honestly the older i get the less i can understand or accept how much suffering there is in the world. i just cannot. "thats how the world is" well it shouldn't be!! it fucking SHOULDNT be that way
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when im stressed i write a lot
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why is writing so goddamn HARD
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original thief series basso & garrett :)
ngl, it's about quality over quantity for me. an npc can have a total of three minutes of screen time, but if they have a cool name, they can live rent free in my head and I'll spend several hours trying to decipher drawable features from a blurry screenshot of pixels
there is a vague hint of a story here, and that's because every time I try to play thi4f, I get incredibly frustrated with how Not Fun the game play is. like, is the story good? well. but it has a PLAGUE. that should've given it instant 'I'll replay this once a year' status in my heart, but the game play sucks so bad that I've never finished it. I can't believe Not Fun gameplay beat out my obsession with narrative plagues.
anyway, the idea is basically if the original era had a game with a plague centric narrative and some other stuff I liked out of thi4f thrown into a narrative blender, with a heavy dash of horror thrown in because some parts of the thief games were scarier to me than entire dedicated horror genre games.
⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app
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ik the common agreement in neurodivergent circles seems to be that we all function better at night but here's to the ones who are on the opposite end of the spectrum. To the early birds who wake at 7 and can't stay up past 10pm. To the ones who are left out of almost every social event bc everything seems to be happening after 8 but you're normally in bed by that point. To the ones who are made fun of bc "only little kids go to bed that early". To the ones who, even if they wanted to, can never seem to find their place among others bc of society's expectation that the real fun only begins after midnight. I see you, I feel you, and I wish you a very same
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there are so many small ways that being institutionalized for months impacted me that keep popping up, even a year and a half later. i didn't realize how much it mattered to me to watch the seasons change and flowers start to grow and leaves start to change colors until i spent months confined inside where all we saw every day was grey walls, grey floors, cling paper over our windows so we couldn't look out and our only view other office buildings and construction.
and now it's spring and the crocuses are blooming and i notice them more than i ever did before, and think about everyone i love who's still inside and think about what it's like to have color and fresh air and life denied from you for months and years. i think about all the small ways i tried to bring color into the hospital--origami cranes lined up on windowsills, and decorations for holidays and all these little acts of joy that felt so precarious because at any moment they could be taken away.
i don't know if i will ever stop being angry (not while there are so many people i love locked up right now, not while asylums + prisons still stand) but the daffodils are blooming and the days are brighter and i wish i could bottle this up and send my loved ones a little taste of freedom
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