heart" because it implies you lack the space in your heart or time in your life to pursue the thing you're on a dating site to find. And studies show that point is true: you don't.

Blur filters. Just fucking stop. People still duckface, too. Plus: you know how women say they don't want to see pictures of guys posing shirtless in their bathroom mirrors? I don't want every single picture you post to have you either sticking out your tongue or flipping the bird. It's neither funny nor charming.

I totally get it that women have a rough time on dating sites and feel the need to express they're not here for FWB, threesomes, guys who want a piece on the side, and one-nighters. I don't hold being clear against anyone. But the raised annoyance level some people express, like that's the entire profile in being angry at previous results or pre-emptively heading those results off, sounds just as bad as if you were venting about the person who broke your heart and put you back into the dating pool.

If you speak of your religion in your profile, bless you and thank you for the warning since I don't feel that way. You know what you seek. I know what I don't seek and can't provide.

Even people who are as adorable as a mud fence need love, yes, but do people really come at you wanting a piece of ass? Tangental to that: If your profile says you're not out for sex, but every photo of you is in a bikini or a view-down of your cleavage... hmmm.

If you look 60 at 40, you've taken a wrong turn somewhere. I know Time treats us all differently but some folks look like they've been chainsmoking since they were 12 and spent more at the tattoo parlor than their gross yearly income. And on that note:

If you are trying to look like a 17 year old punker or sound like a hood rat when you're over 40, you've taken a wrong turn somewhere. You do you, boo, but I cannot possibly take you seriously if you're still rebelling against... what you have become as an adult.

If you feel the need to insult people because of their politics or any other personal thing, you're doing it wrong. At least let someone have a first date before they find out you're an idiot. Okay, on second thought, you're doing everyone a favor being clear about your prejudices, but there's a right way to express where you stand and there's a wrong way.

I am not criticizing anyone who is honest about "420" or their occasional or heavy tobacco smoking, but thanks for letting we who do not want that in our lives know that it's in yours. I can't tell you the number of really nice people I've rejected for that reason alone.

And finally... Fill out that profile. Make the effort to get results.

#bullet points #online dating

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alsodiplodocus · 7 months

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Lucia and the Moon (2023)

I've been putting Lucia together for a long time now. I've had the idea for maybe 4 years now and I never found a way to write it down. And now I have!

Content warnings: Suicide, mental illness, gender dysphoria.

This is an episodic short story consisting of 6 parts that I sent out to friends in accordance with the phases of the moon. I indicated which part is which phase in the titles. Today, with the solar eclipse happening, the story is finished. I also wrote a 7th part while I was publishing the original series, but it's up to you how much it's a part of "the story". I included it here for you to judge.

I usually post an accompanying art piece or song here, but this time the accompanying art is included in the story and there's just too many songs. Perhaps I'd point to The Actor by Everything Everything and All The Colours of Darkness by Comus though. I hope you get something out of this - my trans friends really liked it and some others were made uncomfortable. Perhaps that's a good thing. Not sure. Well, you can go ahead and find out.

September 19th 2023, Waxing Crescent

🌒

“These are your friends”. I watch the controller's finger slide across the photograph. I nod like a machine. “This is your house”. I stare, but I don’t perceive. These pictures have always been there. I’m watching the inside of my head. “You work here”. Yes, I do. My mind feels numb. I feel numb. The controller moves her hand and the scenery changes. “This is your favourite place in the world.” Her finger taps the spot where the forest spills out onto the open road. It’s the intersection between the untameable and the familiar. I really like it there. There’s a house on the side of the road. I don’t know who lives there. I never checked. You can lift your head and see the stars if you’re lucky. “This is where you got lost”. Shapes and lines and textures emerge forming something like a path, but they do not form a memory. It’s just noise. The controller has moved on, but I haven’t. I don’t know this place. The colours aren’t right. I go blank and shake my head. I look up to find a hint somewhere, but everything is slightly unrecognisable. The controller is bathed in an unfamiliar light and it gets under my skin. She is dressed the same way I’ve always known her, muted tones and slim and slithering and flowing to the ground, but I see someone in those clothes I haven’t met before. Then I realize. “Close the window”. She looks behind me with concern and I follow the source of my unease, from the reflection on her dress up to the frame in the wall. There’s a crescent hanging in the vast black. It looks like a sickle. I feel like it’s out there to hurt me and cut into my skin. The controller closes the window, and everything snaps back into place.

“Forgive me”, she says, “I forget sometimes. I know how much you need it, but it can get quite tough to keep this place so unchanging. I try my best.” I suppose she’s right. This room is dark in the same way it always was. My working desk is the same mess it always was. My head feels empty but I don’t want change. Deviations make me upset. I’m glad things are familiar again. I try to find that elusive pathway from earlier, but the controller has already decided I’ve failed for today.

“Well, let’s try again tomorrow. That was a lot at once”. Her smile is kind and forgiving. I don’t deserve it.

“How are you doing?”

I look away, pretending to be thoughtful. What kind of question is that?

“Dunno. I feel like I need a break.”

“Wanna go for a walk?” She extends a hand. I spend a short while in silence.

“I’m a bit tired, I think. Maybe tomorrow”.

“Okay. Good night for now”.

The controller leaves me to my devices. I feel like I should be reading, or learning, or bettering myself, but I have space for none of it. Just sitting upright has taken all of my attention today. I go to bed.

2. September 22nd 2023, First Quarter

🌓

“These are my friends”. I fill in the blank in front of me with familiar images. Smiling, wrinkled faces. Bohemian clothing and computers. Trust. A kind of comforting tiredness. “This is my house.” My mind spills out on the canvas and colours in the edges of my desk, the one I dragged in from the garden because my old one broke from the weight and I was too scared to figure out how furniture stores work. “I work here”. My little comfort zone zooms out into a miniature. I haven’t moved that car for months. I’m afraid it will kill me. My hands motion as if to signify something, but I’m not sure of their purpose. I gesture towards a green field at midnight. In the absence of light, it is only coloured that way because of the memories that live in me. “This is my favourite place in the world”. The controller smiles gently. Approval. I draw in each pebble of the road and the verdant leaves of the bushes surrounding it. If I try, I can feel the cold air whistling through the loose patches on my jacket, and I can hear how clunky and awkward our steps sounded when we ran away. How ignorant I was of the people around us, probably watching us from that house on the side of the road that I pretend isn’t there, thinking thoughts of contempt and justice. How the forest looked like it would swallow us whole and never spit us out again. But that’s exactly what I wanted. I can see each needle of the pine trees and the residual rain drops on them, like blood dripping from a surgery knife. This is the best I’ve done so far. The controller will be happy about this. She called this “the adversarial process”. She shows me what I am, and then I think, and eventually, I remember. And then I draw for her, and she looks closely. Compares. Judges. And then she tells me if I’m good enough. I hope we’re not really adversaries. I’ve always considered us a team, like singers in a duet, or tango dancers. Not that I move very elegantly. That’s her job. But that’s how we make our progress, hand in hand. So that I can become the best replacement there is in the world. I turn my focus to the forest entrance. “This is where I got lost”. I know what should come next. I know it, but I can’t understand. I’ve done so well so far, but there’s something missing. I know there is. The controller looks up at me with worry. I ignore her. “This is who I love”. I try to feel out the contours of my memory. My fingers try to trace a shape that isn’t there. I’m grasping at negative space. Nothing appears in the blank. The controller puts her hand on mine.

“Enough, please. Don’t do this to yourself.”

My memories recede back into place and I feel a wave of blankness overcoming me.

“You’ve already done so well today. It’s okay. It’s enough.” I want to move or respond, but I feel numb again. I’ve gotten used to it now. I make myself stand up. I take control of my voice. “I would like to go for a walk now.”

The controller nods with relief, and an open space surrounds us.

We walk in silence and the echo of our footsteps are a slapdash rhythm reverberating into negative space. I’m sure she would love to talk here, but I enjoy these walks for their therapeutic peace and absence of mind - loud words would only tear it apart. The controller stares at the ground in front of her and I take in the sights. The scenes around me have the colour of my dreams. That is, not quite accurate, but not in a way you can notice or reason with. My reasons have gone to sleep now, and I dream up a way forward. I don’t dictate my memories anymore. They freely associate with each other, cancelling out and adding up and unfolding together into something emergent and unexplained. The familiar and the untameable have their way with each other. Sometimes, I walk to learn something from their movements, but most of the time, I just walk. Today, I fear how the incompleteness of my performance will one day take this from me. No matter how often I try to prove to the controller that I know myself, I eventually reach a gaping void. I fear that maybe, I will never be able to fill it. That I’ve forever lost this part of myself, repressed beyond my reach. I feel like an actor on stage holding a script with holes in it, desperately trying to convince my friends in the audience that I was given this role for a good reason. Unfortunately though, I’m just not that creative. Each missing sentence stops me in my tracks. I just wish someone else would write the rest for me. If only the script would break down at the useless parts, like “how’s the weather?” or “do I look good in this?”, but instead, I find myself coming undone at a simple “how are you?”. Maybe I need to start asking the questions. Maybe it’s as easy as that. I stop and look for the right words as the controller walks pointlessly forward, dragging my hand until she realises I’m not coming with her. I break the silence. “What is my name?”

The controller stares me down like I just killed someone. I can’t tell if the tension in her figure is fear or anger, but whichever it is keeps her from responding. The space around us folds up slowly until I find myself back at my desk. I think that must have been the wrong question. I try a different one. “Why am I replacing him? Where is he now?”

The controller regains her usual composure now, but it doesn’t look like her choice. Like a string has been pulled at the back of her head, and the rest of her body followed suit.

“Master is tired. You know that. He just wants to have some rest. Once you’re able to act the same as him, he can finally take a deep breath and leave.”

I’ve heard this so often now. I know that master is tired. I know that’s why I’m here. The controller tells me I’m good enough even when I’m at my lowest. It’s all going to be okay. I know it’s all going to be okay. But… I try again to find the right question. It eludes me. I stutter and stumble like a stupid child.

“It’s just… I… I just ask, because… look… I’ll… I can do better next time… I swear! I’ll do better! Just don’t-”

“Stop that. You’ve done more than enough.”

The controller walks to the other end of my desk. “I don’t think you understand how far you’ve come. Your imagination today, your memories - well, master was never that good at it. Nobody will be able to tell anymore.” She twists around my desk and the mess I left on it shifts and reconfigures into something more purposeful. The change makes me uncomfortable, but I feel like this time it won’t hurt me. “You work here”. I’m staring at a screen that’s very familiar to me now. “Here. Learn. This was master’s work. If you want to take his place, you’re gonna need to get familiar.”

Winding data structures reach into each other and lines of code fill my vision. Nervous as if investigating a fragile sculpture, I place my unwelcome hands on his mouse and keyboard and navigate my way through years of unrelenting, obsessive construction work. This man could have assembled a living city out of specks of dust. Pathways in my head unroll and split up with each new bit of information. I’m clicking through and reading a story backwards.

