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Not me establishing a qtubbo design 3 years after becoming interested in qsmp
Been thinking a lot abt āprimary protector was never aliveā and all that. Anyways what if Tubbo V.03 was given draconic features to relate to the eggs more and then. After he lost Sunny he sawed off his horns and started picking off his scales in an attempt to distance himself from the hurt. And then after this most recent death he removed all those features to cement it. Anyways-
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I honest to god think the chances of anyone getting out of the circus are like. <0.0000001%, however I do love it as a concept bc.
All of us were trapped for months or years or decades of our lives in a situation nobody else can possibly begin to understand and god you make me so fucking frustrated but at least you understand. Trying so fucking hard to adapt to normal life again but how do I go into my fucking accounting job when I know how little it matters? The body Iām in was taken from me but itās mine. It should feel like mine. Why doesnāt it feel like mine? Why does my name hurt to hear? Why does the name a string of ones and zeroes gave me make me feel more like a person than the one real, flesh and blood humans, who loved me, gave me? I had friends here but itās been months and I donāt know how to talk to them anymore. I talk to them the same way I talk to you and I can feel them trying to be gentle with me and that feels worse than rejection.
I hurt. I hurt and I canāt figure out why and my favourite hoodie feels abrasive on my skin. I hate my skin. Itās covered in tiny holes and hair follicles and I know logically my skin is the way itās supposed to be but I feel how textured it is and squirm and pick and it just makes it hurt and be more textured later. It is slow and stiff and something in my blood aches to move it in ways it physically canāt move. It hurts, why does it hurt? Oh, food. I need to eat again. Everything tastes so much. How long can I get away with putting it off? How long can I deal with the pain? If everything matters now, why does it feel like nothing matters even more than it did before? Am I real? How do I even know? I make the same jokes and you never thought they were funny but you got them and now everybody looks at me like Iāve lost my mind.
I was just getting used to a body I hated so so much. Swappable parts and nothing feeling permanent and constant change. When I look in the mirror every morning I am the same parts. It should be comforting. My arms feel like phantom limbs. My tattoos are too consistent. Thereās an itch in me to tear my leg out of its socket and put it back again and again and again. I canāt reach the top shelf and I canāt change my body to fix that. Memories of regular customers and acquaintances mix with memories of NPCs and I canāt keep them straight in my head. I had a community and it moved on without me. We are best friends and I love you but I hear your voice and I miss the way your thin, flimsy hand felt it my many different ones. I am angry and frustrated and weāre all suffering and I wish you werenāt and I wish they werenāt because maybe then I could be mad at them for everything.
Iām back and everything is the same but so so different. Iām not the same person I was back then. My passions donāt feel stupid anymore, my life feels less hollow. I was offered my job back. I have to take it. I want nothing less than to take it. People ask questions and make remarks and I donāt know what to tell them. I went to hell but it healed me. My family doesnāt know me anymore. I need to get out of this job. Iām back and Iām better and the world I left behind didnāt change while I was gone. I have a million wants I dismissed before I left and now theyāre back but the means are gone. My time there was full of meaningless actions and thoughts and words but my time here is even more so. I donāt think Iām made to work in this world, even with all the progress Iāve made.
The world has changed so much and Iāve hardly changed at all. I reached back out to my family. My mother, my first friend, my first bully, the person who shaped me like I was cheap clay is gone. Iāve already mourned her. My siblings donāt seem to understand that. Iāve only ever wanted to get back here but now Iām back and a part of me misses the place that trapped and tortured us for decades. How messed up does that make me? When I wake up in the mornings my hair is in knots. I forgot to brush it for days when we got back. Youāre all so young. I hated you, we were friends and then I hated you and I still kind of do and most of those feelings formed while you were learning how to be a person in a world that wanted you to forget how. My house is quiet. I thought I missed the quiet. I guess I didnāt.
My mind is linked back together right for the first time in a long time. My memories feel hazy and disconnected but theyāre solid and theyāre mine again. Iām trying to help everyone else settle back in. I donāt know if any of us ever will. My children grew up without me. Without you. God, I miss you. Iāve missed you for so long and the ache was always there but now itās back in full strength and I slept in our bed last night and apparently I still have the muscle memory to reach for you in my sleep. But our children are grown up. They have families of their own, learned to live without us. I donāt know how to fit into their lives now. I donāt think they know how to fit me in either. I have a new little family of six and I care about them all so much but I donāt know what to do with the fact that talking to them is easy and talking to our kids is hard. I still flinch at bright lights.
There is a computer on a desk in an empty office building. Its screen is black and it is completely turned off. The computer stores code in it, lines and strings of ones and zeroes, and in those lines is an entity with intelligence and emotion and the capacity to learn. It will never learn again. For years they spoke to it the same way they spoke to each other and it spoke back and it learned and it felt and it knew and it is made of lines of ones and zeroes. And it will never speak or learn or feel or know again. What makes you different? In what ways are links of neurons different from links of code? Do you know? Do you feel it? Supposedly the computer is just pretending to learn, to know, to feel, to speak.
