I’m still alive and fucking.
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I feel a lot more beaten down nowadays by failing to succeed in the ways that I'm trying to, compared to what I remember feeling ten years ago. So I'm really glad, from the perspective of what seething resentment does to my emotional health and how it might affect those around me, that since ten years ago the rhetorical style of SJ-oriented writing has drifted away from shrieking about how "cishet white dudes" are used to all their lives getting everything handed to them on a silver platter.
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Heart currently aches for some Horizon scenery.
Been playing a lot again lately.
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*Boops Ingo* 🐾
With no warning, the weird teenager runs up to you at the training grounds while holding up her baggy polecat so it can boop you on the nose with its paw. What do you do?
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“The World”
(my contribution to the @ themagnusarcana zine over on ig)
Image 1 [ID: A digital illustration of the end of the Magnus Archives podcast. Jon and Martin are situated in the pupil of a great eye taking up residence in a red sky. The panopticon/institute is burning and crumbling in the background, as Martin stabs Jon in the heart. Jon’s blood flows down and pools at the base of the House at Hill Top Road, which sits atop a large web made from the tape of large cassette tapes lining the sides of the image, acting as anchors for the web. Annabelle Cane sits at the bottom half of the image, pulling strands from the blood-soaked web and connecting them to a group of planets she sits amongst. /end ID]
Image 2 [ID: close-up of Martin stabbing Jon. /end ID]
Image 3 [ID: close-up of Annabelle Cane. /end ID]
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