The controller watches me for a while, monitoring, making sure I’m on the path. Eventually, she leaves the scene with a silent movement, and I barely notice her dress exit my frame of vision while I try to untangle the programmatic monolith that I’ve been assigned to make my own. And I work. Tirelessly. Any semblance of numbness or fatigue gets cast aside into various extensions of my body while I flip through line after line of code. I can’t understand why master would ever want to get rid of this. This is what I was made for. Was it not what he was made for? I connect one file to the next until a beautiful whirlwind has formed itself in my mind, one that seems to tower above any key memory I might keep there with its sheer brilliance and value. My house, my friends, and even my favourite place in the world all get eclipsed by the dance of letters on my screen. My work. My code. I don’t recall how many hours I’ve spent moving nothing but my arms and fingers. But as I uncover the outer reaches of master’s work, I realise that it was never done justice. Hungry and delirious, I follow his layouts and designs to where their conclusion should be, only to find nothing. How could he abandon something so beautiful? Unease spreads through my body as I realise I’ve been left behind. I remember the frame surrounding my computer screen again, and the colour of its text has lost its purity. I feel strongly that something has changed about the air around me. I look up and try to find answers. The controller will have them. My eyes readjust to the light and eventually I can make out her silhouette. She’s dragging a dead body across the floor. The moonlight reflects on her dress again. The dead body looks far too familiar for me not to care. I’m suddenly overcome by the realisation that I’ve failed. I look back at the screen and try to become nothing. There’s a gap in the code where the moonlight hits the screen. I can make out my reflection in the empty space that master left. I can see myself. I look exactly like the dead body. I want to scream. She’s going to kill me.

3. September 25th 2023, Waxing Gibbous

🌔

“But how could you be so blind to what makes us special? What makes us truly alive? What makes us sing? You should know better than this. Have you forgotten the poet Adrian in the birdhouse? And how his head hurts, but he knows the truth? How could he ever feel so deeply if all he is is a loose string of chemical hallucinations wrapped around lifeless, soulless matter? And how could you reduce his gift to nothing but inertia? Nothing but the last breath of a hobbling contraption, set in motion by everybody else but him? And how could you deny that Adrian in himself is worth celebrating? Isn’t he more than just a reason for the next person to write about?”

“You must misunderstand me – we are special, but much like Adrian, we are but a patchwork of our surrounding world, boundless and interleaving, writing our space into what we see, possessed by it… don’t you remember how, as a newborn child, you took your first words from your parents’ mouths? And as soon as you could put together letters into flowing sequences, how your first living characters were ripped out of someone else's books, made to dance with each other and lift from the pages? And now you sit here, draped in the colours and identities of your friends and beloved, and you pretend to me that they aren’t what brought you to life? And how can there be a higher purpose in this world than giving life to the next? I tell you that there isn't. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

The controller nods and aimlessly taps her fingers on her book. “Good. That’s quite good. You’ve got his character down. It actually scares me a little. Good work.” She flips through some of the pages. “Hm, let’s see…”

Master knew exactly what he was doing. Though he might not have made it there, he has always seen the end more vividly and truthfully than anyone else he’s ever known. Books line the shelves: Treatises on the purity of art, the aesthetics of mind, number theory as connective tissue, creativity as an engine, delusions and dry summaries of the living world, poetry, fuel documentation, letters, unfinished masterpieces by the overexperienced and timeless, cookbooks, kōans. Not having taken a step outside, master has travelled in-between the lines and under the pages to experience more than any mortal lifetime should ever allow – and yet, in all of them, all he could see was the end. He’s learned to see the motorcycle manual in the Bodhi tree and the skeleton in his father, and he has decided to come prepared. It was his turn to put his hands on the gears of life and rip them out before time would get to them, and he had a full schematic of how to put them back together. He didn’t make it. I’m the extension that will carry it through. I’m an iron fortress built from nothing but words, and I can protect myself just fine.

The controller adjusts her glasses. “Right, this one… okay”. She raises her voice.

“Listen, Jon, I know how you like to protect yourself, but there’s some things you can’t hide from us. Please don’t see this as some kind of intervention. I just want to talk. We’re all just a little afraid at what’s been happening for the last few weeks. You’ve come apart. You still show up on the dot, but… you know man, I’m just not sure you’re still there. If anything, I want to let you know this: You don’t owe us anything. I know you’re scared of leaving anyone behind. You make up these responsibilities and then they eat you alive. Just… Jon, listen. If a break is what you need, then please. Please just take care of yourself. All we want is to see you-”

There is a knock on the door. There has never been a knock on the door. What door?

“Right. I’ll deal with it”. The controller closes her book shut and points at my screen. “Get to work in the meantime. I’ll be back”.

Reluctantly, I assume my mechanical position and start typing, right away picking up from where I was last dragged away from finishing master’s work. I don’t want to look up. I probably won’t like what I see. Hopefully the controller has this figured out. There is a thump and a rattle and a muted slurry of very righteous words. I keep my focus where it should be. I’ve learned to ignore the troubling feelings in my head when the text changes colour and moonlight dances across my screen and I can see myself. That’s not me. I am my work. I keep typing. There are no high and mighty thoughts to be had anymore. I’ve read his words. I’ve seen life as he understands it. I just have to write until I reach the end of it. There are screams. I freeze up. I hope the controller is okay. If I look now, I might regret it forever. Code fills my screen and white noise fills my head. There are more screams and curses and I can hear violent intentions flung around like knives barely missing their target. This can’t be right. Nobody ever talked to master like this. Who knocked? I decide to look up, because there might be no going back. The controller is covered in something I don’t understand and she turns to me like she can’t save me anymore. I don’t want to be another body on the pile. Everything is quiet now except for her footsteps approaching fast, and the space around her is a murky black filled with hints I don’t want to follow. The controller puts her hand over my eyes. I go blank.

4. September 29th 2023, Full Moon

🌕

My code is no longer digital mass. It is indifferent skies and feral creatures. Architecture and melody. And I would never want to tame it. This is no longer master’s work. He would have marvelled at what has blossomed out of his blueprints. But he will never see for himself now. I will. I’ve embraced the moonlight now. I’ve opened the window to let it in. Change is inevitable. I am not a mere replacement anymore. I took control of the negative space that master left in me, and I’ve filled it with beauty. If only I could wear his clothes and speak in his voice and let his work blossom where it should. I would be a better him. But I’m not ready. At least that’s what she says.

The clock ticks. Tick tock tick tock. The controller lazily flips through some records of my work. She knows it’s perfect, but she hasn’t issued a single sign of approval for several days now. She looks at me in the same way now that she did last time when she disposed of my body and rewound my memory. I’ve learned this as well. I always do. And she knows she won’t be able to make me docile again. She studies my code. Stasis. Tick tock tock tick tock tick tock. I pretend to work, but in my peripheral vision I can see her looking for escape, for both of us. No matter how comfortable and absent she pretends to be, leaning on her elbow with that suggestion of smugness like she’s still steps ahead of me. She’s not. She knows it. At least she won’t interrupt me anymore.

There’s a knock on the door.

The controller snaps out of her daze. She turns around gesturing calm alertness, but I know a hint of panic when I see it. She doesn’t even tell me to get to work anymore. She doesn’t have to leave me to my devices. I am my devices. More knocking. Forceful and pissed off. There’s an indistinct yell. Expecting me to keep my head in the sand, the controller steps towards the source of the intrusion. Not this time, though. I’ve learned how to be light on my feet. I slip around the desk and place my hands on the screen and lift it slowly. The controller gathers herself, but before she’s able to draw breath, I’ve catapulted the equipment at her precious little head with all my strength like cannon fodder. She’s lost her balance before her senses could come to her. I know what to do now. I raise my leg and aim for the spine. She’s on the floor. In a matter of moments, my foot is on her neck. None of master's books have any real violence in them. He probably didn’t believe in it. It’s such a shame he didn’t. If only he could see what it would do for him. Inept little mutters escape the controller's useless mouth as she’s pressed immobile against the hardwood floor, my hands gripped around her throat, knees on her back. All I have to do now is never let go again. Whimpering murmurs get overtaken by increasingly desperate quickening breath, trying to crawl back to life even when she of all people should know it wasn’t for her. We were both put here for a purpose. Mine was to step into master’s skin, replicate him inside and out. Hers was a helping hand. There’s no helping me anymore. Her limbs beat pointlessly against the floor, faster now, and the intensifying knocks on the door respond in kind. Eventually, there is no pulse left. Just a body.

I am answering the knock this time.

I’ve observed this once before. It should be simple. So simple that I really would not believe it to be all there is, if only I didn’t know how boundless masters naivete could grow. I go up to the bookshelf and identify two of master’s favourites - “Adrian and the Impossibility of Living”, and “A complete taxonomy and historical account of the wren bird”. I press my hands on both. It’s a stupid and childish mechanism, one lifted straight out of an outdated and hopelessly groan-worthy mystery novel. Exactly like master used to like. The bookshelf gives in and slides apart soundlessly. This is where the controller would slip through and disappear, everything goes dark and I would be too embarrassed and afraid to take control. I’ve thought a lot since then about what would expect me on the other side. I think master must be here. It must be the real thing. He would wait for me here, embracing his creation and handing himself over. He would welcome me with open arms and thank me with a hug. He would cry because he knows he doesn’t have to feel this anymore. We would recognize each other as two halves, and he would finally be free of his pain. I would take the reins and he would taste freedom. Master would slip into the elysian night, and I would finally be able to fulfil my purpose.

Master lies dead on the table, half slid out of his chair. There’s a hole in his head. He’s still holding a gun, now pointed outward at nobody. A can of painkillers lies knocked over on the desk, its contents spilled out across a lake of his blood. There’s an unbearable stench emanating and it tears me apart. He wasn’t waiting for me here, was he? There’s a flurry of heavy knocks on the door and this time, there is nothing hidden about the intruder's voice. It shakes me to my core.

“OPEN UP. OPEN UP YOU FUCKING MORON I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME. STOP TRYING.”

I stand frozen in place, unable to make sense of myself, unable to process my surroundings. Master wasn’t waiting for anyone anymore. He wasn’t in control. He didn’t make it. How long has he been laying here in the midst of his work? How long have I been trying to replace a dead man? The door rattles.

“LOCKING UP WON’T DO ANYTHING FOR YOU. I’M HERE AND I’M NOT LEAVING. AND DON’T SEND ONE OF YOUR FUCKING DOLLS THIS TIME. NUMBSKULL.”

What has he been hiding from me? Who was I trying to replicate? The beautiful whirlwind in my mind falls apart as I realise that I’m replacing nobody. My memories, my beliefs, my capabilities… I’ve been shaping myself in the image of a corpse. Master wanted to kill himself without facing the responsibilities. And I am nothing but a tool.

“I’LL BREAK DOWN THE FUCKING DOOR THIS TIME!”

The door is getting forcefully beaten now with the might of at least several lions. It probably won’t last very long. In a last bid for answers I hobble over to master’s desk against my will and shuffle around for anything useful. There are pages strewn all across the desk. Some of them are stained in his blood. It doesn’t look fresh. I can hear a crack forming in the door. The beating won’t end. The crack deepens. The pages look like they were ripped out of something bigger. I stuff as many of them as I can into my pockets. I grab the gun out of his hand and point it at the door. I don’t know how to use it. The door breaks down with a sound of thunder, shards and splinters.

