moonsnitch

[moonsnitch]

Margaret Atwood, from The Door: Poems; “Europe on 5$ a day”

[Text ID: “I’ve cut myself off. / I can feel the place / where I used to be attached. / It’s raw, as when you grate / your finger. It’s a shredded mess / of images. It hurts.”]

[moonsnitch]

> good evening, [user]. you have THREE patch updates waiting to be installed. click REBLOG to download?

LOADING… PANEL UPGRADES [ the new panel upgrade now allows for synchronised customisation between two users. ]

the receiver can create a playlist, moodboard, web weaving, or any other aesthetic that they’d like about their muse’s relationship with the sender, and terra will upload this to their fully customisable shared panel.

LOADING… SECURITY REINFORCEMENT [ terrascape prides itself on security, and all your secrets are safe and confidential with us. ]

write ~3 headcanons about your muse and the sender’s, and terra promises to keep it safe from prying eyes.

LOADING… IMPROVED COMMUNICATIONS [ communications on terra are now faster and better than before. ]

send ✉️ for the last text the receiver sent to the sender,  💌 for a heartfelt text the receiver sent to the sender,  📨 for a text the receiver sent and couldn’t recall in time to the sender,  📩 for a drunk text the receiver found in their drafts that they haven’t sent to the sender.

Keep reading

[moonsnitch]

JENNIE for the CHANEL 22 Bag Campaign

[moonsnitch]

jaehyun:

( ... ) now, here are his hands, and here is his anger. park jaehyun sits in the backseat of the car beside her, cheek on his knuckle as his finger taps his skull. “it’s not about axel, is it?” the challenge comes after the sigh. if choi haerin wants so badly for there to be something wrong with him, then suppose it’s only right that he gives it to her. he turns his head in her direction, glances at their barely touching fingers between them, and presses, “it’s about this morning.”

jaehyun’s energy is such that no matter what room he dwells in, haerin swears she could feel him. from the godly highs dripping in mirth like honey from the comb, to the earth shattering lows where the atmospheric pressure is stifling, she could sense it all. it’s a shame, however, that she cannot scarper like a woodland animal picking up the scent of an incoming storm. alas, she can only sit there and measure his choler.

in the backseat of their ride, the air is thick. haerin envisions a knife to cut through it as if a great divide, and all it’s serrated edges, could somehow bring her love back to her. when his voice pierces the silence, she notes the ways in which she can hear the roll of thunder in the subtext, right there, at the back of his throat. it’s the solar plexus that feels it first, it always is. here is the tempest, here is the storm.

‘it’s about everything, jae,’ she begins, turning away from the window to face him. and before she knows it the dam bursts. all of her fears, the ephialtes, were manifesting before their very eyes. it’s almost funny, pardon haerin for she may laugh. there were whispers of the presence of a cult but how was anything about tonight any different? pretense was a cult’s greatest commodity; as long as you smile when you’re supposed to, laugh when you’re supposed to, then you’re in. you’re one of them and in a way you’re protected. she gets the appeal, has experienced it first hand. but to see the whites of her love’s teeth, to hear the treble of his laughter, it has dawned on her that she’s…

‘i’m losing you and you don’t even realise it,’ breaking is so easy when it comes to him, there’s irony in the statement and it doesn’t miss haerin in the slightest. time and time she has become undone before him and by him, and in the throes of passion she has always laid it all bare. tonight is no different. ‘a man that should be virtually dead is back and you’re all taking champagne to the head as if it means absolutely nothing. it’s no different from…’

you’ll go too far, she thinks, giving herself pause. she takes the breath. she closes the cavern by taking his hand for as much as she wants him to see her, to hear her, he is still her person. this isn't about winning, love never is.

‘i’m just freaked out, okay? you swear nothing is happening to you but something feels so wrong about all of this.’

[moonsnitch]

domi:

as quick as it happened, before she can process anything about it, the game stage is back to normal. domi's controls come back, slipping herself out of the floor and on top of it, hovering for a moment against the shadows. she blinks, fast and confused. "uh, yeah," is what she can eke out, nodding her head in lieu of elaboration, because how does she describe what that is? she's never seen anything like it, in all the years she's been playing iron fist. domi knows more than she wants to about the possibility of glitches happening, though she doesn't voice that out loud. "do you think, maybe our game got caught up in some other one?"

it’s hard to shed your past, haerin knows this all too well. 

see when domi appeared before her the very first time, all eager and peachy keen, it took haerin everything in her being not to run. where synapse fires off to synapse and the body electric feels like a thrill, where keeping up appearances becomes a losing game, haerin planted her feet in the ground and held her audience neatly. now she does the same as she witnesses the other emerge from the shadows akin to a wraith and she contemplates all the ways in which invulnerability has been her downfall.

