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the man is now my sea

@vetustamorla / vetustamorla.tumblr.com

the night is no more
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smallnico

no, spotify, i don't want to use ai to "turn my ideas into playlists". i already fucking do that with my brain and hands and i do it for fun. what, should i get ai to pet my cat for me? to play my silly games for me? to spend time with my beautiful wife for me? how about i rend you asunder

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have you guys heard about cats

they go meow btw. not that you care

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raishe

I care very much, keep going

ok so get this they have ears that go △

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faeriefully

social media has really warped our perception of creativity and hobbies. Stop doing things to post them. Just write. Just journal. Just sketch. Just read. Just annotate. Just sing. Just crochet. Just do the thing you’re going to do with the assumption no one will ever see or know you did it. Stop performing. Just enjoy it.

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vetustamorla

[ M / gen / 18k words / psychological horror / completed. read here on ao3 ]

He sags against the door and lets out his breath. Only then does he see a card has made its way in somehow; rugged at the edges, yet written with an impeccable hand. Blood-red ink. The hand of someone that has been forced to learn exactly to which degree the loops ought to curl – someone whose fingers knew nothing short of cold-blooded perfection.

‘ Don’t you know, Raiden? The only way out is in. In, and further in, to the only door that ever was. How far in must you go to see yourself on the other side? ’

[ basically metal gear solid 2 meets silent hill 4: the room ]

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