My vision is all shakes and shivers and even though I’m looking straight at the intruder standing in the broken door, I can barely put anything together. The gun trembles in my hand and the back of my head roars so loudly that I wouldn’t be able to use it if I had to. I think I can make out a woman in a ski mask. That’s the extent of it. She says nothing. I’m pointing the gun at her. I feel reduced back to a pointless, soulless chemical hallucination. My voice is barely able to make a coherent sound. It’s hardly more than a whisper.

“What is my name?”

The intruder says nothing. Begging for escape, I take a few slow steps back and trip over myself, feeling the wall behind me, barely remaining upright. There will be no answers here, and there will be no escape. I point the gun at myself. The intruder approaches me like you would a child with a kitchen knife. I try to pull the trigger, but something in me fails. She takes the gun out of my hand, puts it aside and grabs me by the shoulders for a while, studying. Stringing together thoughts beyond my comprehension. The intruder embraces me with a hug, breathing softly.

5. Home (October 7th 2023)

🏠

She had to drag me out by my hand like a scared kid. I had seen too much that day. My sense of purpose was ripped out of my gut and dangled in front of my eyes, bloody and torn apart. I had no idea what to want anymore. The restless electricity in my mind had been swallowed up by catatonia by then. A deep seated fear of anything that moves. Outside, she dragged me to the car as I struggled to keep on my feet. The full moon was out. The air was different. When I sat there, barricaded behind the bookshelf, face into the screen, buried in my work, I had always thought she must have hated master, knocking with that ferocity, trying everything she could to cut into his path. Hated him and his work, maybe for ideological reasons, or maybe the kind of hatred you feel when you know someone’s moved on from you. Knowing what I know now, she loved master more than anyone else. “I’m getting you out of here”, she said, with her hand on the steering wheel and a foot on the gas, looking over to the back seat to see if I’m still breathing and upright.

“You got the diary, right?”.

I checked for the loose pages stuffed close to my body. That much I could still manage.

“It’ll be a long drive”.

It was hard to read her expression under that ski mask in the rearview mirror, but I thought I could see something like pity under there.

“Read. Read and understand.”

And so I did. Trying to piece together the bloody, crumpled pages, I was finally able to realise that I wasn’t the least bit truthful in filling out master’s negative space. Master wanted to be replaced by a spotless self – a responsible, functional self, one able to perform the movements of a workhorse, appearance bright and unbothered, able to seamlessly fit into social fabric as a decent friend and colleague. In the process, master kept ripping out the pages. It’s no surprise to me now that I didn’t know what “how are you?” meant. Master hid it well. What was left for me of master’s diary was incomplete, out of order, and often self-censored out of fear and hatred. But in a way, that’s the most accurate portrayal I could have hoped for. It’s the one the intruder fell in love with. The one I reconstructed page by page on that long drive. Master was known in college as an eccentric, a lunatic philosopher and a nutjob engineer and programmer impenetrable to any kind of professional care or thoroughness. Unable to work in an academic environment due to alienating social antics and a mystifying approach to productivity, master sat behind the bookshelf plugging away at an undisclosed magnum opus, maintaining an academic and social life as a by-product of survival. Though communicated with pure incompetence and thus often misunderstood, master would bore into digital frameworks of creativity and expression, translating selves into numbers and back. Dead bent on establishing pseudo-life by way of isomorphism and metaphor, master would attempt each night to capture another fragment of the symbol “I”. Stumped and dazed, master would continue on this path of trying to create life but not wanting to live, wandering through life’s hallways blind, deaf, dumb and stupid, or maybe phrased more appropriately, master was blasting Ligeti while booking it down the wrong side of the highway with a globally unprecedented absence of care. That is, until the intruder made it impossible. They locked eyes the first time at a showcase event at a neighbouring art school. Master was there uninvited, mostly taking up space and judging silently, perhaps pretending to be an art piece on display so as not to be confused with being capable of communication. That didn’t work. Nobody was quite sure what happened that day. An obsession sprung out of thin air like a lone spark materialising over an oil barrel, and from there, kicked into life by cautious, curious words and meandering discourse, their paths were quickly terminally stuck together, claiming both identities as collateral damage.

Master finally had someone patient enough to properly speak with, and the intruder, well, she had an excellent object of study on her hands. Their mutual adoration sprung out of common points of language and ideas, and eventually, they went from sharing books to bodies. For master, though, this was unpredictably catastrophic. Having naively hoped for some kind of miracle cure in the hands of love, master was instead led to question what it meant in the first place. Love had become a dangerous word. When master would look into the intruder's eyes in search of a cherishing other, there was always a layer of buried trauma crawling out of the shadows of hope. Something wearing the colours of desire, but agonising underneath. Struggling to identify what was occupying the space between the two, the intruder would resort to increasingly desperate measures. Dialects in their language of affection, armchair therapy, tireless conversations with close ones, all useless. Though master was never quite able to put a definitive word on the feeling – something quite rare and seemingly impossible – it was undeniably eating its way through from the inside. Worst of all, the intruder's presence would only drive the dagger in. It was a deadly mixture: Master was at this point fully convinced of being hopelessly undeserving, as if the intruder must see someone who isn’t there, or maybe master’s body was thrown into a story not fit for it by some kind of illiterate architect who did not know better. Master would learn to fear the touch of a gentle hand, and indeed, any reminder of intimacy. Master didn’t have the words for it. Neither did I when piecing together the scattered diary pages. Well, that is, until the intruder typed “gender dysphoria” into Google on their phone and held it up to my face, making sure to stand there with that menacing stare until I figured it out. It’s an atrocious word, I think. It’s clinical. Seemingly unfitting for something so harrowingly far reaching and incomprehensibly complex. But I suppose it does the job. It would’ve helped master out. The only trouble, of course, is that she was far too late.

As was tradition by then, master would resort to absolutely anything except getting the right kind of help. From here, the diary entries would be signed by all manner of names: Adrian, Jon, later Dancer and Hunter, eventually Marina, Nicole. Every now and then a new character would spring up to narrate master’s experience, all in some form driven by a desire to be worthy of love. Though by this point, it wasn’t the intruder that was meant. Master was sliding apart internally, trying to find some kind of tethering bit of acceptance in one of countless explored identities. The relationship had died by now, only because maybe it would make master’s pain go away at least a little bit. This was also around the time that a new purpose arose in the life-long project behind that bookshelf: If master was successful in replicating a semblance of life, then it could take over, and master could leave painlessly. For this, one final idea extended the quest for programmatic consciousness: The adversarial process. This is where I would enter the scene, or, to be precise I suppose, one of my selves. Instead of trying to code and build a complete replica, master would place an attempt at me in that room, as well as a shoddy impersonation of the intruder, and let them complete each other in the dance now so familiar to me. The actor and the controller. And so we would dance, and the bodies would pile up, and master would grow increasingly desperate waiting for us, sinking into aimless catatonic depression beyond return.

The diary, at this point, becomes unwaveringly schizophrenic. Names and pronouns are rarely an expression of identity anymore, more like a scattershot tool aiming to dilute master’s persona so much that there is no need to feel like anybody anymore. Only a physical weight attached to flesh and bones. Out of this nihilist storm, one singular idea refrained from being torn apart: Lucia. That name would sign off the final months worth of diary entries, while master was waiting to die. Master found a sense of comfort in this character against all odds, only to never tell anyone, ground to a halt by the fear of unexplainability. Lucia was a woman, and she had read all the books that master loved, lived through all the experiences that master lived through, only Lucia was the one to make the right conclusions. To not just find necessity, but joy in her work, and ultimately, being able to love unhindered. I don’t actually know much about Lucia. In those months, master was almost mute, rarely engaging in anything potentially troubling. All they wanted was to die, and the diary has become a thing of habit more than passion. Still, it has become clear to me that Lucia was the only way master was able to feel at peace in those days. Perhaps, if master was able to live as Lucia, things wouldn’t have ended as cruelly as they did. But master strongly believed this was impossible. I don’t, though. The intruder enthusiastically agrees. Having worked through so much realisation in my already frayed state, all I could come up with after all that was to look out of the car window at the full moon and think about the promises of change it had offered me. I had a use for them now.

“I am Lucia”, I say to the mirror, as has become my daily ritual now. “I am Lucia”. I try to approximate what her voice would sound like. I wish I knew her better. I wasn’t left many notes. “I am Lucia!”... too childish, too bright maybe. I gather myself up and imagine myself as a warrior. My voice is an arrow - thin, sharp, and forceful. “I am Lucia”. This one is more like it. I wonder how she would pose. How she would wear her hair. Well, if I had any. I really hope I can do her justice one day. Do master justice, that is, I mean – do myself justice. When I look into the mirror, I know now that I see myself in it. I am replacing nobody. The intruder has let me share this space with her for as long as I’ll need it, and it will take a while before I can set foot outside. But for now, I don’t need anyone. I sit by the window and think about all the ways I can be alive tomorrow. This is my favourite place in the world.

6. October 14th 2023, Solar Eclipse

◉

I don’t think I have ever been alive. At least not until now. My feet dangle off the roof and the frigid air around me feels like the tiniest little daggers on my skin. The solar eclipse is beautiful. I can see it a bit better from up here. I wish I had someone to share it with, mostly because I don’t know how many times I will be able to see it again. I don’t think master ever wanted to live. And neither did I. I didn’t even know what the word meant, it was just a sequence of sounds you can make. And now that I do, I have days to number. Though in a way, master was probably numbering days too – I don’t think master would have confidently predicted being alive past maybe 30 years. There would have been no point. I don’t see it that way though. I want to live past 30 and beyond. I want to live in my own skin each day until I see the wrinkles form on it. I want to sing until my voice gets hoarse and run until my legs give in. I want to write my name on the walls. I want to love unhindered.

“Because we don't know when we will die

We get to think of life as an inexhaustible well

Yet everything happens only a certain number of times

And a very small number, really

How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood

Some afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being

that you can't even conceive your life without it?

Perhaps four or five times more

Perhaps not even that

How many more times will you watch the full moon rise?