‘another game? really?’ she almost sounds disappointed but the wall she has built between them, brick by brick, was one of her own making. when domi moved one step forwards, it was haerin that was teetering backwards before the footfall was complete. so, how could she really be disappointed? a sigh slips past her lips. she casts a cautionary gaze at their surroundings as if some sort of clue would reveal what had just happened. she gets absolutely nothing.

‘but it was a voice–’ she says, hesitating slightly, her voice low, quiet. hope is a thing with wings, she once heard but it doesn’t exist here. haerin stopped hoping a long time ago. ‘it was saying something. you heard it, right?’ but what exactly did haerin hear? could she say for certain or could it have been another glitch that she was experiencing and experiencing alone? ‘it said something about terrascape lying?’

[moonsnitch]

Jennie for Adidas Originals

[moonsnitch]

‘my little lamb, please come back to pastures. do not be lead astray by the delights of man and that forsaken false prophet…’

she should have known that her day of reckoning would come, haerin thinks. when gyuok’s likeness darkened her pixel skies she should have expected the decorated fanfare, the crying angels, the brimstone…

but not this.

haerin looks through the woman who has her fingers clasped around her wrist. she is crying out for a salvation haerin isn’t sure she can give. go back to your god, she wants to scream back at her. go back to him and leave me the fuck alone. instead a sob escapes her lips and her eyes fill. she doesn’t mean to appear weak, no, not in front of the crowds, not in front of cameras. especially not in front of the faithful who has taken the liberty to brush a rogue tear off of the curve of haerin’s cheek.

‘come home to pastures.’

before long, someone is hauling the woman away and haerin is left there trembling. she supposes she feels a little silly now that she has been left there alone and everyone has moved on from the spectacle onto something, or rather someone, new. it’s the way of the world, isn’t it though? atleast this one and though there is a lot to be said for the majority’s lack of interest in the things that were not considered the delights of man, haerin surmises that she is indeed lucky that the attention is now off of her.

pulling herself together, she pulls her posture upwards and continues her voyage across the gold carpet where at the end of it, a party awaits. but before the tip of her heels meet the fabric threshold, she meets eyes with another who has imposed on her path. ‘sorry,’ she says, the smile she dons, strained. ‘excuse me.’

stabat mater w/ @oblivioure

[moonsnitch]

Lee Krasner // Franz Kafka

[moonsnitch]

Jennie for Maison Kitsuné

[moonsnitch]

let us discuss the conundrum of light and darkness. there’s a very famous book by the name of genesis that haerin, if asked, could parse its text into intent and meaning. and like vespers whispered upon satin sheets by the dying light of a candle wick, like the creeping shadow of the oak tree racing to swallow the sunlight whole, like the lonely shadow puppet bird taking flight… there is something so viciously poetic about it all.

haerin takes in domi across the battleground, behind her the powder white feathers of her wings shiver against a westward zephyr. these days it’s hard for her to tell where archangel ends and where haerin begins or would it make more sense the other way around? the semantics miss her, she supposes it’s not important. not anymore.

anyway.

‘shall we take a break?’ haerin proposes, her fingers finding their way through her hair. in game, she can feel everything to the point of a head rush. she’ll never forget the first time she felt a curled fist’s blow, the blood in the mouth. her wings atrophying… and what did it all mean? what did it mean to break, break and break some more in the name of show business? a reporter once asked her, are you having fun? haerin almost laughed in his face, pardon her.

i suppose it is fun, she thinks wryly, writhing on your bedroom floor wondering if you’ll die this time. hoping, even. invisible wings ripping your back to shreds as they try to push through. the feel of phantom bone, deformed, foreign. by the morning, there’s only the memory of the feeling and by noon comes the doubt that maybe it was all an illusion. maybe. 