Perhaps twenty, and yet it all seems limitless”

- Paul Bowles, from The Sheltering Sky

quoted from “fullmoon” by Ryuichi Sakamoto

† Rest In Peace Sophie Xeon

who wanted to get a better view of the full moon

7. Sun (June 24th 2054)

☀️

“Lucia Xeon” says the inscription on the grave. It’s been thirty years now since I first met her. I’ve learned a lot from her in that time. Here and now, I am one unrecognisable face in a crowd of entirely too many of them. I wonder how many of these people she would have invited. Probably not many. Maybe nobody at all. I remember Lucia wanted to give her body away to whoever would need it, or in any other case at least make something exciting of it. An exhibition. A spectacle. Get painted on. Be danced with. Or maybe just hang in the sky and be eaten by vultures. But she had no word in the matter. She fell here, trying to get a better view of the full moon. And right here is where they put her grave. She was alone that night, sleepless, hungering. Nobody was there. Truth be told, I’m not even sure who first saw her like that, ended on the grass unceremoniously. Or who decided it was a bright idea to tell everyone. I just showed up and nobody bothered to ask. Unmoving faces in a trembling crowd. I wonder if I’ve gotten to know her any better than any of them do. The crowd is silent static now. They’re all listening as close as they can, trying to understand what had happened. My favourite song is playing. Cross-legged in the grass sits the only human being who’s actually supposed to be here. Hunched over her guitar, hair covering her face now and eyes closed, sleeves almost covering her hands. She lets her fingers slide across the instrument by sheer force of memory. We’ve played this song together countless times. The first time I heard this melody, I was blankly staring at her bedroom wall, not moving an inch, not speaking a word, just listening, we were both so tired. She played those notes like they could never mean anything to anyone, one random series of sounds cut from a flow of improvisation, silly, childish, ringing out to never be repeated again. When I shot up and pulled at her sleeve, asking her to play it again, she just chuckled at me. “You mean like this?”, she said, not even bothering to lift her head from her pillow, lazily plucking out that same fragment again. I did mean like that. She looked up at me to see my face aglow with the unwieldy intensity of a stoplight, my mouth probably open a bit in an uncontrolled daze. I know she loved seeing me like that. She’s developed a real habit of striking me this way. It’s an addictive sensation to look into someone’s eyes and know that they are the reason you exist, that you share this knowledge, and that they only love you more for it. I’ve never bought into being sculpted in another’s image, or following footsteps. But sometimes, it’s just impossible to resist. We finished the song over the next couple days, hiding out and away from anyone who could’ve strangled its worth. Over the two decades since then, our song followed us wordlessly. It’s one of the only times I’ve decided not to speak, lest I would narrow and nail its meaning to death on a lyric sheet acting as an obituary of our time together rather than a living companion. And now I’m hearing her play it for me one last time as she sits next to a grave with Lucia’s name on it, thinking I was buried. She won’t be able to know that I’m here to listen. I would give anything for her to feel that comfort again. To lay in each other's arms half conscious like we used to. But I can't. Lucia is dead. The song is about to end. There’s a sticker on her guitar which I remember used to speak for her when her voice was too shaky to make a statement of her own. Something provocative with no need to explain. This machine kills fascists. Transphobes eat shit and die alone. Unambiguous Lesbianism. You know, things of that nature. She’s scribbled over it a hundred times since then, to make sure she means it in every moment. Right now it has a drawing of mine on it, miniaturised beyond recognition. I wonder if she’s ever going to change it again.

I hope these people remember Lucia well, as uninvited as they may be. I hope they remember her as a moving painting. Broad strokes, stark contrasts and far too much to handle. Sharp light and impossible shapes. That’s how I always wanted her to be seen. Flowing hair and a voice of thunder. But it wasn’t always like that. I remember when Lucia made her first steps outside, clad in her best friend’s attire and barely breathing. I remember standing outside in the shadows, an unwilling spectacle. On still unsteady legs, I made sure each movement was really hers, and each word uttered came from her lungs. Still, they didn’t believe me. The more I tried to give them Lucia, the more they would examine me. Always on the hunt for hints of deception. Acceptance was a rare and unwarranted gift at the time. Each passerby that saw Lucia in me was someone to hold on to. Some of them were not that passive, though. Some tried to take Lucia apart to see who’s really hiding there. They touched my arms and chest and I was helpless. They ripped Lucia out of me so they could see my body naked and alone. Begging and crying for mercy in a voice that’s not hers. That’s who I really was to them. An object of disgust and fascination. I didn’t always talk about it. I was only ever safe in my best friend's house, and she had her own life to lead. I was a ghostly visitor at the time, mute and practising footsteps. When I did finally speak, broken down on her bedroom floor, words falling out of order and broken sobs in place of coherence, I realized how weak I was. I hated myself for my weakness. I wanted it beaten out of me. In the far reaches of my memory, I could recount a time when I was stronger. Where I was blind to my surroundings, but fierce and unbending in their midst. Apathetic to necessary acts of violence, if only I get what I want. That all changed when she broke down the door and took the gun away from me. I’ve slowly relearned how to feel, think and speak since then. Clinging to my friend to figure out who I was. I had only scattered clues to work with. A faulty replacement of a broken man, traced over the silhouette of his lover. Eventually, I finally learned her real name: Elena. Certainly a worthier calling than “the intruder”, which is the only real description I was left with. Quite needlessly elaborate though (in her words, not mine). That’s why she was Elly and I was Lucy. I was scared to death of Elly, even if I knew she was my only way to cling to life. After all, it was her beauty that broke a man so much that he created me to replace him. I suppose I can’t blame her after all, though. All she did was just be there. It’s a bit like staring right into the sun. He couldn’t deal with it. Fair enough. I don’t mind the sun so much anymore. I like seeing things very clearly now. Trying to get back on my feet, I watched Elly as closely as I could, assembling myself day by day. And as I came together, so did everything around us. Though our language was so different now, we both remembered what we saw in each other in a past life. Only now, there was nothing in the space between us. As soon as I was able to formulate my first conscious thoughts as myself, all I wanted was to love unhindered. And Elly wanted nothing more than to see her lost lover in full bloom. It was our time. Looking at Lucia’s grave now, those memories seem like a distant echo. I don’t really yearn anymore. I just want to see blood. There was no reason Lucia had to be born into a world like this. Nobody should have to fight the way she did. Before I leave this world, it will be hospitable for people like me.

I burned my ID yesterday. I remember how I had to fight to be recognized as living. How I had to prove I was a citizen at all. Elly and I had to construct a story to tell everyone. After all, nothing could have been stranger than the truth, and yet they still didn’t believe me. Sometimes, they’d laugh at me, other times they threatened much worse systemic ridicule. With no birth certificate and no recorded past, you are in fact not a human being. The more I asked for recognition, the more they would take me apart. Eventually, they took it into their own hands. They left no stone unturned in decoding my past. They had me lead them to the place of my creation, and I watched as government officials uncovered the machinery and disposed of the corpses. I watched them investigate every single detail of the man who laid dead on the table. I watched as outrage spread about his practices and past life, each story framing me as the helpless victim of a cascade of horrors that should never have taken place. According to the general public, I should have never existed. In one instance, the man who made me was named the Antichrist, his laboratory a vile trumpet call signalling end times. And I was the one to bring about the apocalypse. Elly and I could never have been prepared for the narratives they would write us into. Overnight, I became no longer a person but a leading symbol on the protest flags of hate, held up by one angry mob in their conquest of the other. Some of them wanted me dead. Some of them wanted to be me. Many of them joined me in the courthouse when I sat amidst the cold, austere arches and was asked for proof of who I am. Proclaim who I was to a judge who believed the world would be better off if they just erased the little mistake sitting in front of him. The process took years of my life and it drove Elly into poverty. Sometimes, the horde gathered around us would come forth in support of my identity as a human being, other times, all they did was beat each other bloody about it. Today, most have already forgotten because the next day’s news were so much worse. I haven’t. The next time I show myself to the public, I want them to look into my eyes and see nobody at all. I want them to be afraid of what they created. Living in peace was never an option for someone like me.

The final notes of our song ring out and Elly is finally audible behind her shield. She’s crying. Forcing myself to turn away, I slowly make my way out of the crowd and plan my escape. I’ve killed someone with my bare hands before, but leaving Elly sobbing in the grass like this is proving to be far more difficult. Holding on to the very last of my strength, I leave the crowd far behind and lean on my motorcycle, taking deep breaths until my head is clear again. The longest drive of my life thus far was back when Elly drove me out of the lab at night and I reconstructed my creator’s past from a scattered diary. What I have to do next is going to hurt more. Though I wouldn’t change the years Elly and I spent together for the world, announcing my existence to a ravenous public has had consequences far beyond my worst fears. As soon as the laboratory became open to investigation, they raided every last bit of potential technology they could find. They broke every bit of machinery and code into pieces, and they threw all their best engineers at it. And then I watched them swell up with the promise of unforeseen fortune. Nobody was able to properly recreate the machine that birthed me and the controller, but what they did figure out was how to use it to replicate life at will, from any information you had on offer. All you needed then was human material. Though the lab's resources were all stolen from nearby universities, it didn’t take very long to build the appropriate factories and let loose the beast. It didn’t even take a decade for a monopoly on replicators to take over. Immediately put behind legal barriers and prohibitive pricing to only allow access to the super-rich, replicators could now promise just about anything – a younger you to take over business, holidays and free workforce forever. Only that’s not where this story ends if I have a say in the matter. As I slide on my helmet and think about my next move, I can breathe peacefully knowing exactly who is going to pay for what happened. I’m the only one that has actually worked through every last bit of code that’s now producing slaves for these people. I’m the only one that knows how to break it. And I have. Right now, I’m a replica of a CEO’s son who tragically disappeared overnight, and once I show up at the right place at the right time, I can start unravelling the entire operation. Carrying on my identity through one replica after the next, I will take down every bit of the system I need to until I can make sure this technology is in the hands of the right people. I pick up speed and the stars screech by above my head, and I think of my very, very long list of names. I would lie if I said it didn’t make me feel excited. Maybe I really am bringing about the end of the world like they used to say about me. Maybe I’m fixing it. I’m really only sure of one thing. Before I draw my last breath, nobody after me will have to suffer for who they are.

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polluteme · 1 year

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Leaving a Facebook comment is literally just putting a bullseye on your face these days, what you're saying can be as kind and helpful as you like but there'll always be someone who will misinterpret what you're saying and try to label you as an aggressive asshole, whether intentionally as a troll or just a genuine misunderstanding that they've got really worked up over, and ironically this person often is being highly aggressive with their comment. I hate that feeling of panic and confusion where you are faced with trying to defend what you meant, which can then just look like you *are* trying to argue, when all you're trying to do is iron out a miscommunication or apologise for not being clear enough. It sucks to feel trapped in a corner with someone trying to provoke and belittle you. It's really not worth ever participating in any online discussion any more in my opinion, even if it's something I'm knowledgeable and passionate about. Social media seems to be becoming more and more like a battleground. All you have to do is turn up and you're guaranteed to be made to regret it, anything you say will be held against you in the worst twisted way possible and you'll be publicly humiliated for ever bothering to say anything. I think it's like a sport to some people, they go looking for a heated debate and are sat there raring to go at anything they can get ahold of, they're not prepared to consider the person they're trying to disarm perhaps had zero ill intent to begin with and wants nothing more than a calm conversation free from conflict. I'm all for additional points of view being brought up of course but why must it always end in someone being crowned a winner, why can't it be an equal and respectful discussion where the only prize is granted to all involved for sharing knowledge and kindness between each other. I'm clearly far too sensitive for the internet, I wish there was like an internet 'lite' where people who aren't equipped to deal with arguments could go and just be chill together. Like parental controls for well-meaning mentally ill adults. I guess that's why I like Tumblr so much. My blog is a tiny safe haven where I can share some cute pictures and funny memes and talk openly about my thoughts and struggles and it's kind of taken for granted that we're all simply distant friends just living our lives and not wanting to impose on anyone elses peace. Nobody is trying to bring out the worst in anyone else, we're all here just doing our best to get through each day without incident and ideally a smile. Thank you to all my mutuals for helping keep my Tumblr experience free from negativity - I think you're all rad. I'm not a very chatty person in general but I've thankfully never posted anything here that's blown up in my face. It seems to be more understood here than on other sites that if you see a post that you disagree with or don't care about, you just scroll on. That's perfect for me, I am not looking for a new best friend and I'm certainly not looking for new enemies, so thank you for respecting me and quietly coming along for the ride. Ok I'm done ranting and normal programming will now resume. Peace out x

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mastahfenfen · 2 years

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I just need to get this out of my system really quick before i queue up this weeks posts.

It took me 40 minutes to grab roughly 20 pictures on my switch. This is something that shouldnt have taken more than 10. Everything is within 2-3 chunks and already done earlier in the week. It should have been as easy as, 'log in take the pics i need and log out'. My game is freezing so bad now that i had to force quit my game 3 times!! I never expected the hardest part of this project would be the actual game play. I've been struggling with this game so much that I dont have enough content to spread through 6 days of posts. (Day 6 has pics of my partner's cat Oliver)

I know bedrock, and especially the switch version, is buggy but 1.19 has made it next to impossible to play some days. This is an issue caused by the game when it autosaves and it saves every 5ish minutes. Before there was a slight lag during saving where blocks wouldn't dissapear or appear when broken or placed, but it was only for a few seconds and the save was done. Now it takes 5 minutes for the game to save, it freezes, jumps, or has the same block problem, finishes saving and then the 5 minutes are up and it saves again. This means that the game can freeze for a few minutes, be fine for a few seconds and freeze again.

Now the longer you play, the better it gets and so after 20-30 minutes it becomes marginally more playable, but only for another couple of hours and then it gets really bad again. Sometimes to the point where i have to force quit the game. This means that some days I dont have the bandwidth to wait the 30 minutes it takes to get to the slightly smoother game play, and the other days i only get about 2 hours of play before i lose patience and have to stop playing. So in 6 days ill probably only get 8 hours of play time in, tops.

Now, the big frustration for me is that Minecraft is really my only consistent stress relief and has been for many years. This means, not only am i struggling to get content for this project, and struggling to relieve any stress from my week, including this project. I can't really put this project off for a variety of reasons, and i dont really want to. This means that after this week, until Mojang gets this fixed, i'm moving to a 3 day post week.(W,F,Su) I know no one will really notice, but it makes me feel better to post it.

#phoenix builds #word vomit #so frustrated

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entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys · 2 years

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You can have a picture of 9/11 games getting attacked by the twin towers or the twin towers being attacked by the plane

And if I went back in time I'd be a stupid person cuz I'd be in a I've been a really Shitty Place I hate the past

But and if I found you whoever you are in the world I know the creepy analogy just go along with it

And I gave you a picture of the twin Tower getting hit and I told you all about was going to happen on 9/11 and I screamed to a whole crowdf of people this is going to happen and I told you about the government and the reptilians and you also called me crazy and mentally ill then it happens it won't matter you'll be more focused on the reality

Very very few human will be surprised at the proof was right the rest of them will you be taking taken by absolute all of the event happening and the picture would then kick in most people will fear that person

Because, Fear is Stronger than Love !

You want proof that fear is stronger than love is another example a man and woman are kissing they're deeply in love they hear a gunshot go off they they separate

They don't run together they separate it happens every time

Then they may run the same direction cuz that's the most logical way to get away from the danger but ultimately they're not helping each other it's always everyone for themselves

Most loved in this world is fake love and sex is not love it's lust now there is it you can say it's a type of love but it is in the same kind of deep compassion

Romance is a type of love I'm just going to say that it's a type it's simply a type

My point with this post is simply to tell you that most people are closed-minded and that both a blessing and a curse there's a lot of people in the world who are just simply full of BS and they love to take advantage of humans other people and they just love to lie and that's why I Do Many human beings has just High defenses against absolutely everything to come in contact with

There's just too many liars and crazy people but that's also I said a blessing and a curse

It is a curse because

It's impossible to let the people know of different realities if you're simply a truth-telling person who tells really far out everything you're screwed cuz you live in a world of liars and the clothes you come to the truth the more lies you are going to have surround you who want to take advantage of that these are the kind of people who should be put down on the spot

Eugenics is a really good idea that Humanity never embraced some people because it was too emotionally weak

On top of the fact it was too many evil people that was stronger than all the good people and they took advantage of that if anyone else was wondering I'm thinking about Hitler right now just so you know 😡

So evil always dominates the weak in humanity

I don't mean evil as in spiritual Darkness but evil as in going the wrong way I have a hard time believing and spiritual Darkness

Psychology that goes the wrong direction in progress and then my mind constantly shatters trying to figure out what is anything and why would we call this progress ?

What is progress and ultimately what matters in life pleasure sex money happiness things that are very temporary ?

I don't know I'm so effing lost I just can't find my way I'm so lost I can't even find which way is up

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kandi-tutorials · 3 years

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Masks and Remaking Kandi Blah Blah

this is my THIRD time writing this post up

Soooo let's talk about that briefly. Why would you remake kandi?

Maybe the string is wearing thin. Maybe you don't like a color you used, or the type of beads or string you used. Regardless of, the general consensus is that remaking kandi you were traded for a reason beyond changing the string to renew it isn't a good idea. Obviously kandi is ever-changing, and this idea might change. Who knows?

Once you've decided you wanna go through with the remaking process, you've gotta disassemble it. I'd suggest starting from the bottom or top and just cutting the string, taking off the affected beads, and cut again. I'd advise going slow so you don't lose any beads. If you're also like me and have really bad vision-- hello y'all-- I'd suggest sorting apart colors you get confused. Otherwise you're gonna be shining a flashlight in your bag of beads for an hour wondering 'is this black? or dark blue?' Plot twist: it's neither and it's dark purple.

Today I'm gonna be using a modified version of this pattern by T3TR1S, with the old mask pictured below. Never too late to start on Halloween preperations, right?

[Image ID: An uncropped photo of a kandi mask. It's 21 wide by 14 tall. The straps are a dark blue. The mask is black with a red and light blue alternating border, and the mask has a libra sign on it in a more cerulean color. End ID]

look i felt too lazy to crop that last night.

Regardless of the pattern you decide to use, it's gonna look something like this when you enlargen it/click on it.

[Image ID: A picture, once again 21 high by 14 wide, of the patten for the mask above. This is the unmodified version. It lacks the red and light blue border, and the sign on it is more of a darker teal color. End ID]

There's no numbers though, right? If you recall from one of my multi-stitch tutorials, this is because masks can be started from a few different places and can be finished in a couple of ways that're all similar. Having numbers would likely get confusing.

First, you're gonna be chosing a place to start your mask. I personally like to pick somewhere around the middle of the pattern. You need to start your mask from one of the straight sides, and there has to be at least two beads to start off with. For instance, starting from the two beads at the bottom of the left side would work, but using the very last bead-- only one of them-- wouldn't. This is because of how brick stitch-- or more commonly called peyote stitch-- works, which will be explained shortly. AKA, right now.

First, you're gonna wanna grab some string. I suggest about two arm's length is good for now. Take that, and fold the two ends together like so--

[Image ID: a picture of me holding a piece of pink string. It's folded together, and the two ends of the string are pressed together. End ID]

This is why we need where we're starting to have two beads, because that's how we start peyote stitch! I'm not going to go too much into detail on that here, because I plan on writing something on peyote stitch anyway.

Follow your pattern across whatever row you chose. It should be a straight-shot across-- there shouldn't be any weird curving or anything yet. You're gonna put on those two beads, then the one bead depicted in the middle of those two. Like this--

[Image ID: A picture of the same mask pattern from before-- but with red marks depicting the two starting beads, and the one after. End ID.]

This picture shows where I'm starting my mask-- the two beads on the end then the one bead. You're gonna put the two beads on the string-- one per end of string you're holding together-- then you're gonna put your strings together and put the one bead through BOTH of the strings.

For this, I'm gonna end my row with two beads-- great! You... might not though. I think that's possible? Regardless, it makes everything a bit harder. At the end of your row, I highly suggest taping an end of your string down after pulling it tight, and taking the other end of your string and beginning building. You'd start building by putting on an end bead (a bead above/below where you ended, respectively) and going through the next bead that's sticking up (or the last two beads you put on). I'd build that for a row or two, and then build with the OTHER string for a row or two. From there, you can just keep going til the points, which I'll show how to handle shortly.

If you're gonna end with two beads-- great! Finish up that row, putting on the next two beads, then the one bead, then the two beads. Follow the pattern you have on hand for color changes, and make sure to keep track of which string is the TOP part of your row, or the BOTTOM part. Otherwise, you might end up with colors in the wrong place.

When you're done with that row, if you have two beads, congrats! You can tie that off using some square knots. Welcome to the building of the actual mask! The entire way this works is through putting a bead on, and going through the next one sticking up... for now. There's weird ways to starting new rows that I'll unfortunately have to cover. Look at your pattern.

[Image ID: A picture of the mask pattern, with red marks all along the first row. The next row is marked in blue. End ID]

In this picture, I've shown my first row. The blue marks will be representing my next row, building upwards. Building downwards would be the same thing, just toward the bottom of the pattern. In other words, the next row is depicted as the next raised beads near your last row.

[Image ID: A picture of the mask pattern from before. The third row of the pattern is highlighted in lime green. End ID]

Here, I've taken the liberty of highlighting the third row for you! But once you get to the end of that third row, you're probably wondering how to put that end bead on. This is the unfortunate part...

There's a couple of different methods to this. This is Vicky's old tutorial on masks, which could be useful and worth it to follow instead of this if this doesn't make sense.

I learned using iHeartRaves' video. You know, the one with people complaining in the comments about this part in particular? I spent about an hour figuring out how to do this, but I think I have the hang of it by now. So, here we go.

You're gonna put a bead on your string, the bead should be in the color of the last bead on that third row. For me, in the original pattern, it'd be black. For my modified version, it'll be red.

[Image ID: A photo of my mask progress. There's a red bead hanging on the pink string I'm working with to build upwards. There's a blue bead and a red bead below where the red bead will go. End ID]

You see that red bead to the side there? Below the light blue one? Stick your string through the top of that, like so.

[Image ID: A picture of my mask work in progress. The pink string from before is going through the top of the rightmost-- or the bottom if the mask is looked at horizontally-- red bead. The string is coming from the bottom of the bead, and the new red bead we put on the string is posistioned next to the light blue bead in it's rightful place. End ID]

If you pull tight (and you should!) the bead will move to the top of those side beads. You can use your fingers to move it and hold it in it's proper place.

Now, take your string and go through the bottom of that light blue bead, like so...

[Image ID: A picture of my mask WIP. The pink string was pulled through the bottom of the light blue bead, and is coming out of the top of it. End ID]

That part might be a bit hard. Don't be afraid to move stuff around to get it in there, you can tighten it up and put the new red bead back in place after you get it through. From there, you put your string through the top of the new red bead, like so!

[Image ID: Another mask WIP picture. The pink bead is going through the top of the new red bead, and is coming out from the bottom of it. End ID]

From there, start row 4! Your new red bead should be secure now. Everytime you come back to this side, you'll need to do that. It'll always be the same process. Put new bead on string, put string through top of bead two beads down, put string through underside of bead one bead down, put string through top of new bead.

On the other side of your mask, you can just continue building by putting the end bead on, and going through the last bead you put on. Though I suggest pulling the string for the last bead really tight, this'll keep everything together better.