‘besides, i think there’s not really much point of overdoing it before the actual showcase–’

then all of a sudden it happens. the sound of static splits the perfect sky in half and a strange figure appears to exact its judgement. its voice seems to be coming at them from every angle, distorted and menacing. haerin forgets herself and her dad’s sermons flood her thoughts. he used to go blue in the lips whenever he spoke of a false prophet, flecks of spittle raining down upon the pulpit. it would lead haerin to wonder often if fear was necessary for the presence of passion.

and then it’s gone. it couldn’t have been more than a minute but the time it takes for haerin to gather herself is tenfold. ‘i-i… huh?’ she looks over at domi, looks for any sort of sign. ‘you saw that, right?’

new humanity w/ @serialeclipse

[moonsnitch]

Would it change her? Back in her childhood she used to have holy feelings, knifelike flashes that laid the earth open like a blue watermelon, when the sun came down to her like an elevator she was sure she could step inside and be lifted up, up, past all bad luck, past every skipped thirteenth floor in every building human beings had ever built. She would have these holy days and walk home from school and think, After this I will be nice to my mother, but she never ever was. After this I will be able to talk only about what matters, life and death and what comes after, but still she went on about the weather.

Patricia Lockwood, No One is Talking About This

[moonsnitch]

stunning

[moonsnitch]

beautiful thoughts were few and far between in the green marble of haerin’s mind. father had taught her of leviathans, of fallen angels with scorched wings, of monsters, of men, of mirrors… 

the night is all too clement and should her consciousness linger into the dawn, wild and unfettered, it would be a waste. she wants to drown in the pale hue of the moon with a friend. a tether. the one that keeps her feet firmly planted on the ground. dare she call him gravity.

axel looks at her, eyes two great orbs of knowing. ‘yes,’ she says, ‘you’re coming with me but first.’ she walks over to her door, opens it a smidge and across the street like an emerald beacon across the dock, two lights glow warmly in the darkness. ‘he’s alone.’

moments later, the clink of two wine bottles balanced deftly in the hand and the pit-pat of axel’s paws against the tarmac accompanied her voyage. haerin throws a glance over her shoulder as she is wont to do whenever she leaves her house, after having checked the locks twice, after having made sure she didn’t leave her keys in the door. in front of wonshik’s house, she shifts on her feet slightly, uncertain. to say she was rattled by the broadcast would be selling it awfully short; she was panicked and perhaps even panicked by her own stupidity, her arrogance that whatever terra was up to wasn’t isolated to those who participated in the iron fist games. 

letting herself in, axel waits by her legs patiently as she closes the door behind them. a tentative cough, a clearing of the throat. ‘hey wonshik, are you down to host a wary sailor?’ a self-deprecating sigh. ‘i have wine.’

side by side w/ @sparedpart

[moonsnitch]

give her the guillotine. give her the ego death. give her the martyr blood. give her the holy choir. a round of laughter fires off from the other side of the room and haerin wonders just how much her rating would tumble if she was to scream. a party thrown in gyuok’s name, and here she is, front and centre, on jaehyun’s arm as if they weren’t at each other’s throats a moment ago.

a misplaced smile here and there, fleeting as a bird in flight, she just about plays the role. takes the picture. clinks the glass. you should smile, she hears her father’s voice, look grateful to be alive, in the glory of– 

but haerin has never been good at faking it.

‘give me one sec.’ haerin excuses herself quietly, squeezing jaehyun’s hand lightly as she moves away. finding the nearest toilet as refuge feels like defeat but a moment alone is warranted. there her breaths are stilted. she takes a few deep ones that press her feet into the tile beneath her, swigs her champagne and lets the haze settle in. a sigh falls from her lips. she hasn’t a clue what happened to gyuok, hasn’t really slept since the broadcast had graced the panel’s screen. but one thing is for certain. she chews her lips as she fixes her hair in the mirror, tendrils slipping through her manicured fingers.

terrascape is fucking lying.

she leaves the bathroom, is quickly swallowed by the throng of partygoers. the music, temporarily muted by the bathroom walls rushes back towards her like an angry tide. ‘my love,’ she says, pulling him away from a group of people. she musters a smile for him because at the end of it all, he is her happy place. and although sometimes it’s as if she is seeing less of him and more consequence of their virtual endeavour, it is no mistake that the man with the golden smile is hers, as she is his. she can do this much. 