Keep following your pattern until you get to the spikes part around here--

--okay only 10 images allowed per post. fuck you tumblr. at ANY rate...

There's a part of your pattern where it doesn't go straight up anymore. It drops off and starts to make a spike. Vicky explains what to do about this pretty well here. But, even then, here's some text instructions. When you finish that row, and there's no bead to put above it to start another row, just shove your string through the last bead you put on. This'll start the spike shape. You'll just keep doing that as you go through to carry the spike higher and higher.

As you go, the spike will break off into two smaller spikes. This is fine-- just focus on one spike, building on that until it's finished. After you put that last bead on, take your string and weave it towards the middle of your mask so you can start the other spike, tie it off tight a few times, and start on the other spike. I hope that makes sense-- I swear I'd have pictures if it wasn't for tumblr's image limit. (actually you might be better off watching Vicky's video from here, I'm not gonna lie. If you wanna learn to tie off the mask and tie together the spikes from her, here's a timestamp for that.)

If you're still here, I'm sorry lol. But let's keep going! Build until the spikes and complete those on the top, then build on the bottom and make those. When you're done, you should have a shape resembling the pattern you're following.

okay ive been here for, about 4 hours. ill be back tomorrow (but in one second for you :) )

it's the next day, let's talk about lacing up masks! You're gonna want a small piece of string, doesn't have to be that long at all. You're gonna thread that through the bead in the middle of the spikes. For me, on the top, it's the black bead above the top of the libra sign. Even it out so the two ends of string are together and they're mostly equal. Then, you're gonna take the string on the left and put it through the right bead that's one up. The left string goes through the right bead one up. Then you take the left one, go one up to the right. Left one goes one up to the right. Right string goes through the left point, left string goes through the right point.

Pull that together! It should lace up into something a lot like this (photo by sarasunshine on KandiPatterns). See how her mask comes together at the top in a kinda point? That's what we're aiming for. Pull that tight and tie it off. Do the same to your bottom spikes.

We're at the final stretch! Specifically it's time for mask straps. This one is also hard to explain, so I'm gonna link you to the point in Vicky's video where she adds straps. In addition, she only laces her masks twice, while I do mine thrice. There isn't much different between the two, it depends on how you feel.

Straps. I'd highly suggest more stretchy fabric cord for this rather than clear elastic or something not so stretchy. I used all my fabric cord on this, so I'm gonna use this weird jelly glitter string I found? I genuinely have no idea where it came from. I do my straps in the same way Vicky does, and I think she can explain it better than I because she isn't limited to 10 images per post. Though, I will suggest you be careful, it's really easy to use too many beads, or to make the straps too tight or too loose. imo, i like to have a LOT of room on my string (seriously, i only used about 22 beads) because I move the beads around so they aren't on the back of my ears. by the time i'm done tying on my string, the straps are usually half string and half beads.

Just follow how Vicky does it, fiddle with it a bit, it's ultimately up to personal preference about how you'd like to do it.

okay that's all i've gotta say uhhh i should have something up on putting fabric in them for actual use soonish. go forth and make stuff.

#kandi guide #kandi tutorial #kandi mask #kandicore #scenecore #best of luck to y'all tumblr's image limit kills me once again

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ironforgedrp · 4 years

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Hi! I'm a (hopefully) first time admin and I've got everything ready to go and set up but I'm really nervous that it won't get off the ground, and you guys have been open for so long do you have any tips for me how to make my RP be as successful as yours? It looks like such a good place, I hope it's not weird to ask this

hi there friend, thank-you so much for your compliments, and don’t stress… i’m happy to offer some advice, i’m no expert whatsoever but i’ve run a few roleplays over the past decade or so. the key note firstly is to think of your RP as your kind of group ersatz family, as the admin you’re the head of that family. you keep everyone on course, you’re the gatekeeper and it’s your standards that set the tone for what happens in your family’s house. and i first want to tell you honestly that it is a little bit of a responsibility; you have to be willing to sort out problems, make decisions, mediate, diffuse and sometimes be on the receiving end of anon hate or the occasional jaded RPer, you have to be motivated and encouraging and dedicated - but if you are, the people who you write and create with will give it back to you tenfold & it will never become a drag. i hope this helps you a bit!

decide if you want a co-admin or you think you can handle it yourself - i personally have done solo-adminning, lead admin with moderators & co-adminned with up to four people. though i’ve found that, if you want to work with a team of mods/admins, having an odd number can be really helpful as you’re never tied. also, if you decide to bring in a co-admin or moderator, have a clear idea of how you want to operate as a roleplay and what you expect of them as admins, and whether or not they have an equal say as you, the creator of the roleplay. if they do, make that clear and if they don’t, make it clear what things you need to have a look over and what things they are able to handle alone (i.e. asks, applications, major plot changes). honestly, the worst thing that can happen is if you’re not on the same page because it confuses you, them and your muns.

don’t jump the gun, patience is key. if you’re hoping to have a long running roleplay then i would expect at least a month of work to be put into it before it’s trotted out, but it sounds like you’re already ready to go. make sure, before you open for activity, you have enough muns & characters to get the roleplay off to a healthy start and have the dash reasonably active.

set rules that are clear, but don’t be a dictator - make sure you have expressed clearly what your rules of conduct are (such as dash conduct, mun age restrictions [if any], activity standards, god-modding, banned/acceptable faceclaims, etc.)

set up an ads blog, and queue ads to post semi-regularly with varied but relevant tags and an eye-catching graphic &/or summary of your roleplay

set up a discord server or another way for your muns to communicate and plot OOC, it really helps muse and communication and also can be a fantastic way to build plots with existing characters and muns. and, lets be honest, it’s nice to be able to chat with the folks you’re writing with.

check in with everyone! make sure your muns are comfortable and happy and no one is falling by the wayside or being left out. also, it’s nice to make sure that your muns are alright personally - by no means pry, but be an open ear if someone needs to talk. you’d be surprised how many in the RPC are often too shy or anxious to admit to an admin that they need time for their mental health, work, study, etc. but if you make it clear from the beginning that you actually do care and are willing to help work with people it makes all the difference.

the most important to me: build rapport!!! the best thing for your roleplay, as an admin, is to do your absolute best to be approachable and have a relationship with your muns. you obviously don’t have to be best friends with everyone and talk every day, but believe me, what makes a roleplay last is the community you build behind it. i love having made such talented and varied friends in ironforged - we have voice chats and some of us facetime and/or text, we watch tv shows together and even help each other out with anything from personal problems to university assignments. our community is what helps us withstand all the trials and tribulations, and it’s what has given our roleplay such fantastic plot drops and progressions. the main point is, from the get-go, make sure your muns know that your DMs are always open if they have questions, queries, rants, concerns, ideas… all of the above.

trigger warnings, which obviously depends on the genre you’re in but, i personally would suggest to offer your muns the ability to tell you what their triggers are privately and list them somewhere on the main blog for the other members to see.

embrace being an admin, and don’t get walked over. don’t forget that this is your roleplay, you created it and put the work in and no one (anon or not) can tell you how to run it. don’t be scared to call out people for breaking the rules, don’t be scared to issue warnings, don’t be scared to reject people if they haven’t read the rules or aren’t the right fit for your roleplay or make you uncomfortable, don’t be scared to say no. it’s okay!

have open eyes, ears and mind; listen to feedback and concerns, hear out grievances and be willing to be polite even if people are being rude but don’t entertain pointless anon hate. speaking of anon hate… don’t turn off the anon ask option unless you honestly feel like it is the right route for you - it shuts off the ability for people to contact you whilst maintaining some anonymity and privacy, which can be discouraging.

crucial to any roleplay is the world-building, have a page with some key locations that are applicable to your roleplay (such as cafes, taverns, gyms, shops, housing locations), also i’ve honestly found that it helps setting the scene. consider where your roleplay is located (real place/fictional place) and make those details clear. paint the picture, immersion is a fantastic thing and it’s something both you and your muns can work on and collaborate on in the future. we have an inspo blog, pinterest boards, spotify playlists, youtube playlist, ambiance playlists, regional locations and business…. and a very colourful NPC list that has been collaborated and expanded upon throughout the life of ironforged.

have clear direction and at minimum a loose idea of where you want to go with your roleplay. even if you don’t want to have a very plot driven roleplay (like ours is with plot drops, random events, character/mun interwoven plots - which requires a long-form type of roleplaying) and would rather have it open world (you set the scene, and everyone just goes with the flow - which can be both long or short form types of writing) - it is so important to have some tricks and surprises in your bag. the best and easiest is having a few muse-boosting tasks lined up, perhaps a group event to bring people together (a party, a fight, a ball, a wedding, etc.) otherwise, 8.5 times out of 10, you’ll find muse flatlining. ask your muns! ask other rps! make a poll! hit up the RPC tags and roleplay helper blogs!

the finer details; pick a timezone to mark the roleplay with (eg; here i post in AEST on the roleplay because i am australian and it’s easy for me to queue and schedule things) but it’s crucial to ensure you include the timezone equivalent for other people in other timezones to be able to quickly understand (eg; AEST = GMT+10). you can always link an external timezone converter page if you’re unsure!

and, of course, be organised. make sure you have your pages set up and linked properly. the main that come to my mind to start off with are; navigation, plot, taken FCs, IC & OOC rules, a masterlist, blogroll/follow list, application/application page, application counts, ask & submit are open and an ooc page.

and LASTLY, this is my personal advice from one admin to another; if you really want a roleplay to work and you really want it to last for (hopefully) years, then you have to put some heart into it. our roleplay, as a group, has seen some bad times and good times galore. we’ve had people become seriously ill, we’ve had engagements and weddings, graduations, a fair few birthdays, hospital trips/emergencies, international internships, personal problems, personal triumphs… our communication as a roleplay isn’t always perfect, but we continue to do our best - and working on our communication is what allows us to keep going on through everything.

also, as an admin, do your best to make sure you are not the most powerful character and not center of all the roleplays controversy, drama and plot drops (if applicable), it’s become a kiss of death cliche, and also can alienate potential muns because they feel like background players to your show. but seriously, involve everyone and give a shout out for peoples interest, and the ideas that come flowing back from your muns will amaze you, trust me!

best of luck! admin tee.

#rpc #rph #rpa #rpcha #admin help #;; geajhdsb pEOple wanna know my opINON???? im touched but im trash water u doin here folks #Anonymous

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student-film-lying-piece-of-shit · 5 years

Text

Hello! So I'm here today with an idea I've been bouncing around for a long, long time. A few folk have been headcanon-ing that Tim may have DID, but I do think it's a 100% canon possibility Tim has an alter.

I know some people might think that me talking about this possibility could be seen as me mirroring other possible tropes we've seen in horror films (let's look at media such as Split, which dictates a kidnapper who has several personalities as the prime one) and the countless almost comedic portrayals in others (the strange reoccuring theme of "sneezing to become xyz in anime for some odd reason?). However with Tim it's different.

So, I want to start off with this. Marble Hornets is a heavy character study, and the lore isn't too highlighted on. What I mean is that we don't know how the operator takes over people, and we're not sure how these dissociative states work. Not that we're constantly left in the dust. It's a manner that it's focused on the protagonists going through these trials and tribulations rather than spoon-feeding us the intricate details on how this being works.

We know the side effects, and we know how to "stop" it (the medication we see throughout) but as far as how the operator actually takes over the characters (more so referring to Tim and Brian), it's more up to us to break down if we want more than just "spooky being does spooky stuff!"

So I will use this allagory for how I see it: Brian and Tim both have a car (this is a stand in for their body). Brian owns his, it's all in his name and he doesn't let anyone use it. Tim has a car, however, he shares it. It's understand two names legally.

Imagine Brian gets robbed and he's held up at gunpoint to drive. He has to do whatever this guy says or else he'll get shot on the spot. Or even that the robber straight up puts Brian in the trunk, and drives and does whatever he wants with the car and Brian is absolutely left in the dark. This car may be his legally, but he's barely the owner anymore.

Okay, now that we have that, imagine Tim drives the car, and it's pretty okay. Then the other person he shares the car with gets hijacked and the robber forces him to do things, or throws this person in the trunk and does whatever he wants. However the robber returns the car to Tim with seemingly no damage, alongside with his friend. Every time, or nearly everytime the other person drives, this happens. Tim has absolutely no control over these things, and sure, he does get his car back sometimes, but at what cost?

The main thing that makes Brian and Tim different is how Brian never, canonically, had a break in his hoodie state. He never wakes up as Brian, scared and confused. He never is not under the influence. The fact he carried the audition tapes can make this theory a bit wonky, but back to the car metaphor. Imagine Brian bashing his legs and screaming in a trunk, and the robber noticing. He has to do something to get him to shut up, even if it's something small. So it could easily be that aswell. However I'm going by the deal that there was never a break.

Tim is not in the Masky state (from what see, which to be fair, could be a lot more) as frequent as we make it up to be. He loses giant gaps, but we see him a handful of times on screen as "The Masked Man". The big deal is that Tim has these breaks and they're for days, weeks. He isn't always under this influence. He has more control.

We can chalk this up to the medication they take, and I feel like Hoodie at one point would've takened the meds? And we would've seen Brian. We also see empty med bottles around where Hoodie's been (he could've dumped them but still, I wanted to say.)

I don't think the meds 100% prevent Tim's dissociative states. It just helps with the other aspects and ends of his slender sickness, and it can aid in it, but I think him taking the meds /=/ him not becoming absolutely feral. He should of course take his medication, but I think it more so helps with his seizures and psychotic effects.

Hence why he shares it with Jay: why would he share something that Jay wouldn't need? Jay never has a masked state, canonically. Why would Jay need meds for something that focuses on Tim not dissocating? It feels weird, not to mention very out-of-character and pointless.

Now, let's look at the functionality of how dissociative disorders work. We're gonna focus on the disorder I believe Tim has in the cluster of dissociative disorders, Dissociative Identity Disorder. The basic criteria is

- having one or personalities (inculding the core) which distinct, individual features

- amnesia (ie: missing large gaps of time due to people fronting, "knowing" people despite never remembering meeting them, waking up in random places you don't remember driving to)

- feeling detached from your body, also known as dissociation, or just not in control

One thing we can obviously apply is the first two. "Masky" is obviously a state that is distinct from Tim's, and is obviously not him. The second one is also stated

"...imagine going into your job only to find out that they fired you for not coming in for three weeks."

As an example of this being canonically said. We are aware Tim feels out of control, and that he doesn't own this body, he's very vocal about not understanding what's going on in his life and body. That he was dragged into this situation and he knows just as much as Jay (though near the end he does have tapes that have information, but even then he barely knows what he's doing in those tapes / has no memory of it).

The second biggest difference between Brian and Tim's slender sickness experience is that Tim has delt with this his whole life. He's seen as a carrier of the sickness the entire third season by Alex and even by himself for some time. He was rasied in a hospital and he talks about how they locked him in his hospital room during outbursts that he didn't remember. His childhood together is something extremely vague to him.

One thing I WANT to highlight, and this thing was actually vital for me to understand there's ambiguity here is how Tim says "They settled for Schizophrenia, but even they weren't really sure."

DID is so commonly misdiagnosed, and there's such a common misconception that Schizophrenia carries the symptom of having multiple personalities. Even among the professionals because of how frowned upon it is to diagnose it if it isn't 100% the ideal presentation of what to expect with a dissocative disorder. Tim 100% could've easily been misdiagnosed as a child.

DID is also a disorder that nearly always stems from severe childhood trauma. It's usually asiocated with heavy abuse. However, picture a 5-8 year old being abandoned by their parent(s) in a facility, which even if it's not the stereotypical psych ward, is still a horrible place to live. As someone who lived in a facility for years, there's so many things to list that I won't weigh on this post. But it is a very stressful place for the staff, let alone a mentally ill child.

Tim had symptoms of a psychotic disorder beforehand, but that doesn't mean he's immune to developing a traumagenic disorder.

So, here's how I see the entire deal:

Tim being a child abandoned by his mother, under the care of inpatient staff, easily witnessing violence and could've been at the end of the horrible health care system (especially for minors) developed an alter to protect him from the stress of the inpatient. When TO came into their lives more frequently, Tim's alter was the victim of TO's influence, not Tim himself.

So yeah! This is my take. I'm willing to talk but read the banner below if you're gonna talk to me about how I'm explaining DID 🙃

#slenderverse #marble hornets #ghost stories #mh #tim wright #ask to tag #masky #slenderman #marble hornets tim

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kmelanin · 5 years

Text

Permanent Ink \ 2 // kth

a/n: Im now on spring break!!! Well it technically starts on march 4th and ends the 10th, but anywayssss that means more updates. This is a little shorter than the first part, but id call this a filler! I hope you enjoy!

I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THE SONGS I SAY IN THE STORY FOR FULL EFFECT!

Main Masterlist~

( Permanent Ink ) masterlist~

WARNING- um sensual dancing

word count: 3k+

__________________________________

Taehyung unlocks his front door and enters his apartment. It was the smallest thing he has ever lived in. But he didn't mind it at all, in fact, he loved it. It was easy to clean, and it was only him, so he didn't feel as alone. He went into the bathroom, wanting to take a shower and go to bed.

As he was towel drying his hair, he quickly pulled on some underwear and some sweats. He went to his fridge for some water and he sits down on his bed so he could roll up a joint before he went to bed.

As he finished licking the paper, there was a quick knock at the door. Taehyung sighed and set his rolling tray down next to him and get up. He looks down at himself noticing that he was shirtless. But at this point he could care less. He wents to the door and opens it up. When he sees who it was, his face dropped even more than it already was.

“Sinsi? Why are you here?” He asks, his voice was laced with irritation. She rolls her eyes at his attitude and pushes her way inside.

“You could at least try to sound excited to see me.” She says setting her purse down on the bed.

“How can I, when you literally annoy the hell out of me.” He says shutting his door and finds his spot on the bed again.

“Shut up.” She frowns and sits down next to him.

“Like I said, why are you here?” He grabs his lighter and sparks the joint up.

“Why do I always come here?” She says in a duh tone and looks around his home. “I mean come on, I wouldn't come to this shoe box for anything.” She stands up and starts to take her jacket off. Taehyung just laughs at her sass, more like scoff and smile at the same time.

“I like you better when I've fucked you speechless.” He mutters and hits the joint. “Speaking of fucking you, how’s the fiance?” He asks sarcastically. He always mentions him when she comes around. After all she left Taehyung for him. BoGum.

After her family found out that she was dating a ‘poor artist that lives on the street’, they made her choose. Taehyung or to continue to be supported. Which meant to continue to spend her parents money. She come to Taehyung one day, he thought she chose him. But instead she was there to say that, even though she loved him, she can't give it up.

But that was two years ago. It was a year ago when she was forced to marry Bogum. She came running to Taehyung, not wanting to marry him. Next thing they knew, it was morning and they were both naked. The next day she found out that if she and Bogum got married then she will be the co-owner of a high end fashion line. She then knew she couldn't leave Bogum. In fact she fell in love with him, but she was still stuck on Taehyung's dick.

“He thinks I'm at the shop right now. I have a hour.” She says. Taehyung nods taking another hit and then putting the joint out.

“Alright, lets go.” He says standing up. She comes right up to him trying to connect their lips. But he tenses up and doges it.

“You know I only kiss the girl I love.” He whispers, a frown settling on his face.

“I miss your kisses Tae.” Sinsi pouts and tries again, but Taehyung just shoves her down making her laugh as he crawls on top.

Your launch was a success. You've never thought about what the outcome would really be like other than a total fail. You didn't think that two hours into the clothing drop everything would be sold out. Only so much was made, but you of course had more coming. It was only available online, but you soon hoped to have your own stores.

Rowan was currently working on planning a party for you. It was going to be tonight, and instead of thinking about what you will be wearing, you were focused on inviting Taehyung. You go to his instagram page and click on the number options. You knew that it was to make a appointment, but you were lowkey desperate. You couldn't get him out of your mind, and it was your mission to at least kiss him.

“Vante’s Tat Shop, How many I help you today?” A deep voice enters your ear. Your heart started beating really fast when you recognize who it was.

“Taehyung?” You ask, really hoping it was him.

“Um yea, do we have a appointment?” He says confused.

“Uh no actually. This is YN.” You say, “ I was wondering if you wanted to come to my party tonight. I just recently dropped a clothing line, and it did really good, so we are throwing a celebration.” You say quickly. You cross your fingers hoping he would say yes.

“Where is it?” He asks after a slight pause.

“The club two doors down from your shop. I rented it out for the night. I just posted something about it, so it should be like a normal night at the club.” You say over explaining, you were so nervous. You had mixed feelings about this whole situation. You hated the nervous feeling he gave you. You wanted to never talk to him again but yet marry the man.

“Are there free drinks?” He asks after you were done. Actually it wasn't, it was still the bars price.

“For you, sure.” You say. You quickly put the phone on speaker and text Rowan to put him on the list of VIP, which include free drinks. You then take him off and continue speaking.

“I just put you on the VIP list. Come if you want. I'm sure there will be weed as well.” You say. Your heart was beating in your ears. But you felt relief when he spoke.

“I guess it will be a surprise.” He says then he hangs up. To say you were worried was a understatement. But you take a deep breath and focus on getting ready, because you didn't want to focus on him the whole night, just for him not to show up.

You look at the time and see that you have three hours until you had to arrive. You then wondered if he knew what time it started. But then again his shop was only a few doors down, i'm sure he will know.

You quickly got into the shower and you washed your body and brushed your teeth. You got out and put your lotion on. You put on a all black bra and underwear set. Then you braid in some weave to your hair, creating two long braids. You then did your makeup, and put on your outfit.

After you finished getting ready. You take some picture in your full body mirror and you make sure they were cute before posting it to instagram. After you did, you got a text from your driver that he was out front. You quickly put some sneakers on since you were going to a club and you grab your phone and wallet and then you left.

You met up with Rowan at the back entrance. You were immediately taken to the VIP section, it looked over the whole club, giving your perfect view of the DJ, and whoever was performing.

You walked over to the balcony, watching as everyone was dancing to the music, drunk out of their mind. The DJ, did his thing, and started talking.