‘i’ll head off first but you should stay, yeah? axel probably misses me and i should probably relieve his sitter.’

i don't know you w/ @fiskesprett

[moonsnitch]

choi haerin. iron fist's very own archangel. penned by ares (21+, s/h, gmt)

excuse my tardiness, i'm never prepared for anything. i've split this intro into parts that'll give you the full tea on my angel but i will have a bio and profile up at some point. bear with me... shoot this a like and i'll come swinging into your dms to plot. i prefer 'scord majorly but i'm open otherwise. ciao.

PRIEST CULT DADDY

if you're to understand anything about haerin, we'll first start with her bloodline. choi insu, priest of the new kingdom parish, a cult hiding behind the moniker of religion. a zealot in the name of piety, he believed that terrascape was the judgment plane and to meet the true kingdom, the real one, one needed to commit a virtual death. choi jinae, thy mother, lived in the shadow of her husband. she played the devout for long, made sure their only daughter did the same. but something in the foundations were beginning to crack...

insu urged the faithfuls, under pretence and discretion, to live a modest life, to give their merits to the mission and to remember that life on terra was temporary. knowing very well how illegal this was, he preached the good word clandestinely. those who joined the 'church' were chosen and apostasy was forbidden.

haerin grew up isolated; was not encouraged to make friends, to follow trends. when she left school she was forced to carry out her chores, then study the holy text before homework. she learned very quickly the merits of doing things in secret, adopted the ways of doublethink and doublespeak. made friends on the sly, got up to what her parents would have deemed no good in the shadows.

but whatever lays in darkness will soon be bare under light, right? and suddenly there are whispers among the parish of a lamb being lead atray and she's put under house arrest, a princess in a locked tower, a sacrifice in a holding pen.

a week later her mother goes missing and before the congregation insu announces that she has gone to glory to be in the real world, the new kingdom.

fear hatches a new plan and haerin begins to play the game. you see, maybe she underestimated her mother and so in a way she becomes her. dutiful, pious, the more eager of them all. father trusts her in ways he's never before. and soon, she's secretary of the church, the key to the treasury in her grasp.

running is easy, especially when you know how to move in silence. before long she's out in terra and she's hiding out in vr rooms and gaming cafes, places where he father and his cronies wouldn't think to step foot in, but money is running out and she's sure she saw a faithful watching her eat dinner the other night.

the iron fist competition comes as a god send and the many nights fighting sleep so she can watch her back, see that her gaming skills grow in turn. one day, she finds herself the glory of victory and signs a contract. they brandish her with wings, name her archangel. irony is a dish best served on ice.

that was seven years ago. and now? maybe she's flying high? she's a celebrity professional gamer and she holds onto her ranking with a vice like grip, looks over her shoulder when she's out in public, chews her nails whenever she hears a bell toll. she'd tell you she's haunted by her past but she'll never divulge.

ARCHANGEL

has been playing iron fist competitively for 7 years. per the fighter’s lore, archangel is a messenger of god sent to exercise his judgement. they have two large wings on their back that can be used for flight, shielding, and shooting projectiles but their wings are prone to atrophy from overexertion and damage blocking, causing immense pain to the fighter. their wings cannot regenerate during battle, hence must be used sparingly. ( celebrity ranking: 3.9 stars. )

in game, she's a formidable force. haerin doesn't pull a punch. the same could be said for her blur outside of iron fist which feels like her wings are regenerating from her back, causing excruciating pain.

PERSONALITY

pisces sun, scorpio moon, cancer rising

this babe is full of water. where she is emotional, empathetic, loving and kind (for the most part), but she is independent (to a fault) and feels EVERYTHING. sensitive to criticism which she had a lot growing up. demands the spotlight whilst at the same time shying away from it. loves hard but holds a grudge even harder.

doesn't trust easily and thinks that anyone who shows too much interest in her could potentially be from her father's cult

if she's around someone she trusts she gets in her head, might stop talking in a middle of a sentence and fade off into dream land

PLOT POINTS

this girly needs friends, maybe someone close who knew her from her days in the cult (and might have even helped her escape) or people she got to know in her glory days as a professional iron fist gamer

that being said, iron fist gamer buddies! people who like her or despise her are welcome to apply!

someone who wants to expose her cultdaddy and ruin her celebrity rating

exes or flings, people who taught her the hard knock lessons of love when she had emancipated herself from the cult

neighbours! people who notice she doesn't sleep much and might have bumped into her walking around the complex at night

anything you can think of i'm so open!!

[moonsnitch]

JENNIE ✧ SPOT