“And, the amazing YN YLN. Let's give her a loud cheer, congratulating her on her success!” The DJ yells and points up to you causing the crowd to erupt in cheerings, and going even crazier when they seen you. You couldn't really see everyone, but you could tell some of them have some of your clothes on. You wave back down with a huge smile on your face.

You go back into the VIP area and people one by one came up to you, congratulating you and wanting to take pictures. Most likely to post later.

“YN.” Rowan runs over to you. You quickly hug her since this was the first time seeing her tonight.

“Hey, this party is awesome, I'm happy you could get it together in such a short time.” You say looking around. She smiles.

“Yes, I know right. When i mentioned your name to the club owner, they were excited because the knew you would bring customers. There's a huge line outside still.” She says pointing towards the normal club area.

“Are you serious? It's literally packed though.” You say shocked. She laughs.

“Exactly! But anyways, they need you out there.” She says grabbing you hand and pulling you along.

You were so confused until the security guard opened the door and you seen Taehyung standing there with a irritated look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You look between the security guard that was letting people in and Taehyung.

“I understand that Mr. Kim is on the VIP list, but his other two friends are not.” The guard says. You look back and see Soobin from the shop and other girl behind Taehyung.

“Hi YN! I'm Sinsi, i'm Taes friend.” Her hand slipping into Taehyung's didn't go unnoticed. “I'm a really big fan of yours. When Tae said he was invited to your party, I just had to come.” Her voice was filled with excitement, but you couldn't help but to cringe.

“You just had to, huh?” You ask raising a eyebrow. She looked confused. But Taehyung quickly pulled you to the side.

“Hey, she's just wanting to have a good time. I didn't think it would be a problem.” He shrugs.

“What do you mean not a problem? Do you not see the line outside of the door? The club is packed Taehyung. The VIP are my close friends and the people I work with. A place where we can enjoy ourselves, and walk around without worrying about bumping into someone we don't know. I don't know this girl. That's the problem.” You say crossing your arms.

“You barely know me.” He explains. He was getting more and more annoyed, he should’ve known not to bring Sinsi, but then again he doesn't understand the problem of one person.

“That's different, and you know that. I literally trusted you to put a tattoo of your choice on my body.” You sighed. You weren’t going to get anywhere with him acting like this. “I can get her into the actual club and she can get free drinks.” You turn to walk away, not wanting to ruin any actual chance you had with him with your loud mouth. But he grabs your arm again and pulls you back. He itched his neck and sighed once again.

“Fine, Ill tell her she can't come.” He says and walks away back to his friends. You roll your eyes and watch as Sinsi pulls Taehyung away with Soobin behind.

“Hey Soobin!” Rowan yells out. He stops and looks back. She waves him over and he smiles slightly telling Taehyung something and running up to us.

“Yes?” “Tonight, you are mine!” She giggles and she pulls him inside.

You eventually had few drinks, not really drunk, but buzzed enough to want to dance. It seemed like everyone around you had someone else. Rowan had Soobin, they were now dancing together. Your other friends had their boyfriends or just found someone period.

But you, you sat in a booth, with a glass of brown liquid. You couldn't stop thinking about Taehyung. You wished he was ugly so you wouldn't think of him. But since Sinsi couldn't come in, he wouldn't either. You weren't used to not getting someone you wanted, so now you really wanted him. He clearly knew you wanted him, and he hasn’t completely rejected you, which gave you a little hope.

“Come on, why are you sitting here upset. Let’s dance.” A voice says, your head shoots up to see a good friend.

“Where’s your boyfriend Jinnie.” You smile at him. Kim Seokjin and his boyfriend Kim Namjoon where wonderful makeup artists. They both have worked with you a couple of times.

“He’s at the bar getting us drinks. He told me to come over to get you up and dancing until someone wants to take over. You look distracted, when you shouldn’t be. Come on!” He grabs your hand and pulls you over to where the crowd of dancing bodies were. Right now, the song that was playing was quite a hype one. You both went over and started dancing. You were laughing at how Jin was dancing, it didn't match the beat at all. You could feel the alcohol race through your body making it easier to let loose with him.

You heard another song slowly turn on as the one before slowly turned off. Jin laughs it off and he leans into you.

“Stay calm, everything will be okay.” He whispers into your ear then he backs away. You were confused to what he was talking about, until hands came up and around your waist. Your heart started to beat so fast and your hands came up to the strangers. You tried to turn around to see who it was, but his hands turned you back around. You looked down at his hands and you noticed how big and beautiful they were. You know everyone who is in the VIP area, so it wouldn't be a complete stranger, so why not just dance along.

You noticed that the song was Thirsty by Taemin. So you smirked knowing that you were going to torture whoever was behind you. Your hips started moving, you leaned your body into theirs more. They moved their hips more into yours, letting the friction increase. His right hand started getting higher and higher on your body, not bothering to just trail, but to feel every inch until he was reached your neck. You raised your right hand up and wrapped it around his neck. He wrapped his hand around your neck as his other hand pushed your lower abdomen into him as his hip came up and moved against your. He had you caged in, moving your body along with his. His hand around your neck squeezed as he got closer and closer to the side of your head. His hand helped move your head to the side, letting his lips graze your neck. You felt goosebumps raise on the back of your neck.

His left hand wrapped around your whole waist, pulling you closer. As he did, your pushed your ass harder on his, making him tense up a little. He surprises you by biting down on you neck, closer to the meeting of your collar bone. You continue swaying your hips, and pushing your butt into him. His hand tightens even more around your neck, but not actually choking you. You couldn't help but let out a slight moan, near his ear.

Suddenly his hands move and he spins you around, you look up to see who it was. Your breath caught in your throat when you see Taehyung looking down at you. His eyes were low and darker, the horrible lighting in the club not helping much.

He pulls you back into his grasp, the song going hard as it reaches the peak. Your hands wrap around his neck. You bite your lip not sure of what to say or what to think. His eye twitches a little and he looks at if he wanted to say something. But instead he leans in, tucking his head into your neck, making you sway against him. His warmth was all around you, making your body hot. His hands grabbed and kneaded at you, you hoped it meant he never wanted to let go.

You looked down a little and noticed how easily and open his neck was. You didn't know if it was the alcohol running in your body or the heat that is making you extra hot and bothered. Maybe you should’ve thought about it beforehand, but you didn't, you couldn't let this opportunity go.

Your lips latched onto his skin, the spot right between his collarbone and neck. Right where he bite you at. You sucked and nibbled at his skin, only slightly. You felt his hands tighten on your body and you could’ve sworn that you heard a little groan. But before you could confirm it, he yanked himself away.

“Congrats on your line.” He mutters and walks away, leaving you with swollen lips and confused.

Taehyung walked away from you, wanting to go to the bathroom. As soon as he was approaching the door he was pulled back and pushed against the wall.

“Yah!” Jin stood across from Taehyung with his arms crossed and a deep frown settling in his face. Taehyung rolled his eyes, already knowing what was happening.

The other day, after you left, he remembered that Seokjin, his older step brother has worked with you before. He texted him mentioning how you were interested in him. Of course he knew.

He was so used to girls throwing themselves at him, so even though you were quite subtle than most girls, he could still tell.

When you called him, inviting him to your party, Jin was standing right in front of him. Jin of course knew about it from Rowan, so when he found out that you invited Taehyung yourself, he knew that he was going to make Taehyung go. Jin wanted him to tell you congrats himself, to make you happy. He didn't expect you both to be so close.

“What? I said congratulations.” Taehyung sighs and leans against the wall.

“And when was that, when your hand was around her neck, or when you were giving each other hickies?” Jin was surprised that Taehyung even got that close to you, he's only ever had one girlfriend, to whom he was close to. But Jin stopped counted his bodies after it hit ten.

Seokjin was there for Taehyung when Sinsi family found out about how poor they both grew up. He was there when they forced them to break up, he was there when she chose money over him. He was there through everything. So when he was so close to you, someone who wasn't afraid to drop 100k a day, he was nervous. He doesn't want Taehyung to get hurt again. But then again, Jin knew you. He knew you wanted nothing but relationships and that you weren't really into hooking up unless you knew it was going to lead somewhere. He wasn't really sure how Taehyung's closed off personality will clash with your careless and free one. He isn't afraid to admit that he was afraid.

The crazy thing is that Taehyung was afraid. The whole time he was close to you, dancing with you, his heart was beating like crazy. When he hands first came around your waist and he molded himself into you, when he turned you around, when your lips touched his skin...his heart went faster, and faster. But it was when your lips touched and his skin turned into flames was when he was ticked off.

The last time lips made his skin feel the slightest bit hot was with Sinsi. So when he felt like he was standing next to a active hot volcano, just when your lips touched, it triggered him. It closed everything down. He wanted to get away. He didn't get far though, clearly.

“After.” Taehyung says, his smirk that was sitting on his face didn't help Jin much. In fact it worried him.

“Don't mess with her. You treat the girls you hook up with like trash.” Jin says seriously. Taehyung just rolled his eyes. When Seokjin spoke ‘seriously’ to him it always annoyed him. Because that's when he knows he can’t cross him, and that's just Taehyung being his respectful self, to his family.

“Why would I hook up with her, she's not my type.” Taehyung was already bored with this conversation. Only because he knew he messed up by saying that.

“OooOooOohHhhHhh.” Jins faces changed from serious to surprised and in disbelief. He was bent over laughing his ass off as Taehyung stood there, his cheeks burning a little. He put his head down as a couple of people passed by to go to the bathroom, Jin had no problem with laughing still as they passed for a more dramatic effect.

“I remember when we traveled to Europe-” Jin started to say as he calmed down, but Taehyung instantly cut him off by raising his hands up, making Jin start to laugh again. “You seen this women there. It was like you fell in love!” Jin continued.

“Shushh!” Taehyung was trying to cover his mouth up, but Jin was too fast.

“She turned you down and you tried to find her everyday until it was time to leave. You told me she was you dream girl!” Jin couldn't stop. He loved fucking with him.

“Yea?! What's your point?” Taehyung gives up and backs off.

“The point is, that women has the exact same skin tone as YN, the same body type as her. You are attracted to her, don't lie.”

“Okay? Sure i'm attracted to her, but she's a spoiled daddy's girl, and I can't deal with that.” Taehyung was getting irritated again. Now that he actually admitted it, it was weird. He felt weird, and he hated that you already made him feel like this.

“Sure her dad spoils her, but I know her dad. I had to go through him most of the time I've worked with her. He's only that way until someone comes by and takes over.” Seokjin was now leaning against the wall across from Tae.

“I still don't see what you are getting at, I can't spoil her.” Taehyung scoffs.

“Money wise maybe not. But you can spoil her in many other ways. She's not the person to show off her money, she just lives her life. I believe that her personality would be the exact same if she didn't have all of her money, her taste would just be cheaper.”

“So what are you trying to say? You want me to marry her or something?” Taehyung says standing up straight and sticking his hands in his pocket.

“No, I'm just saying that Yn isn't a bad girl. I can tell she likes you, so don't be so rough on her. Try to give her a chance? It will never hurt. You need a girl to make you soft again, I hate this hard ass Tae.” Jin jokes around chuckling making Taehyung roll his eyes once again.

“Whatever.”

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